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The Cold Is To Be Endured.	By : enslavementthesis Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 5741 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter four.

Inoue Orihime had always been a curious girl.

Over the course of the years, she had been plagued with many questions. These questions only grew in number as she begun high school, and even more so when she had made that rather puzzling transition through the dubious wonder known as puberty.

They were questions such as; "Why am I here? What do I want to do with my life? and; Why can I never find a bra in my size? to name a few.

Not all of these questions were answered. Mostly because she tended to forget them mere minutes after they had crossed her mind in favour of something else, such as lunchtime. But the few that did remain stubbornly tacked to her inner conscious, like a haphazard poster on the wall, were usually mulled over, however briefly, before they were relayed to the vastness of all-knowing that was Tatsuki.

Questions such as; Why does nobody ever share my lunch with me? and Does this make me look fat? and that incredibly confusing one time: What's 'Pegging'? which had resulted in Keigo coming to school the following day with a black eye, were put to the Martial-Artist-come-Well-Of-Wisdom that was her best friend.

And Orihime had been content with that.

However, in Hueco Mundo, it was different. Tatsuki wasn't there with her. And so any question that Orihime did have, no matter the substance, did not have someone from which to procure an answer.

And she did have a question.

This question, which had clung to the proverbial corkboard that was her rational thought process with an adamance that was vaguely impressive, merely hung about like a neglected clothesline. Not going anywhere.

A productive outcome wasn't exactly promising, either. Where on Earth would she find an answer, when she had no Tatsuki?

Who on Earth...or, well, Not-Quite-On-Earth could she ask: What do all of the Arrancar do in Las Noches?

And then she got a bright idea.

"Isn't there anything?" She asked plaintively.

The Fourth Espada didn't bother responding, so she sighed expansively and flopped dramatically backwards onto the covers of the bed.

He was distinctly unimpressed with her theatrics.

It showed. He was giving her that face again. That face wasn't to be mistaken for his normal face, his face, or his other face, even if it usually was (they all looked pretty much the same).

That face usually meant that she was beginning to get on his nerves, and if she didn't stop doing whatever she was doing, he would say something rude.

Something was definitely more detrimental than her delicate sensibilities, however.

"What about a boardgame?" She wheedled, "A cartoon? ...Coloured pencils?"

He lost his temper.

"There is nothing, woman," He said flatly. "Stop whining."

Well, as much as Ulquiorra would lose his temper, anyway.

So much for Well of Wisdom.

Orihime was so bored that smacking her head repeatedly against the wall was almost beginning to seem like a swell idea.

Almost.

However, she wasn't bored enough to yet seriously consider rampant masochism as a grand pasttime, so she merely wondered what she could possibly do by herself in a room that seemed to lack even the idea of basic entertainment.

She looked hopefully at the bedspread, but it had nothing to suggest.

The ugly chair, and the equally ugly table had nothing to add either. These were relatively new, having only been brought in after she politely mentioned her lack of eating space.

She had been more than a little surprised when they had arrived. Who knew that Ulquiorra actually listened?

Idly, she wondered if they would let her have a bath earlier today. A good, long hot soak would do a lot to keep her mind off of things.

Such as the fact that she had been staring at the ceiling for goodness-knew-how-long.

Didn't Aizen know that boredom was fatal? It was: Keigo told her so. Asano Keigo was so full of knowledge, she thought generously.

No, really, he was.

"Why don't you sit and eat with me?" She asked, more out of curiosity than any real desire for the actual event. "Or do all of the Espada eat together in a big hall, like on those television shows?"

That would be pretty cool. She hoped that he did, so then she could ask him to take her one day.

"It is unnecessary for us to eat." Ulquiorra said, coldly.

Oh.

Obviously eating was another one of those trashy human things that he spoke about, she thought. He didn't know what he was missing out on.

She wondered why Espada didn't need to eat, when Hollow ate. Even if it was people's souls. And as if Ulquiorra were reading her mind, he spoke again.

"Due to King Aizen's ingenuity, unless we have to exert ourselves, we can recycle our own reiatsu."

She was both vaguely excited and disgusted at the prospect, and waited expectantly for more information, but he obviously didn't see the need to elaborate.

A little disappointed, she returned to her unidentifiable, yet nice-enough meal.

"What's this I'm eating?" She asked, poking at it with a fork, because she didn't want the silence again.

He didn't say anything, so she asked again, just in case he hadn't heard her.

"It's unimportant," He said flatly.

Orihime was understandably horrified.

"On the contrary!" She declared emphatically, "A meal is very important, especially for a growing girl! Why, I went to school every day just for lunch you know!"

And to demonstrate her point, she took an extra large bite of whatever she was eating and nodded.

Ulquiorra seemed slightly appalled.

He turned on his heel. "I shall return when you cease speaking nonsense," He said over his shoulder as he stalked out, Orihime looking puzzledly after him.

Maybe he was jealous?

The next night, he stayed determinedly silent, despite her many attempts at conversation.

Eventually, she gave up, and finished her greens.

He stayed for a while, his hands buried deep in his pockets, while she sat with her heels upon the seat and her forearms wrapped tightly about her knees, staring at her empty plate.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"I'm bored," She told him, because she was.

It wasn't as if she had anything else to say.

Her toes wriggled happily in the hot water, almost of their own accord. Bathtime was probably her second favourite time of the day. Dinnertime being the first.

Bathtime was followed closely by breakfast, which was very marginally in front of lunch. She preferred breakfast over lunch only because it was first. She supposed if lunch was first, she'd like it better.

But she wasn't quite sure.

The water she was relaxing in was probably the only warm variable in this place, so she took full advantage of it when she was able.

Reclining back into the almost boiling tub, a breath of satisfaction gushed heavily from between her lips.

Oh yes, this was wonderful.

Glancing over at the door, where two Arrancar stood almost out of sight; the only testament to their presence being the odd piece of white clothing jutting from behind the doorframe, Orihime sighed again. This one not quite so satisfied.

They never let her stay for long.

Staring at the bonewhite ceiling, Orihime wondered if her friends were happy in Soul Society, and supposed she already knew the answer to that.

She wondered if the empty hole inside of her, that everpresent emptiness that seemed so heavy, weighed them down as much as it did her. Or if they even felt it at all.

Orihime hoped that they missed her as much as she missed them.

The atmosphere in the room during Ulquiorra's visits tended to alternate, she had noticed.

Sometimes it was, although not entirely comfortable, tolerable, and it usually ended in Orihime talking Ulquiorra's ear off, while he said as little as possible.

But other times, for reasons unknown he would refuse such niceties, and anything she said was met with cold, harsh words, and the interaction between them would be minimal and awkward.

This was one of those times.

However, what was puzzling was that it hadn't started that way.

The Fourth Espada had come earlier than usual. He had been standing in the room for a while, and it seemed as if he probably wasn't going to leave anytime soon.

She didn't mind.

In a place like this, any company is good company.

She was chatting to him about nothing in particular, merely trying to fill the silence while she was waiting for her food. He in turn stood quietly, his hands shoved inelegantly in his pockets.

It was a little nice, because he wasn't saying horrible things. Well, he wasn't saying anything at all, but that was alright.

He was a very good listener, she thought happily, and told him so.

He, of course, completely ignored her.

"Grimmjow is exactly the same," She had said thoughtfully. "Even if he pretends that he isn't. Just like you."

She hadn't really expected him to reply, so his reaction to such an innocuous comment astonished her.

"Do not compare me to that piece of trash," he had said, harshly, and she had stared at him.

"But you're alike," she insisted. "Well, you don't really act alike, except you kind of have the same --"

"Nothing," He had interrupted, "I am nothing like that trash."

"He isn't trash!" She said hotly, feeling the need to defend the honour of the absent Grimmjow.

And Ulquiorra had said nothing after that, merely staring right through her in his baleful manner and completely ignoring her every attempt to break the silence.

And that was the last straw. Inoue Orihime lost her temper.

Her hands were clenched into tiny little fists as she stood to face him, her grey eyes blazing as if stone itself had caught alight.

"You have a horrible attitude!" She told him, emphatically. "You think yourself above everybody, except your precious Aizen! You aren't any different from the so called 'trash' you scorn!"

And she ran towards him, her hand outstretched. Her heart beat a furious stacatto against her ribcage, and her palm flew towards its target. She meant to hit him, to slap some sense to him, to perhaps even force him to partake into some of the anguish that she herself had endured for the past day, week, month, century.

Her wrist was caught in a vice so cold she yelped, and then she stopped dead.

Lips pressed against hers, cool, unexpectedly gentle lips, and her heart froze over.

Shocked, Orihime stared, and saw straight into the green of the deepest ocean of a summer day, into the green of the most flawless emerald. And it was looking straight back at her.

There was no pressure behind his lips, but still she couldn't move. All she could do was look into that green. The colour of deadly acid. A web of cracks carved their way through it, a dancing pattern of blatant flaws.

They were so odd, so blank, somehow lacking, and she couldn't bear to see them anymore. She shut her eyes against them, and then all that remained was the darkness, the cold and the smell of him and his lips touching her lips, and then they were gone.

She opened her eyes, but her gaze met his retreating back, for he was already half way across the room. She let out a breath she didn't even know that she had held.

He left without a word, and then she understood.

She was right, after all. There was something more there than he let on. He just didn't want her to know it, but she had suspected, and now she was sure.

He was as lonely as she was, as lonely as Grimmjow was, and she wondered if all of the Espada were lonely too, and if all of them were as wary of each other as Grimmjow and Ulquiorra seemed to be, because that would be awful, living in such a state of constant fear and anger and isolation.

She hoped that Aizen felt guilty for creating such miserable creatures.

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The Cold Is To Be Endured.