Those Damned Buttons
By Katie
Disclaimer: Ishida and Orihime belong to Tite Kubo.

Orihime was wearing buttons.

This had been distracting Ishida the entire movie. He had originally agreed to meet Orihime to see Godzilla vs. The Winged Earthworm from Mars (and no, it was not a date! He was meeting her at the theater and they were separating after the movie. And Orihime had gotten the tickets for free. It wasn't a date if nobody had to pay...right? Right.) He had noticed the buttons the moment he caught sight of the girl, and his first reaction had been one of horror and disappointment. Had their months together in the handicraft club taught her nothing? Why in the world would she wear buttons when the world held such marvels as zippers and chinese clasps? He found himself continuously glancing at the offending objects, too appalled by their existence to simply ignore them. They were an offense against all the laws of decency and aesthetics, and certainly not something that should be marring Orihime's beautiful form. Thinking that, he flushed a deep red, and tried to shove all buttoned thoughts from his mind. Just watch the movie!

But he kept glancing at those buttons, and what they covered. Was it just his imagination, or did the buttons actually look like they would pop off at any second? The shirt was old, and just a trifle too tight for the buxom girl – she had probably been in a rush and had grabbed just a random shirt. (Reason number two why it wasn't a date: Girls dressed up for dates. They did not wear old shirts that looked like they would burst open at any moment.) That was one of the many reasons he hated buttons: they were so unreliable! A little wear and the thread would get loose and then POP! Off went the button. Zippers didn't pull any stunts like that on you. Once a zipper was up, it stayed up. Even if it was a tight fit...a very tight fit...once you got them over the mound, they stayed shut. But with buttons, you had to struggle and strain to get them shut and that just weakened the thread so that if you breathed in too deeply, like at an exciting moment in a movie, the weak thread would give out from the strain and the button would pop loose and suddenly all that soft, milky, intimate flesh would be exposed... Ishida ripped his eyes away. Stop staring! he scolded himself. What would Inoue-san think? Probably nothing, considering how oblivious she was about Chizuru's blatant groping, but Ishida's guilty conscience was convinced that Orihime would see right through him and label him a pervert. I was just worried about the buttons! he pleaded with the angry mental Orihime, but she wasn't buying it. You can't trust buttons! He argued passionately, trying to distract this imaginary Orihime from his internal offense. They're weak! They're unreliable! They come open at the–

He heard the real Orihime gasp and saw her put her hand to her chest. SEE? he thought triumphantly. The buttons gave out and now her breasts are exposed! Somehow his mind did not sound properly horrified. This is why you shouldn't wear buttons! Nor did his mind, while smug, sound properly scolding. In fact, it sounded almost...satisfied.

Then Orihime put her hand down and Ishida saw that all the buttons were firmly in place; she had simply been startled by something that had happened in the movie. What was going on in the movie? Ishida tried to turn his attention back to the film, but his eyes were fixated on those damnable buttons. They were bound to pop off at any second, he just KNEW it! He kept glancing back and forth between the film and Orihime's buttons, waiting for the fatal moment.

But it never came. The credits rolled and Orihime let out a heavy, satisfied sigh, the buttons on her shirt firmly in place. Ishida sighed as well. With relief, of course. He stood promptly, toying with the chinese clasps at his wrists as he pointedly looked away from Orihime and her buttons.

"Ne, Ishida-kun, what did you think of the movie?" Orihime asked cheerfully as they exited the theater.

Movie? What movie?

"It was...engaging," he answered, shooting one last glance at those damned buttons.