Author's Note: Hey, so I was inspired at 9:30 tonight (2-21-13). It is now 1 a.m. I think this was a very productive four hours. I don't know if this will continue or what, but I had fun writing it. I love melodramatic stuff! Let me know what you think, please review! (If you catch any editing stuff, let me know and I'll fix it!) This is rated T just for like, really mild sexual content. I mean, like kissing. That't it. I don't think I cursed so yeah. There you go.

I wrote this listening to Funny Girl by Pacific UV, that's where the title came from (I do not own that line!) I like to read and listen to music so I recommend that song if you do too. I also have a current Chaplin obsession, don't judge me. I saw this quote by him online and it inspired the story for me. So that's where everything came from.

**Disclaimer: I do not own any lyrics, quotes, or characters. I do not claim anything but the story. Everything else is owned by their specific parties.

It has been over a year since the battle with Aizen and the Espadas ended, over a year since his death, and still Orihime can't stop thinking about him.

At first, it wasn't so much. She would only think about him at night when it was dark and no one could see her. She would think about him and how scarred he was, how pained, and how she couldn't save him from himself or from Ichigo. She didn't blame Ichigo for what he did though. Ulquiorra would've killed them both if he wasn't stopped. But that last moment with him would always haunt her. Him reaching out to her as he disappeared from existence.

Ichigo was right. The reason Ulquiorra was defeated was because he did become more human. Ulquiorra tried to deny it. He released his first then second form, pushed Ichigo to the brink, and eventually died, trying to deny that he had feelings. But in that last moment she saw the soul that could've been.

And it tormented her.

She thought about him all the time. In the morning when she woke up, when she was eating her meals, when she was at school, when she was with her friends. She dreamed about him. Some of the dreams seem so real. She could feel his fingers on her skin, hear his voice in her ear.

She wasn't paying attention in school anymore. Her grades were slipping. Her teachers were threatening to hold her back. But every time she sat down to concentrate, she could only see his face and imagine how things could have been different if only he never became a hollow—an Espada.

One night, after tutoring and night school to catch up in her regular day classes, she surfed the internet, trying to clear her head of all heavy things. She sat at her desk, and opened the browser and just started with "Funny things". But apparently that was too broad of a scope, so she added "Funny things + funny people" that narrowed it down a little, and so the exploration for lightheartedness began. It was hours of dull, never really entertaining slap stick, quotes, pictures, video, anime, stand up, and parody. The one that she found that she liked the most though, was Charlie Chaplin.

He was British and brought at least a smirk to her lips. So she researched him. She found quotes, and more video, and pictures and it was all very… something. Orihime couldn't explain the mood she was in. Empty sounded like the best word for it.

Scrolling through Chaplin quotes she came across one in particular that made her pause.

"Despair is a narcotic. It lulls the mind into indifference."

Somehow a dead guy from early 1900s England understood the way she felt exactly before she did. She was despairing. Despairing over the loss of Ulquiorra.

The realization was so startling that her heartbeat against her ribcage, trying to break free. Her hands started shaking uncontrollably and her breathing got short. Panic spread through her body, then the pain. Pain and hurt and sadness and, most of all, despair. She had been numb until that moment. Absentmindedly brushing over her emotions and unconsciously deeming them to overwhelming to deal with in public or otherwise. That's why she couldn't focus, couldn't muster up any interest in anything particular. She was longing after a ghost of a man. No, not a man, a hollow, who wanted to kill her and her friends.

Even though she knew rationally the emotions she was experiencing were completely inappropriate and wrong she couldn't stop them from invading her body. She reached up and touched her face and her fingers came away wet. She wiped vigorously at the offending tears rolling down her cheeks and vowed to get a grip.

Now that she knew what was happening, she felt clear headed. The most rational since even before she met Ulquiorra.

She decided to take a walk.

It was a brisk winter night and the air would do her some good. She would be able to think and get her mind straight. Maybe this would be the beginning of her getting her life back.

She took out her coat from the closet and picked up her keys on the way to the door. She locked up her apartment and headed down the stairs. The streets were empty. Probably because of the late hour and the cold. She passed by the lit up buildings looking up into the windows, seeing men, women, and families sitting down to a late dinner, or watching TV. She was walking towards town, when she saw the shadow of a figure in front of her. She didn't really pay the man much heed, until he stopped at the corner. He looked like he was waiting for something. There were no cars passing through the intersection so he could have crossed the street if he wanted to.

He stood frozen in the chilly air, hands in his pockets, head bent down, shaggy hair blowing in the breeze. There was something familiar about him. Something in his stance or his hair…

Orihime kept walking towards him, her fingers pressed into the crook of her elbows, trying to keep warm. With every step she took forward, the feeling of recognition got stronger and stronger. She knew him. Maybe from school? Lately she had been in such a haze she wouldn't have remembered meeting him even if they talked every day.

When she was about five feet from him, she heard him talking. At first she thought it was to her, but he didn't look up or even acknowledge her presence. He was bent over, looking down at a small vase of dead flowers.

"It's okay… don't cry." His voice was calm, and maybe a little bit cold, but not mean, just… logical. "It's because of the winter. Flowers die in the winter. Once spring comes, I'll bring you some new flowers… yes, I promise.

Orihime gasped. She knew that voice. It was the voice that had kept her awake in her bed so many nights, the voice she wanted to forget, but couldn't let go.

"U-Ulquiorra…?" her eyes were wide, unblinking and her hands were locked together in a death grip, trying to refrain from reaching out to him.

Ulquiorra looked up. It was him, but then again, not him. If that made sense.

His skin wasn't paper white. His eyes were a much more real shade of green. Instead of black tattoos under his eyes there were two faded pink scars, like permanent tear streaks racing down his face. He had just a long sleeve tee-shirt on, even in this horrible weather, and she could tell his hollow hole was gone. He no longer had his bone mask, his free hair whipping in the wind. His black hair was still unkempt but not as long. If this was Ulquiorra, he was no longer the Espada number 4, he was human.

Ulquiorra stared at her for a minute, his eyes never leaving hers. His eyebrows came together like he was working out a particularly difficult math problem.

"I'm sorry… do I know you?" that voice. It was the same voice. It was the same voice that just crushed her.

"Ulquiorra, it's me, Orihime." Orihime pled with her eyes for him to quit joking around and just remember her. "Don't you remember? Aizen, the Espada, Hueco Mundo, Ichigo, the invasion… me?" she took a step closer to him, but he took a step back. His eyebrows raising the only indication he was alarmed. He really didn't remember. Maybe this wasn't her Ulquiorra.

Orihime was about to be discouraged, and very embarrassed, when it hit her. This wasn't a mistake. This was her Ulquiorra. He might not remember, but whatever happened to him probably took away all his memories from before his death. Looking at his tear streak scars, his black hair, his green eyes, that stance, she knew it wasn't a mistake. He was here. Finally. Her late night prayers were answered and she got him back.

"Look, lady, I don't know who you are but—" he was cut off abruptly by her attacking him. She threw her arms around his neck and held tight. She tried to think of every memory they shared together and force it on him through their hug. Ulquiorra gasped. His hands raised and landed on her waist. She knew he was going to push her off.

"Remember me. My heart is in your hands. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid, Ulquiorra. Remember." She whispered in his ear. She squeezed him and begged him to remember. His fingers on her waist tightened. She knew there would be bruises. But he wasn't pushing her away. He was trembling.

She buried her nose in his warm neck and closed her eyes. Remember, remember, remember!

Ulquiorra sucked in a sudden breath as if he was punched in the stomach. He groaned and his head fell into her shoulder and they stayed like that for a long while, embracing in the dead of night.

"Orihime?" his voice was soft, and breathless, a sound she never expected to hear from Ulquiorra. But there was recognition.

He did it. He remembered.

Ulquiorra felt strange.

This girl walks up to him in the middle of the street in the dead of the night and knows him by name even though he's never seen her before in his life. She was beautiful and busty, something any teenage guy his age would admire and pine for, but Ulquiorra couldn't help feeling that there was something different about her. Something about her spirit, it wasn't like the ghosts he sees, but around that same kind of oddness. Just a thing about her that pegged her as more (or maybe even less) than human.

And when she knew his name and started spouting off weird things and begged him to remember, he knew she was trouble.

But then something crazy happened… she hugged him.

And it all came back to him.

He was crushed by memories. The weight physically took a toll on him. He body felt weak, his mind was being beaten. Memories of his life as a hollow, an Arrancar, and Espada, Aizen, Ichigo, his ultimate death, but most of all, her, stabbed him repeatedly until he could remember every single second of his former life. Out of his entire existence, she made the most impact, even above the place of his death. He didn't know what was going on but he knew that this was his second chance.

His past life had led him only through the black, inky waters of despair, and he got a glimpse of the surface only when she was around. He became more human in his ultimately un-human state, and something caused him to return to her, as her equal. Full of humanity and feelings and breath and life.

Though he was reserved for a regular human, he had emotions. He felt anger, and sadness, and happiness. With his memories returning, he realized how cold his soul was before, how desolate. He wanted to shiver for fear of ever turning out like that again.

His head was slumped against her shoulder. She was nearly holding him up. The experience of an entire lifetime bombarding his head wasn't pleasant. He was so tired. He felt like he needed to sleep for a couple more lifetimes.

"Orihime…" he managed to whisper against her coat. He was cold and not because of the temperature. "I… remember. Everything. I…"

She squeezed him tighter. She cooed in his ear and rubbed his back. He liked that. He liked the physical contact which was strange because he grew up in a Catholic orphanage in Tokyo under a strict priest. Physical contact was not smiled upon there, and he was so accustomed to not touching people that when he was in the unfortunate position he became really stiff and uncomfortable.

But with Orihime it was different. It was like he craved more of her touch. His hands started working again and he managed to get them around her waist. This was good. This is what he needed.

Minutes passed in this manner. Just hugging.

Finally, he pulled away and dropped his arms. She allowed him this and she stepped back. He knew she was brimming with questions, but he had to say something before he forgot.

"Orihime," he said. His voice was very serious. She nodded to acknowledge she was listening. "Back… then… I didn't know how humans could feel strongly. I didn't know what an emotion was because I had never experienced it myself, but when I met you that started to change. I didn't know it at the time, but I know now. I think… I think this is what love feels like." During his little monologue he had reached up and clutched his chest where his beating heart banged against his rib cage but was stopping at the same time. His chest was exploding and compressing all at once. It was painful but exhilarating.

He focused on her face and was taken aback. She was crying. He didn't want to make her cry. He just wanted to tell her how he felt. He never got to do so before. He was a different person than from when he was an Espada, but his past memories formed a basis for him to build off of with these new human emotions. What he felt then, and what he felt now, coincided and morphed to create such a strong feeling of love he had to tell it to her. To everyone. He wanted to shout it from rooftops, and he didn't shout.

But her crying… that was unacceptable. He was an idiot for making her cry. He wanted to take it back, but there was no way to say it without hurting her feelings any more than they already were.

"Orihime… I'm so sorry. Just forget it." He finally muttered.

She quickly wiped her tears away and sniffed daintily. "No!" she said with enough conviction Ulquiorra paused in his apology. "No… I'm just so happy because… because… I think I love you too, Ulquiorra!"

Something odd came over him.

He found himself wrapped around her. His large hands spanning the width of her back. His strong arms tilting her backwards. His face lowered… and his lips parted…

Magic. Pure, unadulterated magic.

Her lips were so sweet. And soft. That might've been the best part. The softness of her lips sliding over his in a kiss that could only be described as mystical nonsense was the best part for him. Wait. He took that back. Her tongue flicked out of her mouth gliding over his lips. She was kissing him back. That was the best part. Her hands reached up and grabbed his face and they kissed. Kissed for all the times they missed together in his first life.

If only things had been different…