notes: So yeah, here I go with another story. You know you're a dedicated ichihime fan when just about everything reminds you of this pairing. I'm so obsessed with this one movie that it inspired me to write another fic. The whole dynamic of the movie stirred up this story and I had to share it with my fellow shippers.

Anyways, some of the characters here will seem a bit out of character—specifically Ichigo. I mean, I'm trying something new here but hopefully I didn't fail. Let me know what you think.

rating: T+

disclaimer: Bleach © Kubo. I take no credit of A. J. Quinnell's work.

the reason

the girl was too kind and too good

:

The restaurant was too opulent for Ichigo's liking. The cuisine settled before him was left untouched but the glass of wine was empty. Ichigo reached over, grabbed the bottle and helped himself to a refill of the rich, red liquid. He downed the beverage in a single gulp. Although the blond sitting across the table from him was irking, he decided it'd be best to enjoy the luxuries she was paying for.

It soon became clear to Ichigo that Matsumoto was no novice when it came to drinking. Smacking her lips frankly, she smirked mockingly at Ichigo. When she spoke, she addressed the other man sitting at the table. "I asked for one of your strongest men, Kisuke, and instead, I get a boy."

Seething, Ichigo openly glared at Matsumoto. However, his response appeared to amuse her rather than unsettle her. Although her finely shaped face was flushed pink, she had no difficulty speaking her mind clearly.

"Now, now," aided Urahara, leaning back in his comfortable chair, "I'd never mislead you, Rangiku. I'm fully aware of how precious your niece is to you."

Meticulous blue eyes scrutinized Ichigo in a manner he was accustomed to; his daunting facial expressions and sour attitude constantly gained him distrustful reactions. "Then explain to me why you recommended this carrot top."

"Because," started Urahara, "Ichigo here is a good friend of mine who happens to have a lot of experience. He's more than capable to guard Miss Inoue."

Matsumoto folded her arms beneath her overexposed bosom. Raising a brow in challenge, she asked, "What kind of experience, Kisuke?"

"Military training and extensive counter terrorism work," answered Urahara. He reached down, pulled a folder from his briefcase and then handed it over to Matsumoto. "You can review Ichigo's qualifications yourself."

Skeptical, Matsumoto skimmed the papers. Her lips pursed together as she read the long list of practice. Once she finished, Matsumoto glanced up at Ichigo with an entirely different demeanor, the doubt gone. "When can you start?"

"Whenever."

Matsumoto grinned widely and extended her hand to him. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Reluctantly, Ichigo shook Matsumoto's hand. Looking rather pleased with herself, she bid the two men goodbye and excused herself.

Ichigo frowned as a thought occurred to him. "I'm not fucking paying for the bill, getaboshi."

Urahara sighed dramatically. "I see your personality is as awful as ever."

Snorting, Ichigo shook his head incredulously. "A bodyguard, Kisuke?"

"What?" said Uraraha, playing innocent. "Your Chinese is good enough and you certainly look the part. Well, excluding your outrageous hair."

Ichigo grabbed the bottle of wine and drank the remainder of it. "And what if, just say, there was a kidnap attempt? Nobody wants their bodyguard to be a washed up drunk."

"It didn't seem to matter to Rangiku," said Urahara, placing his credit card in the restaurants bill book and handing it to a passing waiter. "Besides, she won't be paying you enough to perform miracles." Sensing Ichigo's dejected mind-set, Urahara went on to say, "Look, even at half-speed you're pretty damn good."

Jaw clenched, Ichgo drawled out, "A bodyguard has to be close to someone all the time. Willing to talk. And in case you haven't noticed yet, I'm not good at that."

Urahara shrugged indifferently. "So you'll be the silent type."

Ichigo paused for a moment, deliberating. "So who exactly will I be working for?"

"Technically, Matsumoto is the one hiring you," explained Urahara. "But you'll be guarding her niece, Orihime Inoue."

"And what's so special about the girl?"

"She's the only daughter of Iwao Inoue. He's Rangiku's relative who also happens to own one of the plants here in Beijing. The American car industry is down the toilet. He's been trying to get Shuanghuan to partner with him. I think he's in trouble."

"So he thinks his daughter needs protection?"

"Guess so, since he asked Rangiku to hire somebody. She called me up the other day and wanted to know if I knew anybody she could trust."

"So you think I can be trusted?"

Urahara rolled his eyes as he stood up. "Try it out, Ichigo. Then decide if you want to stick around or not. Anyways, you could use some air."

Ichigo stared at his large hand that was mottled by old burn marks. The creases on his forehead deepened. "Do you think we'll ever be forgiven for all that we've done?"

Perceptive, Urahara eyed the young man. He took a moment before answering honestly. "No, I don't believe so."

"Neither do I."

:

Orihime stripped her daytime clothes for a lilac nightgown. She settled herself at the edge of her grand bed and methodically brushed her long, auburn hair. It trailed down her back in soft waves. Orihime hummed quietly to herself, running the brush through her hair delicately.

Done with the chore, she slipped under the sheets. Before lying down, Orihime brought her hands together and closed her eyes. Bowing her head, she offered a prayer with sincerity. After praying for her beloved brother she murmured to herself, "Lord, I do not ask for wealth or better things. People ask for these so often that I'm sure there isn't anymore left to give. Please God, give me what you still have. Give me what no one else asks for. Amen."

Orihime grabbed the old, battered teddy bear Sora gave her as a child. It was one of the few items she couldn't stand to part with. She smiled at the stuffed animal and chastely kissed the tip of its nose. "Goodnight," she whispered.

Then she fell into her dreams, the only place she could escape from the harsh realities of her day to day life.

:

The Inoue household was more of a courtyard or a villa. The two-landing home was classically constructed and the gardens surrounding the area were well kept. The gates guarding the place opened for Ichigo after he identified himself. Uncomfortable, he strolled up to front doors where a maid awaited his arrival.

"This way, sir," said the small woman, guiding Ichigo through the halls. "Matsumoto-sama is in the living room."

Somewhat curious, Ichigo glanced around. Not far from where they were, the sound of the piano playing drifted their way. The maid gestured to the room. "Right in here."

Matsumoto was perched on the couch dressed in another provocative outfit. Her lips twisted up into a brazen smile when she saw Ichigo. "Kurosaki-san," she greeted warmly. "Please, have a seat."

Ichigo sat on the opposite end of the couch and accepted Matsumoto's offer of a glass of scotch with water. He leaned back against the cushions and focused on the pleasant melody. It was a rendering of Delibes's Lakmé.

"Inoue-san will be here shorty," said Matsumoto after a moment. Uneasy, she shifted in her seat. "You shouldn't have any problems impressing him. Things like this don't usually interest him."

"Then why is he asking for my service?"

"Because," snickered Matsumoto, swirling the contents of her own drink, "I want Orihime in safe hands."

Someone entered the room who Ichigo assumed was Iwao Inoue. The man was of average height with dark hair. Mouth formed in a tight line, Iowa gave Ichigo a quick once over. "Ichigo Kurosaki?"

Ichigo stood up and shook Iwao's hand. The man made a point to look Ichigo in the eye. As Ichigo stared back with complete indifference, Iwao noted the hardness in Ichigo's rugged face. Abruptly, Iowa turned away and settled in the recliner. "Were you provided with a gun, Kurosaki-san?"

"Yes."

Pouring himself a drink, Iwao said, "Show me, please."

Without the slightest hesitation, Ichigo pulled out a pistol from under his jacket and passed it to Iowa. Matsumoto gazed at the gun warily, retracting away from it. "What is it?" she asked.

"Nine millimeter," said Ichigo casually. "Sig Sauer 226."

Speculation sparked within Iwao. His grin quickly turned iniquitous as he turned the gun in his hands. "Have you used this type before?" When Ichigo nodded once, he asked, "Is it loaded?"

"Yes."

Iwao handed back the pistol. "Have you done much of this work before?"

Ichigo shook his head. "Never."

Matsumotot swiftly intervened, adding, "He has experience in related work. A great deal of it, Iowa."

Iwao took a purposeful sip of his scotch. "Do you have family, Kurosaki-san?"

Ichigo hesitated, feeling Matsumotot's insightful gaze. "No. I do not have family."

"That's too bad," said Iwao. He continued observing Ichigo until he was interrupted by his cell phone ringing. Iwao glanced at the phone's screen, muttering, "He will do, Rangiku. Have his luggage sent over; the spare room is already prepared."

Then without another word, Iwao took his leave.

Matsumoto exhaled deeply. "Well, I suppose I should introduce you to Orihime."

Ichigo waited as Matsumoto called for her "niece." Immediately, the piano ceased playing and rapid footsteps followed in its wake. Ichigo's eyes widened as Orihime appeared in the doorway. "Yes, Oba?"

"Orihime-chan," said Matsumoto, "This is Ichigo Kurosaki, your new bodyguard."

Ichigo grew tense; he had expected a young girl, not a full grown woman. Orihime's large, stormy eyes flickered towards him and then she smiled vibrantly at him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Kurosaki-san," she said in fluent Chinese with a respectful bow. "Please, take care of me."

Her voice was wistful and gentle. It reminded Ichigo of memories that were both pleasing and bitter. Brash, he openly admired her curtain of hair. The color was a fine auburn that he found lovely.

"He speaks Japanese," informed Matsumoto. "Show him to his room."

Orihime nodded obediently. "This way, Kurosaki-san."

Ichigo allowed Orihime to lead the way. He could not stop himself from staring at her vivacious body. She wore a simple wool sweater that exposed her shoulders and collarbone while her bottoms were a pair of jean shorts. The outfit was harmless but on her it seemed tantalizing.

The corner of Ichigo's mouth curved upward as he watched Orihime's hips sway. Being close to her allowed him to inhale a strong waft of roses. Ichigo understood why Matsumoto was so tenacious on having Orihime protected; she was inintentionally alluring.

The two of them stepped outside into the courtyard. A large, tan man gave Orihime a thumbs ups as he brushed by. He was swathy, hauling a bag of seeds over his broad shoulder. "Hello, Inoue-chan," he said quietly.

Orihime waved enthusiastically. "Hello, Sado-kun!"

Ichigo kept silent while Orihime pointed out certain people they passed. "That's Sado, the gardner. Oh, and that's Tessai the cook . . ."

Orihime proceeded to direct Ichigo to a separate building beside the main house. It was reasonably clean inside. "Oba and I fixed up the room a week ago," said Orihime as she walked up a set of stair. "It's nicer than before."

Ichigo's bedroom was in moderate size. He strolled around, examining the plush bed and polished furniture.

"You have a television and a CD player if you like music," said Orihime offhandly. "If there's something not to your liking I can have it fixed."

Caw!

Ichigo glanced over to a cage beside the window sill. A Macaw cocked its head to its side, watching Ichigo. It flapped its wings and puffed out its feathers.

"That's Birdy. Ulquiorra forgot to take him when he left."

"Who's Ulquiorra?" asked Ichigo.

Orihime's shoulders fell. "My last body guard. He used to drive me to school and picked me up. He didn't like to talk much either."

Ichigo looked out the window. "Exactly how old are you, Orihime-san?"

"I just turned seventeen," answered Orihime. "What about you, Kurosaki-san?"

"Twenty-six," said Ichigo curtly. "And just call me Ichigo. Kurosaki-san reminds me of my old man."

Orihime flushed. "Okay, I-Ichigo . . ."

Birdy squawked again at Ichigo. It made an attempt to bite his finger when he tried to touch it. "Guess he doesn't like me."

"It's alright," murmured Orihime. "I like you, Ichigo."

It took a second for Orihime to realize what she just said. She squeaked and covered her mouth. "S-Sorry! Sometimes I say what I think aloud." Orihime bypassed pink and turned maroon. "I-I should go!"

Ichigo watched Orihime dash out of his room with her long hair dancing behind her. Sighing, he sat down in a chair and rubbed the back of his neck. In less than a hour, Orihime Inoue had captured his affections and that was unacceptable.

:

Matsumoto knocked on Orihime's door twice and then entered. She found Orihime curled up in bed, absentmindly petting her longtime teddy bear. It was strange, seeing haunting ghosts in her smokey eyes. "Orihime, are you okay?"

Orihime's long lashes brushed against her cheekbones as she slowly blinked out of her reverie. "Sorry," she said bashfully. "I was daydreaming again."

Matsumoto sat down at the foot of Orihime's bed. "What do you think of Kurosaki-san?"

Orihime's smile was wide and sheepish. "I like him. "

"You do?"

Nodding, Orihime brought the stuffed animal closer. "He reminds me of a big bear," she cooed, her smile turning secret. "Ichi Bear . . ."

Matsumoto grinned, fully aware of what the dazed expression on Orihime's face meant. But she could not find it in herself to remind Orihime that Ichigo was nothing like the other men she knew. Ichigo was a cold man with rough edges and a benign person such as Orihime could not find love with him. Instead, Matsumoto affectionatly tucked Orihime's hair away from her face. "I'll be going now. Gin's going to return tomorrow."

"Tell him I said hi," babbled Orihime, her eyes drooping.

"Goodnight," whispered Matsumoto, turning and leaving with silent footsteps. She switched off the light and disappeared.

:

Ichigo had finished meticiously organizing his room. On his bedside was a half-empty bottle of scotch. Next to it was a pack of cigarettes and his gun. Ichigo opened the drawers and placed his sharply folded shirts. In the corner of a dresser, he hid a medium sized chest.

When Ichigo finished unpacking, he glanced at the scotch. Before he could make up his mind, Birdy screeched disapprovingly. Frowning, Ichigo grabbed his gun, ejected the shell from the breach and tried to catch the it on the back of his hand.

Ichigo's hand shook and bullet bounced off. He picked it up from the floor and examined it closely. Then he ejected the the magazine and began to oil the weapon.

Birdy crowed again and Ichigo concluded that this relationship was not going to work. If he stayed, Orihime would surely die. He was not competent enough to properly protect someone so exquisite.

Ichigo put his gun back into its holster and hung it over the corner post of the bed. Then he grabbed a map and flattened it out on the nearby desk. Using a pencil, he traced various routes from the Inoue household to Orihime's school.

Birdy squawked for the seventh time in a row. The vein on Ichigo's temple throbbed and he decided he was done. He stepped over to the cage and opened the door. "Go on," he urged. "Now's your chance."

The bird scuffled inside its cage with fear. Ichigo shook the cage in encouragement; instantly, Birdy hopped out and flew out the window to blend into the night.

:

Grimly, Ichigo sat behind the wheel of the Mercedes. Beside him in the passenger seat was a glowing Orihime. He had made it habit to avoid looking at her when necessary. It was an exceptionally hard habit considering her uniform's skirt didn't cover her thighs as much as he'd like.

Biting her lip, Orihime peered at Ichigo's scarred hands. "Where are you from, Ichigo?"

He hated how she said his name; it rolled off her tongue like a caress and it made his muscles tighten. "Japan."

"I know but which part?"

Ichigo looked at the rearview mirror. The traffic in Beijing was much more hectic to what he was accustomed to. "No where in particular."

"I'm from Japan too," said Orihime, tinkering with the radio. "But when I was very little, Oto-san moved us here to China for his work."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed at the sight of a silver, battered Toyota Corolla pulling up behind them. On high alert, he made an unexpected left turn. Ichigo relaxed when the car continued the way it was going.

"You really don't like talking, do you?"

"No," said Ichigo.

"Why not?"

Ichigo's jaw clenched. "Because I'm busy looking for potential," he growled out, sparing a pointed glare at Orihime.

Orihime was unfazed. Childishly, she tilted her head to side, causing her river of hair to spill over her frail shoulder. "Potential? For what?"

"Places where the roads bend, places away from buildings, places where traffic thins out. But you don't have to understand—I do. So stop talking."

Orihime paused, her heart picking up speed in a flurry of fear. "Are you going to quit? My last body guard quit."

Ichigo caught the panic laced in her voice. For her sake, he made an attempt to cool his temper. "Let me guess, you wouldn't stop talking?"

"No," said Orihime softly, turning away to look out the window and watch blurry, unknown faces of strangers pass by. "Someone gave him more money than we could."

Ichigo did not like her crestfallen tone. It did not suit her, she was bright not dull. "That makes me a bargain then, doesn't it?"

Orihime peeked at Ichigo whose eyes were glued to the street in front of him. She noted his nose was somewhat crooked and wondered whether or not it got that way from a fistfight. "There were twelve kidnappings in the last four days—three a day. What do you think about that, Ichigo?"

Ichigo absorbed the piece of information. So Orihime was a lot more insightful than she let on. "Pretty impressive. Maybe I need to up my fee or get a larger gun."

Orihime appreciated Ichigo's attempt to lift her mood. The private school she attended came into view, making a knot form in the pit of Orihime's stomach. It was guarded by high walls and heavy gates that opened when they identified themselves.

Ichigo pulled up and parked the car near the school entrance. He opened the door for Orihime and walked her inside. Right away, Ichigo noticed heads turn at her arrival. The males had a hungry look in their eyes and did not attempt subtlety. In contrast, the girls stared either in envy or disdain.

"Orihime!"

A girl with dark hair scurried up to the pair of them. Orihime beamed widely and eagerly greeted her friend with a tight embrace. "Tatsuki-chan!"

Tatsuki smiled fondly and gently patted Orihime on the back. She was not one for affection but she couldn't deny that she had a soft spot for the energetic girl. It was hard to not grow attached to Orihime, the girl was too kind and too good.

Ichigo averted his attention as another figure appeared. A woman with brown hair pulled back in a sleek pony tail and spectacles formally approached them. "Hello," she said.

Orihime perked up and bowed. "Ochi-sensei, this is my new bodyguard: Ichigo Kurosaki."

Ochi-sensei nodded stiffly at Ichigo. Her dark eyes inspected Ichigo tersely and Ichigo was certain she saw right through him. Like many others, Ochi-sensei became wary of him. "You must take care of our Orihime. We're so happy to have her back in school."

The school bells chimed warningly.

"Run along now, girls," said Ochi-sensei.

Orihime waved goodbye to Ichigo and then bounded away with Tatsuki. Ichigo watched her go, his eyes half-lidded.

"She's late, Kurosaki-san," reprimanded Ochi-sensei.

"Yeah," admitted Ichigo grudgingly. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I've got to get used to the routes. I—it won't happen again."

"No offense," said Ochi-sensei, "but I'm sorry your profession needs to exist."

"So do I, Ochi-sensei."

:

Ichigo pulled out of the school and started down the congested street. He only reached a few meters before sirens sounded and a police car appeared behind him. Shaking his head, Ichigo grumbled, "Here we go again."

His patience wearing thin, Ichigo pulled over and began shuffling through the front seat's glove department as two police offers walked over.

The taller of the two cops leaned in through the car window. "Do you speak Chinese?"

"Yeah," grunted Ichigo.

"Do you have identification?"

Ichigo handed over his passport and a legitimate firearms license. "It's for a temporary gun I'm carrying," he explained. "I just went through all of this at the airport."

The two cops exchanged a look. Then the shorter one spoke. "Step out of the vehicle."

Ichigo scowled. "Fucking shit."

:

Urahara answered his cell phone. "Urahara here. Ichigo, what's up?" He paused and then laughed. "You got tossed again in less than forty-eight hours. That must be a new record. Well, all I can say is don't trust the cops, especially the Judicials."

Urahara chortled as Ichigo seethed on the other end of line. "Oh, you already know that?"

:

Ichigo glared as the camera flashed. His mug shot picture was feral. He decided he absolutely loathed China.

:

After Urahara paid Ichigo's way out of the police station, Ichigo went on to wander around the area near Orihime's school. The frivolous shopper all avoided Ichigo and made way for him. No one got too close, terrified by his appearance.

Ichigo spotted a music store and went inside. He strolled amidst the various sections and stopped at the American Metal genre. He searched through the racks and pulled out a particular album.

The CD played inside the car as Ichigo waited for Orihime, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

:

From across the cafeteria table, Tatsuki discreetly watched her auburn haired friend pull out her bento box from her bag. Eagerly, Orihime lifted the top and grabbed a homemade anpan. It was obviously her dessert but Orihime didn't seem to care. She took a hearty bite and squealed happily. "Bwah~! It tastes so good!"

Tatsuki smiled slightly over her dim sum and rice noodle rolls. It was hard for her believe Orihime hardly had any friends. The girl was exceptionally kind and loyal. For some reason, their fellow school mates had the impression that Orihime was arrogant. Tatsuki thought they simply mistook her shyness as pretension.

Tatsuki had to admit, she had been surprised when she befriended Orihime and realized all the allegations about her were false. She was not conceited or rude like the other girls said. In fact, Tatsuki had the feeling that Orihime didn't see her own beauty and was actually a lot more insecure than she let on.

"Ne, would you like some?" offered Orihime, a sprinkle of crumbs adorning her face.

"No thanks," said Tatsuki. "It looks delicious but I have to stick to my diet. Coach wants us to avoid too many sweets."

"Oh, okay then."

Orihime began eating some of her teriyaki. Right away, Tatsuki noticed Orihime's stardust filled eyes glaze over like morning dew. It was a look that indicated her mind was elsewhere in a far away place made up of her thoughts and dreams.

"So," started Tatsuki, "do you like your new bodyguard?"

Orihime broke from her trance and turned a light shade of pink. "H-Huh?"

"I was asking whether or not you like that scary looking bodyguard of yours."

"Ichigo isn't scary looking," defended Orihime who fixated her attention to her meal.

"Didn't you notice his ugly scowl or his hands?"

Orihime squirmed in her seat, feeling bubbles of anxiety. "I think he has a strong face, that's all. And so are his hands."

Tatsuki frowned, catching the way her tone turned tender. The only other time Orihime sounded that way was when she spoke of her brother, Sora. "But they have scars on them."

Orihime appeared genuinely perplexed. "So?"

"They looked self inflicted."

Delicate eyebrows furrowed together in worry and bewilderment. "Self inflicted—?"

The bell rang indicating the end of lunch. Around the two friends, the other students gathered their trash and things, preparing to head back to class. Orihime stood up and began clearing her spot, determined to not look directly at Tatsuki. She could feel the other girl's probing gaze, persistently searching for what she was hiding.

In all honesty, Orihime wanted to confess to Tatsuki the strange feelings she was experiencing. It was difficult to understand why she was so enthralled by Ichigo or why she found herself longing to get closer to him, she barely knew Ichigo and that bothered her.

Suddenly, Orihime stumbled backwards and barely managed to catch her balance. The girl who had bumped into Orihime's shoulder faltered. "Sorry—" She halted when she saw it was Orihime and then turned away coldly. "Get out of the way."

"Hey," snapped Tatsuki. "Apologize to Orihime."

The girl hesitated, crumbling under the kung fu prodigy's glower. She was at a loss, unsure whether to stand her ground or risk being snapped in half. However, she did not need to make up her mind.

"It's alright, Tatsuki," said Orihime quietly. "Please, just let it go."

"But Orihime—"

Orihime bowed her head at the girl, her hair shielding her face. "My apologies."

Neither Tatsuki nor the girl knew what to say or do, both were taken aback. Hastily, Orihime grabbed her bag and rushed out. If she was quick enough, she could stop by the restroom to wash her face before class started.

"Do that again," threatened Tatsuki when the girl continued to stand rooted to the floor, "and I'll personally make sure your mouth winds up on the other side of your head."

:

Orihime stepped out of the school's gate along with the other students pouring out. She glanced around for a familiar head of orange hair. She found Ichigo leaning against the car, smoking a cigarette and hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses. He had distanced himself from the drivers and other bodyguards. Like herself, Ichigo received many unfriendly looks.

Quickening her pace, Orihime went on to join him. She offered a smile that filled her face. Ichigo simply palmed the cigarette and helped her into the car, his frown still chiseled.

Neither said anything for a while. Orihime stared out the window as they headed home and then realized something. "We're taking a different way home."

"That's right."

Orihime pondered and then grinned cheekily. "I get it. Smart."

Ichigo said nothing in response. It was hard not to feel foolish around her. He inched down the window, hoping the fresh air would clear his mind. Orihime's scent was beginning to make Ichigo dizzy.

Orihime turned to him. "Did you like school, Ichigo?"

"No."

"Not at all?" pressed Orihime.

"No."

Orihime leaned into Ichigo, unaware that she was treading into dangerous territory. "But why not?"

Ichigo hoped Orhime would just shut up. This was exactly why he did not think he was cut for the job. He did not like sharing information about himself. To make matter worse, Orihime seemed eager to find out everything he wanted to keep a secret. Jaw clenched, he focused on driving.

"Hmmm?"

Sighing, Ichigo said brusquely, "My school wasn't like yours."

"How so?"

Ichigo didn't want to remember the many years in military school. "It was brutal," said Ichigo. "There was no Tatsuki or Ochi-sensei."

"So you were unhappy?"

"Being unhappy is a state of mind. I never thought about it."

"Oh . . ."

Orihime contemplated how to get past the stone walls Ichigo had built. She needed a way in. Her gaze flickered to Ichigo's scarred hands on the steering wheel. Tatsuki's worrisome words echoed in the back of Orihime's mind. Then she tentatively reached out. "What happened to . . ."

Soft fingertips touched Ichigo.

". . . your hand?"

Ichigo winced and immediately jerked away. Such a simple act caused a ripple of fire to run up his forearm. He shot Orihime a glare that had her reeling. Teeth grounded, he snarled, "No more questions."

A sliver of guilt made its way into Ichigo as Orihime shrank away from him. But it didn't stop Ichigo from speaking coldly, he had decided. "I'm not paid to be your friend. I'm paid to protect to you." Heavy silence filled the space between Ichigo and Orihime. When he finally glimpsed over, he found Orihime staring straight ahead, her chin quivering. Exasperated, Ichigo muttered, "And don't start crying."

Long lashes covered Orihime's eyes. "I'm not crying."

But she was.

Ichigo stopped at a red light. It startled him how much it hurt to see Orihime cry. It wasn't right, she wasn't fit for tears. Honestly, he preferred her smiling. "Look," said Ichigo, "this is the way I am. I don't like questions. I—"

And she was out the door.

"Shit," cursed Ichigo. He shoulder-opened his door and bolted out. By the time he barely straightened himself up, Orihime was already getting back into the car but this time it was the backseat.

The light turned green and angry drivers honked their horns. Ichigo raked his hair and returned inside the car.

"You can take me home now, Kurosaki-san."

Ichigo glanced back at Orihime through the rearview mirror. She avoided his eye, looking anywhere but at him. As the chorus of horns persisted, Ichigo shifted the car into gear and stepped on the gas pedal.