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Tokyo. 7 AM. International Airport. A red-haired girl, elbows resting on her knees, waited, her gaze shifting between the flight information board and the arrival windows. She had already been at the airport for an hour and a half, waiting. She had arrived at the crack of dawn, before the sun had even thought of rising, and now she sat frozen in anticipation, a tremor in her fingertips. The beginning of August had turned out cooler and rainier than expected, so Orihime was bundled in a bulky sweater that was noticeably too big for her, despite wearing a short pleated skirt reminiscent of a school uniform. She hadn't slept all night; she simply couldn't force herself to rest for even a few hours after her shift at the same old bakery.
She was waiting. The last few days had passed with agonizing slowness, perhaps even slower than a snail's pace. Hour by hour, minute by minute. And even now, when it seemed like the wait was almost over, just fifteen or twenty minutes until the plane landed – the plane on the "London–Tokyo" route. Distant London, which had taken away a person dear to her for what felt like an eternity, a truly long year.
They kept in touch sometimes, exchanging short snippets of news, but nothing more. Ichigo had flown back to Japan for a week and a half at Christmas, but even during those brief holidays, they barely had a moment to themselves: Kurosaki was in high demand – duties in the Soul Society, family, friends, like Chad, who had also come to Karakura, insistently carving out every free minute. So they had seen each other rarely – a couple of times during his visit, and always in the company of mutual friends. She was afraid that the long pause would create an awkwardness between them, one that would prevent them from regaining their former ease. Moreover, their bond was complicated enough as it was. Back in the first month after his departure for London, during one of their long phone calls, broken by the distance, they had seriously discussed the possibility of starting a relationship, but quickly realized: now wasn't the time. Studies, work, the distance again, and their feelings themselves hadn't yet matured. From the age of fifteen, they had been used to saving the world, not sorting out their own desires. And so they decided to postpone that difficult but necessary conversation until they had grown up enough to understand if they needed each other for more than just comrades in arms.
Spending the remaining time in pessimistic thoughts, Inoue, still staring at the board but definitely not seeing any changes on it, didn't even notice that the plane she had been waiting for so long had finally landed.
Some time later, as weary passengers from the long flight trudged in a chaotic cluster through the arrivals area, one tall, red‑haired guy, sleepily rubbing his eyes, moved slowly but purposefully towards the baggage carousel, where people were already crowded, waiting for their luggage. Ichigo too hoped that his large suitcase and equally large travel bag wouldn't keep him waiting long. Despite having slept through most of the flight, Kurosaki's body, especially his eyelids, still felt heavy as lead, and all he wanted was to get home and get a proper rest for at least a couple of hours. After all, flying is quite an exhausting ordeal. He had warned his family that he would arrive in the morning, so he asked them not to come. Let them sleep; by the time they woke up, he'd already be home. In his dear, cozy home, which he had missed immeasurably. Out of the corner of his eye, while waiting for his luggage, he saw other passengers being met by family and loved ones, and perhaps he would have liked to have been met too, but his family's comfort mattered more to him. What difference did it make where they met: at the airport or at home?
Getting his baggage surprisingly quickly, the guy headed for the airport exit through the very large hall, where small groups of relatives and friends stood waiting for arriving passengers, where airport employees ambled unhurriedly somewhere, and others were simply heading for the exit. He was waiting for the moment he would step out of the airport and be able to take a deep breath of the local air. As if the air in Japan was truly different somehow.
As Ichigo, frowning habitually, passed by the rows of chairs, he noticed a familiar crown of red hair at the very last moment. The girl was standing by one of the rows, looking timidly in his direction, holding a small bag in her hand. Stopping, the guy turned fully towards her and looked closer: had he imagined it, or was his sleep‑fogged mind conjuring up a dear image? No, of course not. He would never mistake her for anyone else, because that was simply impossible. He could never make such a mistake.
Orihime didn't notice him right away. Absorbed in thoughts that clouded her mind and pulled her towards sleep, she only noticed the guy near the baggage carousel. Orihime's heart began to beat so hard it felt like it might give out. They hadn't seen each other for about half a year. And Inoue even thought he looked taller. Ichigo walked with a slight slouch. His so familiar, now beloved silhouette, clad in a baggy hoodie and worn‑out jeans.
Orihime wanted to call out to him and go to meet him, but when Ichigo walked past her with an almost glassy look, she hesitated. Maybe he wasn't happy to see her? Annoyed? Had something really changed? Not knowing what to do, the girl stood rooted to the spot and simply continued to watch him go. Her heart filled with bitterness, so sharp, washing over her in a wave and knocking her off balance. Perhaps it was just the lack of sleep affecting her, but her eyes quickly filled with tears.
Ichigo could clearly see that she was on the verge of tears. He knew that Inoue didn't like to show tears. And who does? But he didn't want these eyes to ever cry again. There had been enough circumstances that had made her cry, but not now. Ichigo looked at her in slight disbelief. In that big sweater, she seemed even smaller, though she had always been much smaller than him. A faint, tired, but warm, utterly sincere smile formed on his lips. Catching up to her with quick strides, Kurosaki stopped right in front of her. She was still standing there, holding back tears.
— Orihime, — after a long silence, his voice came out hoarse, lower than usual, but it was filled with the same warmth as his smile, — hi.
He spoke quietly, as if wishing to be heard only by her. Even though the surrounding noise was a chaos of voices from other passengers, employees, and working machines, announcements, Ichigo was sure she could hear him.
— Hi, — the girl greeted uncertainly, gripping her small bag tighter.
Ichigo was at a loss, but, pulling himself together, he took the last step and pulled the equally tired Inoue to him. She, burying her face in his chest, let out an unrestrained sob. She couldn't hold it in anymore.
— Hey, come on, — the guy smoothed Orihime's tangled red hair and gave a kind chuckle.
— I thought you weren't happy to see me. That you were angry, — Orihime blurted out honestly, childishly, without hiding anything, and blushed a little.
After the war with Yhwach ended, they had grown closer, unconsciously. They communicated more often, not only about Shinigami and such, but also about other, detached topics. Like ordinary teenagers. The wall of awkwardness had crumbled during their farewell, when Ichigo left for London. And now, despite the obvious lack of communication, they were still among the most precious people to each other.
— That's nonsense, — Ichigo placed his other palm on the girl's waist and hugged her a little tighter. — I just wasn't expecting anyone. It was unexpected, but a very pleasant surprise.
— I waited so much, — the confession slipped from her lips as if it were the most ordinary thing.
— Me too, — Ichigo still held the girl close, speaking into the top of her head.
They looked like a couple who had been in a relationship for a long time. And the people passing by had no doubts.
— You look really tired. Did you even sleep?
— Of course, — the girl answered sharply, without thinking about the question.
She was a bad liar.
— So, you didn't sleep, — the guy shook his head disapprovingly and, giving the girl a moment, let her go.
She looked at Ichigo bewilderedly. What would happen next? But it seemed Ichigo himself didn't have such thoughts in his head. Taking the handle of his suitcase, he extended his free hand to the girl, just like back then, on the half‑destroyed tower of Las Noches. Orihime gazed at this gesture, mesmerised, as it threw her back several years. Had they really managed to survive all of that and still end up reasonably happy? There was a time when it seemed to her that those problems had no end, that at some point they wouldn't be able to bear it. But now, when behind the outstretched hand there were no mortally wounded friends and enemies thirsting for blood and greatness, she understood that her personal happiness had finally arrived. Next to the person dear to her heart.
— Ready?
— Yes, of course, — she said, timidly placing her hand in his warm and slightly rough one, Inoue smiled. Finally.
— On the way home, you can tell me what's happened here while I was away, — there was absolutely no awkwardness between them.
Ichigo knew then what he was going to do. He held the girl's hand firmly, instilling confidence in her. Now he definitely wouldn't let her go, unless she herself wanted it. And Orihime left the choice up to the guy.
Taking the first taxi available near the airport, Ichigo made sure Inoue got into the back seat first and, after loading the suitcase and bag into the trunk, got in on the other side of the back seat as well. They had a rather long journey ahead. Ichigo sent a short message to his father: "I'm in a taxi, will be home soon" and turned off the sound on his phone, wanting to enjoy the peace next to Orihime. She watched the road, jammed with cars, and the infrequently changing skyscrapers with tired eyes: the morning rush hour. And Ichigo, instead of also enjoying the Tokyo views, looked only at her. He had missed the girl terribly. Life in London was interesting, his studies engaging, and the people around him had a very different mentality from the Japanese. It was genuinely peaceful without Hollows suddenly appearing and spontaneous Shinigami visits. But the people he held dear weren't there. And she wasn't there. Of course, Ichigo didn't regret studying in London: after all, such an opportunity doesn't come along often. But he sometimes regretted the time spent away. Now, however, he could clearly see what kind of future he wanted to live in, and most importantly, with whom. And that person was right here, within arm's reach.
After a few minutes of silence, which wasn't oppressive or burdensome, Kurosaki was about to ask the girl something, but noticed that she had gone limp, awkwardly leaning against the window, and was snoring very softly. Ichigo gave a kind chuckle: just as he thought, she'd fallen asleep right away. She must have been working herself up. Scooting a little closer, he carefully leaned her against himself and put an arm around her. Let her rest: she was clearly much more anxious than Ichigo himself. And they had an incredible amount of time to talk now. Now he definitely wouldn't lose her.