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It is often said that the pregnancy glow is not a real thing: there’s no radiance, no unusual light in the eyes, and definitely no additional joy that comes with it because of the physical toll it takes on the body. But as far as Ichigo is concerned – Orihime is shining brighter than any star, even more so now.
Despite his numerous attempts to get her to settle down a little and rest more in such a tender condition, her determination to stay active and do exactly what she always does, though with a few extra breaks and more sitting, is nothing short of admirable to him.
As much as she likes her independence, keeping an eye on her whenever Ichigo can is a must; a duty that is arguably more important than anything he has ever done, which, considering his list of achievements, says a lot.
She moves differently now, a bit less agile, a bit more mindful. Looks different too: softer around the edges and gentler in how she carries herself, which has him ready to stand guard around her like a dog any time of the day or night.
It is winter now, even with a lot of layers of clothes with her favorite flowery patterns on them, the bump is still very much there.
In this household, a fruit-to-baby comparison chart currently holds more weight than any holy book to ever exist. So when he messed up and called out the wrong fruit in the morning before leaving for work, Orihime made sure to never ever have it happen again.
He got home later than she did and noticed a little printout held up by berry-shaped magnets on the fridge almost right away. But only when she bolted towards the kitchen and stretched her arms wide with her back turned to the fridge to make sure he doesn’t see, did he pay his full attention, the groceries he got on the way home forgotten for now.
When her hands go to her hips and give him the best annoyed stance she can manage, Ichigo has no choice but to look exceptionally guilty to satiate her need to remind him that earlier that day he messed up an extremely important task.
“Try number two!” she announces, staring him down with all the seriousness she can muster. Though the strict masks cracks rather quickly when she herself takes a quick peek behind her back to make sure she has her information right.
Ichigo tries his best to look stoic in response to her brief scurrying. He might not always get the sentiment behind everything she does, but seeing her carefully spin and twirl like that just to see the printed out chart she certainly spent a lot of time choosing does something complicated to his heart.
She clears her throat authoritatively before hurrying to take the exact same pose she did before. Though in the warm light of the kitchen, filled with mismatched dishes, colorful trinkets she loved buying and displaying, heavy drawn curtains, and her warm presence that screamed of home, she is a vision even when trying her best to look angry.
“Like I said,” she goes on, clearly fighting the urge to look back at the chart one last time. “You receive a second chance. I’m even willing to give you…hmm, let’s see, three options.”
Ichigo perks up at that. He will learn the fruit-to-baby thing eventually for her sake, but narrowing it down to only three options certainly makes things easier. He isn’t an idiot, of course. The baby is far from a poppy seed, but isn’t a watermelon just yet either; the slight curve visible from under the cozy fabrics won’t be quite there for a few more months.
A bit of a competitive spark appears in his eyes seeing how serious she is about it. Knowing Orihime’s nature, she might just go easy on him, but even if she doesn’t, he is sure that a baby quiz is something he can manage.
“Alright, hit me with the options,” he says, ready to give the best intellectual performance of his life.
With his acceptance of the challenge being fast and all of the attention now shifting to the options, Orihime is almost flustered by a sudden responsibility to remember things correctly under the pressure of an expectant gaze.
“Option A: a plum, Option B: a lemon” she says, her tone serious as ever, “Option C: a grapefruit.”
Ichigo does his best to not point out the change in then tone she has when announcing Option C. Being a good husband that he is, he makes sure to appreciate her effort with a nod and his best rendition of a person who is deep in thought. He even taps his chin as if decoding a concept, he’s never stumbled upon before. He stares at her belly for a good measure as if it holds every answer to all the secrets of the universe.
“A grapefruit,” he replies with full confidence. Watching her face, his softens too. “It just…feels right. He is already kind of big in there.”
After a few seconds of deliberation, she smiles, though the fact that he got it wrong in the morning clearly has her thinking up at least some sort of punishment, which she evidently fails at, when instead her eyes keep on darting to him as if waiting for something.
Knowing how to read her moods by now, it’s not hard to guess that he has been forgiven. That alone is enough for him to approach.
Even though she likes to play a very demanding wife from time to time, her usual demeanor always comes back in no time.
At one point her occasional flustered expressions subsided enough for him to miss them, but with a baby on the way all sorts of warm hues are back to being on her face exactly where they belong when he comes to her side.
"There were so many charts, I couldn't choose just one," she mutters, accepting an embrace when Ichigo is close enough to rest his chin on the top of her head, her hair smelling of pastries and vanilla. "We could do a different one every day."
When his eye catches a little stack of papers on one of the open kitchen shelves, the first thing that greets him is a baby-to-forest-animal comparison chart with tiny illustrations to match, he can't help but laugh a little.
"Lucky me, sounds like a solid game show. I'm in."