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Orihime sits beside his bed—just as she’s done for five years. She wears his favorite blue dress with the flowers embroidered on the hem, and her long orange hair remains free. She looks at him expectedly, hoping her appearance will spark some reaction from him. It doesn't—just as it hasn't for five years.
Orihime leans closer to the bed, her elbows resting on the sheet, and grabs one of his immobile hands in both of hers. His hand is solid and warm, and Orihime kisses the worn skin on his knuckles before laying her head on them. "I'm here," she says, "and waiting."
She kisses the crisscrossing scars on his fingers and hand. She smiles and ponders if anyone coming into this world could ever match the beauty, strength, and bravery he had held before it became too much.
Probably never.
She sits back up and looks into his face. She gazes lovingly at the lines around the man's mouth, proof the man use to live a good life. And then her mind wonders again if or when this wonderful man will grace the world with his heroics. When will she witness his strong back protecting the weak, the world, and protecting her?
She gazes out into the night outside and closes her eyes. She listens to the sounds of his heart monitor and mentally checks off another year without Ichigo Kurosaki's lively spirit.