►Oh how I love this pairing — sweet Ishida would do something like this, I think. :D
o2 sick: ishidaorihime.
The curtains rustle, and beyond the sounds of trees shedding their crinkled leaves in an endless flow of burnished autumn rain, there is no other sound. Inside his head is a bottomless sea, swimming with colors and resonances that melt into another and yet stand out sharply.
Dappled sunshine breaks through the crystal panes and flows in from the half opened window. Shafts of shimmering gold trace the edges of her lashes and fall into the contours of her angelic face. His head is a heavy weight, just shy of her more slender, fragile body. Consciousness comes slowly to him and he wakes with a start, as if he did not know that he was waking.
Orihime looks serene and content — her brilliant auburn hair spilt about her head in a wreathe of orange blossoms, fire flowers, and tiger lilies — despite the low fever flushing her porcelain cheeks in a rose-tinted glow and warming her skin. Worriedly, he tenderly brushes a knuckle against her sweaty forehead and pushes away from the bed, resolving to boil more leeks. He does not see thick lashes bat; petite shoulders rise and fall. Crystalline irises flutter.
He does stop because something is rooting him to the spot — her small, frail hand barely manages a weak hold on the sleeve of his shirt. And yet it is this single, fragile gesture that has more staying power than any chains and locks and cages and all the horribly natural things in the world. Sometimes, he wonders if she knows this.
A frown envelopes her mouth as she quietly asks, "Ishida-kun, did you stay up all night?"
Ishida nods, unable to keep from flushing a bright shade of pink; the beautiful Orihime giggles softly, directing a small, genuine smile towards his slightly bewildered face.
"I'll take care of you when you get sick next, okay?"
They smile together. Laugh together. Hold each other's hands.
And together, they heal.