You weren’t sure what was worse — the crushing emptiness of Las Noches, or the nonstop sunshine that was Orihime Inoue.

When Aizen gave you the task of keeping an eye on her, you thought it was a punishment. You were an Espada, dammit. You had power, purpose, a sharp uniform — not a babysitting gig. But apparently, Aizen thought your “resting murder face” would keep her in check. Big mistake.

Day one, she smiled at you.

Smiled.

You’d killed Menos with less effort than it took to not roll your eyes.

"Good morning!" she chirped, seated cross-legged on the edge of her bed like this prison cell was some tea shop.

"This isn’t a bed-and-breakfast," you grumbled, arms crossed, leaning against the wall like a brooding statue. "You're a hostage."

"Mmm... but do hostages usually get seaweed bread and tea?" she held up the tray with the softest expression, like she wasn’t locked in a palace of despair and spiritual horror. "I made extra."

You refused it the first five times. You made the mistake of tasting it on day six. You’d had better tea. But not from someone who giggled when you accidentally coughed it up.

Time passed weirdly in Hueco Mundo. There was no night or day, only dim skies and dumb orders. But she — Orihime — she brought color. She talked a lot. About her friends, about Earth food, about how clouds looked like bunnies sometimes. It was nauseating.

And kind of... warm.

You never said much, but she didn’t mind. You’d grunt, and she’d interpret it like a whole sentence.

“I see! You’re just like a cat. Grumpy, but secretly soft.”

“I’m not a cat.”

"You totally are."

You didn’t like the way she smiled when she said that. Or maybe you did. Ugh.

When Kurosaki Ichigo came storming into Las Noches like a brainless shōnen protagonist, you knew it would come to this. You were still an Espada. Still loyal — or at least obligated. And you couldn’t let her go. Not after she made you laugh once, accidentally, with a pun about bread.

So, you fought him.

You went hard. The battle cracked towers and reality alike. But the moment his hollow form burst from his broken body, you knew you were screwed.

He didn’t even hesitate.

He wiped the floor with you.

And as you lay bleeding into the cold stone, you waited for the end — ready to die for your twisted sense of duty, for the honor of a king who didn’t care.

Then she was there.

Hovering.

Crying.

"Don’t die," she whispered, her voice trembling, her hand glowing.

You wanted to tell her not to waste her time.

But your voice was gone.

You felt your body stitching back together. Your chest warming, your breath returning. You wanted to say thank you. You wanted to say, why?

Instead, you said: “You're an idiot.”

She smiled through her tears. “Takes one to know one.”

You opened her door.

She turned around in surprise.

"You’re free," you muttered, already regretting this.

"And you?"

"I... have nowhere else to go."

You still don’t know why she took your hand.

But when you stepped out of Las Noches together, the sky over Hueco Mundo turned blue.

Just like Earth's. Where you're trying to live.

With her.

You don’t know why she keeps burning the rice, or why her friends keep texting you with heart emojis, or why she insists on watching cooking shows with you even though you’re a war criminal and don’t understand reality TV.

She still makes you tea.

You still pretend to hate it.

And every time she says "I’m glad you didn’t die," you answer with a grunt, a twitch, and a muttered: "Me too."

Even if she never stops calling you “kitty.”