Orihime worked at a coffee shop near her university. It was a short walk to her classes, she could take home the leftovers and her co-workers were friendly. It was convenient in every way, and she needed the money. She didn't mind that she was poor even a little. She was an industrious worker, cheerfully doing the dishes, taking orders and chatting to the customers. It was odd how she felt as though she belonged there, even with her strange hair, behavior and the fact that she was from out of town.

She loved drawing intricate little designs made out of white foam on coffee, and while working she got to know many of the people who came to the little café. She met interesting people there every day, people she was proud and grateful to call her friends. Like the tall man with sad eyes and white hair who knew more about the Heian era in Japan than anyone else she had ever met, including her Japanese history professor. And his white-haired son, who was some kind of genius and who would always pretend to drink coffee when he was really watching the other waitress, Hinamori, out of the corner of his eye.

There were a lot of regulars besides those two, and they were too many to name. But Orihime always found them easy to talk to and fun to be around. The café was like a second home to her; its warmth was like a cocoon from the outside world. It was like a sanctuary to her.

Until a strange new man appeared there one day.

She saw him first when he was standing outside the little café, looking in through the window; it was only the next day that he actually came in. It was late in the morning for customers; usually they catered to the early morning bagel-and-coffee crowd and the next rush would only be in the afternoon during lunchtime, so Orihime and the rest of the serving staff would use the brief lull to finish up accounts, clean and just talk.

His strange green eyes were the first things she really noticed about him when she absently looked out at the road while wiping the tables. He was standing on the pavement, in a white coat and green scarf, briefcase in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. His eyes seemed to be fixed on her, but she wasn't really sure; one could never say, with the glass reflecting everything at odd angles. She paused at her third table and looked up; yes, he was still there, still looking at her—no, surely she was wrong?

Confused, but still flattered, she straightened up and smiled at him a little tentatively. He didn't reciprocate. She could see now that his gaze had no warmth or friendliness in it; it was clinical and oddly blank. She suddenly felt like a specimen under a microscope, pinned on a glass slide; irrationally she felt as though her insides were being analysed and recorded in neat columns in the man's mind, and they would be tucked away somewhere in case the information was valuable.

Her smile dipped and she looked away. She was unfamiliar with facing such a non-reaction. Uncomfortably aware that he must still be looking through the window, she began mindlessly wiping the tables again. She relied on muscle memory alone, as she let her mind drift to things she needed to do: finish two papers for her art history class by Monday, count the change at the cash register, buy groceries, go shopping for a bridesmaid's dress for Rangiku's wedding, remind the landlord that three taps in the apartment were leaking...

Three minutes later, she finally snapped out of it and realised that she had wiped the same table four times already. Apprehensively, she turned to where the man was. It was a relief to scan the place where he had stood and find it empty.

"What's wrong?" Hinamori asked, emerging from the backroom and holding a clipboard.

"N-Nothing," Orihime stammered, dropping her cloth. She wasn't a very convincing liar, but fortunately Hinamori wasn't the kind of person who would press her for answers.

"I was just doing the inventory," the other girl explained kindly, overlooking Orihime's odd behaviour. She tucked a pen behind her ear as she spoke.

"That suits you," Orihime said blurted, "The bun, I mean…you never wore your hair like that before…" her words faded into an embarrassed silence. But Hinamori just smiled, looking pleased.

"Really?" She asked, self-consciously patting her bun into place.

"I just wanted to, you know, look a little more mature."

"Oh," Orihime said, startled, "You…?"

"Oh, yeah." Hinamori blushed, looking at her shoes, "He's kind of…older than me, I guess. And I don't really have a chance, but I just wanted to anyway."

Orihime smiled uncertainly. Hinamori wasn't the type of person who went around falling in and out of love with wild abandon. She was totally unlike some other people Orihime had met who hadn't enough sense to fill a teaspoon. She was in two of Orihime's classes; minor ones, true, but she and Orihime had already become good friends in the two months that they had known each other. Hinamori had a strong practical streak and was bolstered by her self-confidence, and if she was crushing on someone, then Orihime thought that he really must be something.

"You never know until you try," she said encouragingly, "Nobody cares about age differences anymore, if that is what's stopping you."

Hinamori looked more pained.

"The age thing—I wouldn't care about that—but there's this other…issue," she whispered, looking as though she wanted very badly to disappear.

"Orihime, he's—he's my professor."

Orihime froze. She looked incredulously at Hinamori, who hung her head and looked miserable.

"Well," Orihime said, briskly, forcing herself to recover from the shock, "it's just a crush, right? You'll get over it soon. I mean, plenty of students have crushes on teachers…it's totally normal."

But this wasn't one of those things, Orihime knew. If Hinamori was actually talking to her about this with that blind yearning in her eyes, then she must be a lot further than 'crushing'. In fact, she must be in the general vicinity of 'stupidly in love'.

Hinamori just looked at her; her eyes were blank, as though she hadn't heard a single word of what Orihime had just said.

"Right," she said listlessly, snapping the clipboard loose and handing Orihime a couple of sheets of paper.

"Thanks Orihime. We'll need an exact figure of the change in the register. Manager wants to draft a new regulation about the cash limit."

Orihime nodded obediently. It didn't escape her notice that Hinamori was still somewhat spaced-out.

"I'll get to it right away," she said, grabbing a pencil from a pocket in her apron and walking to the register.

"Thanks," she heard Hinamori calling after her in a small voice.

Orihime sighed as she bent over the wad of notes and piles of loose coins in the till. Her instincts were telling her that this wasn't going to end well for Hinamori. And, of course, there was Hitsugaya, who was on the path towards getting his heart broken over someone who didn't even see him. Life, she thought, shouldn't be so…skewed.

That evening, as she and Hinamori left Hanatarou, Ikkaku and Kira to take over the night shift, Orihime asked Hinamori about the other girl's professor.

"So," she said, keeping her tone deliberately light, "which professor is he? Not in the classes we've together, right? Since those guys have one foot in the grave and all…"

Hinamori, Orihime was relieved to see, laughed. The smile stayed on her face for some time before fading.

"You don't know him," Hinamori said in a low voice, "He's my Psych professor."

"Wait," Orihime said, confused, "Isn't your Psych professor that Shihouin Yoruichi?"

"She left during the second week of term…they just told us it was for 'personal reasons'," Hinamori explained, "So…he came as her replacement. And he's…wonderful. He's so passionate about his subject and he's so patient with everyone. He even answers all the stupid questions I have."

"I'm sure your questions aren't stupid," Orihime said defensively, "Anyway…this Adonis, does he have a name?"

"Aizen," Hinamori breathed, "Aizen Sousuke."

Orihime could see even in the dim light of the streetlamps that Hinamori was blushing. She bit her lip. This was starting to seem even worse than what she had first feared.

"I'm kinda hungry," she said, changing the subject and hefting the paper bag that she was carrying with her, "Want some carrot cake from the café when we get home?"

"Sure," Hinamori said cheerfully, "We should drop by the DVD store…we don't even have classes in the morning."

"Star Wars marathon?" Orihime suggested quickly. She was a huge fan of science fiction movies, and Star Wars was her favourite space opera ever. Hinamori rolled her eyes.

"If that's what it takes," she said in a long-suffering way.

END OF PART 1

A/N: I wanted to do a romance fic with Orihime and Ulquiorra. This is my first real longfic, so I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me what you think.

Please review!