A/N: Sorry it's late, I've been so busy! One day isn't too bad, right? DX

So, guys, this is the last chapter, and I hope it's okay! It was fairly hard to write, but I'm too tired to try to change anything now. (Been ill the whole night)

Great response to last chapter, danke schon to:

Frailgraphics

silentman97

Rainbow Fruit Loop

dragonballzlover2499

Seaweed. Is. My. Name

and LeftHRyder! Thanks again! x

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its characters. All credit to Kubo-sama. That sounds like a Mario character...probably because I don't play Mario. (Or any video games, really) XD

Explanation

If Ulquiorra is alarmed when I suddenly burst into my bedroom and break down crying, he doesn't show it. After all, it's happened many times in the past.

However, after a full quarter of an hour of me sobbing my heart out and not even hinting at any signs of stopping, he finally speaks up.

"Orihime? What is wrong?"

I only cry harder in response, bordering on hysterical now.

"Orihime?" I can hear some diluted form of panic in his voice. I don't think he's ever seen me cry this badly since Anwynne died.

I finally hiccup to a halt, though tears still stream down my face. I look up at him, not ashamed, even though my face must be a huge mess of tears and snot by now. He's seen worse.

"I…I asked out Kurosaki-kun today," I tell him softly, using the Japanese suffix at the end of the name out of habit; Sora's rubbed off on me. I know Ulquiorra knows who Kurosaki Ichigo is. I talk about my friends to him often.

Ulquiorra doesn't say anything, but I know he understands. Ulquiorra always understands.

It's not like I actually expected Ichigo to accept my offer. But…I don't know. I guess I wasn't quite as ready for rejection as I thought.

I'm not even entirely sure why I'm this worked up, either. He was never the first and foremost in my mind in that respect.

But then the one who is is unobtainable as well.

My crying starts again.

Ulquiorra looks sad as he stares at me from under his long fringe that never seems to get to the point where it needs a trim, no matter how many years pass.

"Do not fret, Orihime. The pain will fade, and meanwhile I shall try my hardest to push it to the very back of your mind," he reassures me, making me want to fling myself at him and sob on his shoulder, purely because I can't.

Ulquiorra does always understand.

But there's an exception to every rule.

I don't even care that much about Kurosaki-kun's rejection anymore, not really. I don't think I ever did. He was always a backup plan, something to fall back on when Plan A didn't work out.

Well, perhaps not quite so cruel. I do feel something for him. But it's only a shadow of something much deeper, stronger and more painful.

But now that Plan B's failed too…I have nothing to fall back on. No safety net. Nothing to quench the agony of wanting…wanting so much, but not being able to have.

I've stopped crying now, but only because I have no more tears left. Ulquiorra's worry hasn't lessened either; there's a tiny furrow between his eyebrows that only appears when something's really troubling him.

"…This isn't about Kurosaki, is it?" he states wearily, running a hand through his hair.

Now I'm the one to be worried. Maybe listening to all my problems is trying for Ulquiorra. Maybe he'll just give up one day and disappear, never to reveal himself to me again.

"Orihime, tell me what's making you so upset," he demands, pushing his face forward so I can't help but notice every single fleck of emerald, jade and malachite in his concerned eyes.

And suddenly, it all bursts like a balloon waiting to explode, and I can't control myself as I fling my arms around his neck and bury my face in the crook of his neck.

A split second later, though, and I'm drawing back in shock and astonishment.

Because he's not just a mirage, a figment of my imagination.

He's warm.

Solid.

And most definitely, shockingly, real.

My frazzled brain can't take it anymore, and I leap off the bed and scramble out of my room, slamming the door behind me. But it's not enough, and I run out of the house as well, my feet pounding on the pavement as I sprint away with no intention other than to get away from the source of the horrible confusion churning around sickeningly in my brain.

And perhaps sort myself out as well.

After nearly fifteen minutes, I reach a bench and collapse on it. I was never the fittest girl in the class, and running that fast for so long has completely exhausted me.

My heart though, even at rest, is hammering like a drum.

Because Ulquiorra's real.

He's really real.

And he lied to me.

I shake my head in disbelief. I've told him everything over the past nine years, and got to know him well enough to be certain that he really does want to help me. If he lied, there has to be a good reason.

He's not human, though. He hasn't aged a day since I saw him for the first time.

And suddenly the thought's a lot scarier when I know he's not just a projection of my version of the perfect guy.

But…

That means he isn't just some person I made up subconsciously when my mind was at its most vulnerable.

That means I can love him without feeling guilty, or dirty.

That means he might just be able to love me back.

I hoist myself up off the bench and set off towards my house again. I really did run far; I hope Ulquiorra won't be too worried when I get back home.

Ulquiorra.

What if he thought I didn't want him anymore?

Will he have disappeared, leaving me with a huge, gaping hole where my heart used to be?

I start sprinting again, paying no heed to the excruciating stitch in my side.

He can't be gone.

I have to find him.

I'm on my street now, only a few more metres left to go.

I run through the still-unlocked front door, almost falling with my momentum as I turn the corner into the corridor.

I fling the door to my bedroom open, breathless and flushed.

And there he is, sitting on my bed and looking right at me.

Just has he's always been.

I collapse there and then, crumpling into a heap of sweat, limbs and exhaustion.

"Ulquiorra…" I pant, not managing to say any more.

"Yes, Orihime?"

"I…I'm so glad…you're still here."

"So am I."

I look up at him, and smile breathlessly from my position prostrated on the carpet.

He seems to deliberate, then comes to a decision and stands up.

The feeling I get when his warm hands work their way under my arms to pull me upright is nothing less than pure, undiluted relief.

He's still here, and he's definitely real.

He's real.

I still can't get over it.

I fling my arms around his neck for the second time that day (in my life?) and hug him as hard as I can. He returns it gingerly, but I can tell that it's inexperience that is the cause of his hesitation, not distaste.

I pull back a moment later, and slap him hard across the face. Then I embrace him again.

He's quite discombobulated now, so I take pity on him and decide to confront the situation in a way that a non-hysterical male would understand.

"Explain. Now."

He blinks, and obliges. "From when I was five years of age to when I was eighteen, I had a best friend," he starts.

"What happened when you were eighteen?" I prompt, wondering whether it was something similar to what I had experienced at seven.

"He murdered me," comes the simple answer.

I look at him blankly for a good few seconds before the information sinks in. "You're dead?" I squeak, absolutely flabbergasted.

He rolls his eyes exasperatedly and shakes his head fondly. "Yes, but that isn't the main point here."

"Then what is?" I'm at a loss for what could possibly be more important than the fact that my best friend for nearly a decade is deceased.

Then I remember. "Oh." It must be hard to have the person you care for most…uh, kill you. "Why?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but when I look back on my life, I realise he wasn't exactly the sanest person in this universe. I think he just snapped one day."

"Right…" I say, unconvinced, but talking about this evidently makes Ulquiorra uncomfortable, so I leave it for now. There'll be plenty of time later, after all.

"Anyway, around five decades after my death, I—"

"You've been dead for fifty years?" I ask dumbly, in what my brother would call an 'Orihime Moment'.

He levels a look at me. "Nearing sixty now. But again, that is irrelevant. Fifty years after my death, I saw a small girl get hit by a car while she was playing outside her house. I knew in moments that she would never live, and also that she would have a friend somewhere, waiting to see their playmate again. In that moment, I felt a potent urge to protect this friend of the little deceased girl, and provide her with the support I never had after I was separated from my own friend."

I lower my gaze, saddened by the thought of what he would have had to go through.

He lifts my chin up to look me in the eyes, and continues his tale. "So I watched the house of the late girl, until another child, that I knew was the friend I had been waiting for, came to the house to inquire after her companion. After she was bluntly told what has transpired, she walked back to her own accommodation, seeming to be alone there, despite her young age. I then took it upon myself to become visible to her, and only her, in order to aid her through what would undoubtedly be the most challenging period of her life. However, even after that time was passed, I still felt the need to be near her, to help her with her troubles and to comfort her. But I couldn't tell her what I was, because it would trouble her and make her life harder than it was meant to be. So I lied to her for nine years, pretending I was a figment of her imagination. And here we are," he finishes softly, deciding to skip the rest of the story, as I had been there for most of it.

I smile up at him shyly, and tentatively place my hand on his cheek. I'm still not accustomed to being able to touch him whenever I feel like it.

"I'm so glad you stayed," I tell him honestly, the words emerging from my throat as barely a whisper. I have to tell him now, the thing that's been on my mind for the past few weeks, though I hid it well. And it's scary, but not overwhelming.

Because this is Ulquiorra.

And I can tell him anything.

I take a long, deep breath. "I love you," I breathe.

He goes very still, then closes his eyes as if pained.

I inhale sharply, suddenly petrified that he never thought of me as anything more than a friend, and that this will drive a wedge between us that we could never dislodge.

I wait in dreadful anticipation, hoping for the best, but as the minutes tick by, my mind is gradually permeated by the awful realisation that the most likely thing to happen now is the worst.

Or one of the 'worst's, anyway. There is only one best in this scenario, and anything else will probably break my heart.

I'm a selfish being, but that's human nature.

While I watch Ulquiorra, the smooth column of his throat contracts and relaxes as he swallows. He slides open his eyes slowly, effectively piercing me with his startling, poignant gaze.

"It can never work," he tells me gently, even tenderly.

But no amount of tenderness can stop my heart from fracturing into a million tiny shards. Two rejections in one day is really taking it a bit too far.

My shoulders slump, and my hand falls from his face. "I see," I state emptily, shifting my gaze to the floor as I determinedly battle against the tears threatening to flood my vision. I cannot make him feel even guiltier than he evidently already does with my pointless tears.

"Not because I don't want to. I do want to," Ulquiorra confesses, which only serves to confuse me more.

"Then why?" I demand, not wanting to push him, but doing so anyway, because it's my heart he broke just now.

"Orihime…" he sighs, running a hand through his thick, raven hair. "I am nearing eighty years old now. You are seventeen. I'm not even human. You can do so much better than me."

I snap my head up to meet his gaze, stunned. "Better than you?" I spit out, absolutely floored.

He doesn't answer, only looks at me mournfully. For someone who claims to not be in close contact with his emotions, he's got his kicked puppy look down to a T.

"Ulquiorra, maybe I can do better than you. I could go to uni, get a lovely, human boyfriend who would be sweet to me and love me entirely. I could get married and have a family, grandchildren even." His eyes dim behind the vibrant irises, and he nods affirmation, though I know he's dying on the inside. "But I don't want any of that. I don't want anything if it isn't with you," I tell him, expecting another rejection, but not really prepared for it. I doubt I ever could be.

He looks surprised to say the least, his eyebrows raising a fraction of an inch and his eyes widening to the point where they're almost bigger than his face. "But…why?" he asks helplessly, evidently nonplussed.

"Because I love you, and I want to be with you, and I don't care if you're dead. You've been with me throughout my entire life, and I can't imagine being without you." I know I sound cringe-worthily cheesy, but I'm beyond caring at this point.

"I will not be able to age with you," he warns, as if he thinks I'll care.

"Edward couldn't age with Bella, and they get married in the end," I tell him airily, gesturing with my hand as if to wave his protest away.

"If I remember correctly from your ramblings about the saga, the heroine became immortal as well soon afterwards." Damn. I was hoping he wouldn't remember that.

"That's irrelevant," I quote him, "The point is: I don't care if you can't age with me. I've thought about it, at length, and have come to the indisputable conclusion that I won't – can't – be happy without you."

Ulquiorra looks at me with pain evident in his features. "I want you to be happy."

"So let me."

"But when you…pass on, I…" he trails off, wincing.

I smile in sympathy. "Would it really hurt less if you'd only ever been my friend?" I ask him.

He doesn't hesitate. "No. If possible, it would hurt more. I want to live your life with you the very best I can."

"Me too." I lean in slowly, not wanting to alarm him. I mean, it must have been a while if he's been deceased for half a century.

My fears are unneeded, though, as he grasps my face in his hands and presses his lips to mine almost hungrily, crushing our bodies together until there is nothing separating us.

I feel lightheaded, twining my arms around his neck to stay upright as I return his kiss with equal fervour.

I've waited so long for this.

We both have.

His tongue forces its way into my mouth and entangles itself with my own, causing me to let out a slightly embarrassing yelp of surprise that quickly morphs into a moan of desire when he bites down tenderly on my lower lip.

I tug on his hair and run my hands through the silken locks, still revelling in the feeling of it.

He seems to be exploiting our new discovery of physical contact too, memorising my face with his fingertips and letting his hands drift down to rest on my collarbone.

The passion of the kiss gradually dwindles into a slow-burning warmth, and Ulquiorra pulls away gently, smiling at me slightly with warm eyes.

"I believe the emotion I am currently feeling would be happiness," he tells me, resting his head on my shoulder and brushing the tip of his nose up and down my neck. "I don't ever want it to stop."

I squeeze him as hard as I can, probably cutting off his air supply, but he doesn't complain. I never want this feeling to stop either.

And the incredible thing is that it won't.

Finis.

A/N: Writing 'finis' at the end of things is so sad! But cool, cos it's Latin! (I think.) O.O

See you guys another time, maybe?

Heart tii-chan17. (I've got into the habit of using the word 'heart' instead of 'love'. It sounds better. Like, I Heart London T-Shirts!)