He had an awful, terrible habit of getting hurt, after all. They all did, really. By now, it was an all too familiar feeling -- after so long, the dread sinking in her stomach stopped being such a big deal; she drank fizzy medicine instead, told Tatsuki it was okay and that it probably wasn't an ulcer when her friend worried over her. Still, Orihime knew that by the end of it all, she would be kneeling next to their bodies, patching them up in little pieces that sometimes still turned her stomach to watch. ( But she could handle stomach pains -- she could handle anything as long as they were alright. )
It was harder though, when Ishida-kun outright rejected her offers to heal him. Ishida-san had called her, and she remembered there was panic then as well; marginally less, perhaps, than now. Because Ishida-kun was treated; because there had been a tone in Ishida senior's voice when he offhandedly asserted that his idiot son was okay; because Ishida-san had lit a cigarette right there in the waiting room, and Orihime realized that no amount of her own worry would be enough to help.
Her worry wouldn't help here, either. She knew this well. And if she really tried, she'd be able to be as calm, or at least normal like she had been that night at the hospital... and then maybe they'd be able to have a quiet breakfast between the two of them -- but no.
The fact of the matter was that there was no one else to worry (no one else to smoke over you, here). Even outside of the foreign setting, they were both lonely people, or at the very least alone. Sometimes she thought he was worse for it than she was, because at least she had people surrounding her, she had more than enough. He pushed away while she pulled, and empathy had her feeling lonely in his place instead; perhaps it was just selfishness then, because she felt even lonelier still, that he'd pull away from her in the first place. For (not) the first time, she realized how difficult it was to help him, that she really didn't know how to when he was being like this.
At least we know how to help ourselves.
"No," she replied -- we can't talk standing, but her voice was kept calm and modulated. She straightened her posture and her expression mellowed; after all, she noticed the nurses, too. "I really don't think Ishida-kun should push himself." Orihime smiled at him, a small smile, her brow crinkling with what could be worry, what could be wry amusement as she lifted her arm and
slapped him hard smack-dab in the center of his back with the palm of her hand.
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He had an awful, terrible habit of getting hurt, after all. They all did, really. By now, it was an all too familiar feeling -- after so long, the dread sinking in her stomach stopped being such a big deal; she drank fizzy medicine instead, told Tatsuki it was okay and that it probably wasn't an ulcer when her friend worried over her. Still, Orihime knew that by the end of it all, she would be kneeling next to their bodies, patching them up in little pieces that sometimes still turned her stomach to watch. ( But she could handle stomach pains -- she could handle anything as long as they were alright. )
It was harder though, when Ishida-kun outright rejected her offers to heal him. Ishida-san had called her, and she remembered there was panic then as well; marginally less, perhaps, than now. Because Ishida-kun was treated; because there had been a tone in Ishida senior's voice when he offhandedly asserted that his idiot son was okay; because Ishida-san had lit a cigarette right there in the waiting room, and Orihime realized that no amount of her own worry would be enough to help.
Her worry wouldn't help here, either. She knew this well. And if she really tried, she'd be able to be as calm, or at least normal like she had been that night at the hospital... and then maybe they'd be able to have a quiet breakfast between the two of them -- but no.
The fact of the matter was that there was no one else to worry (no one else to smoke over you, here). Even outside of the foreign setting, they were both lonely people, or at the very least alone. Sometimes she thought he was worse for it than she was, because at least she had people surrounding her, she had more than enough. He pushed away while she pulled, and empathy had her feeling lonely in his place instead; perhaps it was just selfishness then, because she felt even lonelier still, that he'd pull away from her in the first place. For (not) the first time, she realized how difficult it was to help him, that she really didn't know how to when he was being like this.
At least we know how to help ourselves.
"No," she replied -- we can't talk standing, but her voice was kept calm and modulated. She straightened her posture and her expression mellowed; after all, she noticed the nurses, too. "I really don't think Ishida-kun should push himself." Orihime smiled at him, a small smile, her brow crinkling with what could be worry, what could be wry amusement as she lifted her arm and
slapped him hard smack-dab in the center of his back with the palm of her hand.