"It's not nothing," he says, but doesn't argue it any further, and he steps over toward her, lingering - like he might do something else, and he wants to do something else, a hug or a kiss on the cheek or some other kind of simple affection, but that's not Ichigo, really. Hasn't been Ichigo since his mother died, which is the most of his existence. Habit is hard to break.

Halfway impossible sometimes.

And so he doesn't do anything but reach behind his head and scratch at his own scalp, a legitimate itch, but an awkward mirror of Rukia's body language as well. And with that, he pulls a chair out for himself, and dumps his body heavily into it.

"I don't even know when yours is. Do you guys celebrate birthdays? I never asked anyone. Guess I always had ... so much to do." And other things to think about.