He's expecting Rukia to be at work, because Ichigo's not expecting her to think about his birthday. He's barely thought about it himself, so heavily more important in his life had always been the day of his mother's death, instead. He isn't expecting more than a cursory, awkward sentence or two from Rukia if he gets anything, because well ... expecting would just be cruel. Why should he expect Rukia to acknowledge his birthday? Acknowledge the differences between them?

How someone can live so close as they do but still never live in exactly the same world. Sharing space but not sharing meaning. Especially now, after as far as Rukia remembers, Ichigo's already given her up once.

But hell, they're here, now, so whatever.

He comes in the door silently, locking it behind himself before dropping his bag with a messy thump wherever it lands and leaving his shoes strangely perfectly aligned by the bag. Turning away, he heads into the kitchen.

Only to stare, entirely silent and dumbfounded, by what he finds there.

He honestly can't believe it's for him. But who else could it possibly be for, today?