A/N: Woo! Procrastination!

Okay, this chapter is heavily based on a chainmail my mom sent me. Haha. I dunno if this chapter's AU or not either… it's up to the reader, I suppose? ...This is also shamefully short. -shot-

Twenty-Eighth Collected:


Ichigo glared down at his food, then at his glass, then at the table. Honestly, he couldn't remember why he was glaring – or why Rukia was sitting across the table with that snotty look on her face while she poked at her own food – but it really didn't matter. Ichigo simply wasn't going to give in and be the first one to talk.

So what if he couldn't remember why he was mad? Rukia probably didn't either, and even if she did, it would be like admitting defeat to ask her. And if he couldn't remember why they had been giving the cold shoulder to each other, then this fighting was obviously not about the fact of the matter more than it was a battle of wills.

So Ichigo sat at one end of the table and Rukia sat at the other, both in silence.

Minutes ticked on and neither of them made a move to eat their dinner, but instead focused their attention on trying to look at the other without looking at the other.

If that made any sense.

Which it probably didn't.

At all.

Nevertheless, Ichigo pretended to look at the clock above Rukia's head when he was really gauging how much willpower she seemed to have left. By the look in her eyes, that detached, thoughtful look, it seemed like not much longer. He could tell she was getting bored with this only after two days of not talking.

Ichigo finally stared at the clock itself and not the person who sat below it, taking in the time. Quarter to nine; dinner was unusually late tonight.

Stretching away from his seat, Ichigo sighed and looked over to his wife who was still pushing food around on her plate. Smirking to himself, he walked over to the fridge where a note pad hung on a magnet on the door. Silently, he scratched on a note:

Going to bed. Wake me up at 5 AM tomorrow – I have a meeting.

He slid the note next to Rukia's drink and watched her scan it over in silence. And instead of getting riled up, like Ichigo had half anticipated-half hoped, she nodded and went back to moving the food around in every which way on her plate.

Ichigo blinked but decided not to argue it through the magic of pen and paper. Why make a fuss if she – for once – was being cooperative?

Instead, he shuffled his way up the stairs for a nice long shower to get ready for bed.

Refreshed was the only word that Ichigo could describe how he felt the next morning with the sun waving its way over his face. It felt nice. He couldn't remember the last time he woke up late enough to have the sun warm up the covers.

He buried himself down deeper and curled up in a ball. Ahh. Toasty warm--

Ichigo's eyes snapped open.

The sun didn't shine at five o'clock in the morning. He shouldn't be lying in bed past five o'clock in the morning. Not when he had a meet--

Holy hell!

Ichigo tossed the covers off himself hazardously, not bothering to pick them off the ground. He grabbed his slacks, hopping around from foot-to-foot trying to tug them onto his body. Then, as if his luck wasn't already bad enough, he found himself flung to the ground after tripping over the comforter. A loose note on the bedside table floated down from Ichigo's thud, and was grabbed out of the air quickly.

There were only five words on the post-it, but it was enough for Ichigo to crumple the note and break his vow of silence.


Said bitch grinned into her coffee cup while hearing the yelling and struggling from upstairs. Who knew such a little note could make her husband fly off the handle?

Oh, she remembered why they were fighting and it was the whole reason Ichigo missed his meeting – he had broken the alarm clock days ago and blamed it on her.

Well, serves him right. If he wanted to use notes as reminders, she would too. On her own note she had written in her neat little cursive:

It's five. Get up.

Word Count: 703