Rukia left school at lunch-time, slipped into Ichigo's house through the open bedroom window and swiftly packed her things, leaving behind the school books he had bought for her. She changed into a plain dress, the sort that any young woman might wear, folded up her school uniform and put it in the closet. Her pyjamas too were there, neatly folded. She stood, staring at the sleeping space. Save for the pile of clothes, she'd left no trace of her presence there. It would be, to him, as if she had never existed.

An hour before he would arrive home.

She sat down at his desk and gnawed the end of a pencil. Now that she had come this far, the sentiments of yesterday seemed a distant memory. She had spent the school day feeling awkward and out of place again, a shinigami trapped in a strange, bright world and, this afternoon, as she held the pencil over a blank piece of paper, she felt cold inside.

She would, she decided, give him no reason to come after her. Moreover, she had no right to yesterday's emotions, so she would not commit them to paper. They were illusory. In reality, she was not a schoolgirl. It was unbecoming to behave like one, even more unbecoming to feel like one.

She finished the letter. It was simple. It told him not to follow her and to lie low for a few weeks. That should be enough. It had to be.

"Ne-san!" She turned. Kon was on the window ledge, his stubby arms raised in a greeting, but when he saw her face, he hesitated: "Ne-san?"

Not now, she thought: I can't have you ruining my plans now.