Massage
Ichigo spread the blanket on the floor, then sat and laid both of his swords in front of him. He took the cloth and bottle he had brought, wetting the cloth in his hand. Examining his larger blade, he began to scrub the dirty metal clean.
"Hey! What are ya doin?" Shiro's startled voice sounded from the back of his mind, distracting him from his work.
"Cleaning your blade, what do you think? You've not been cleaned like this before, and you're getting kinda nasty. I mean, come on. Come out here and look at this." At his request Shiro manifested in front of him. "Here." Ichigo held up the white-turned-gray cloth for his sword spirit to see.
"I've barely started, and I've already gotten this much off. Just let me take care of this, alright?"
"Che, fine. Go ahead." Shiro sat on the other edge of the blanket, watching as he returned to work.
Minutes passed, then much longer, Ichigo dutifully scrubbing every inch of the cold metal. Eventually he paused, stretching cramped fingers, and glanced over to his zanpakuto.
"...Shiro?...You okay there?" Said spirit was laying spread on the floor, seemingly uncaring of the uncomfortable wood surface.
"Hm?" The reply was dazed and half hearted.
"I asked if you were okay."
"Yah. I'm good." Deciding it was useless to try and talk to him anymore, Ichigo turned his thoughts inward to speak with his other sword.
'Yo, Kuro. What happened to your other half over there?'
"Were you not aware what you were doing? For a Zanpakuto, having our blade polished feels rather good. It's refreshing, much like a massage, but it seems to have had a rather strong effect on him."
Ichigo looked at Shiro once more, who seemed to have simply melted on the floor.
'...I had no idea.'