It's not fair.
He can tell her anything but this. He can insult, cajole, humor and goad her, but he cannot confess. Inoue has been crying again and he knows why. He hates Rukia for making her cry. He can gather by their terse body language what has passed between them in words and emotions and he can tell which is the villain in this story, this contrived and angst-ridden soap opera their lives have become. Inoue hurts because she understands but cannot act. He hurts because he cannot admit he knows, cannot offer her any comfort. He'd only make her feel worse. Which in turn, would make him feel worse, too.
Is this what they fought so badly to save? Is this what she really wants? An existence where although they are safe, they are still far from happy? And she can shut herself off from him without a thought. And she can hand him off like a rag doll to a younger sister to take care of, to love. He is not an inanimate object and he wants to point out that he doesn't need a replacement for Rukia and even if he did, he's sure both he and Inoue would have objections to her sleeping in his closet. This sucks in ways he can't articulate, not just because she has taken it upon herself to make choices for him. She's walking away. Again. And he doesn't understand why. He knows all of the arguments she would make. He is a teenage boy. She is a dead woman more than a century old. They both have lives, loved ones, responsibilities. But the five-year-old in him doesn't understand and doesn't care. Is this what it means to be a grown-up? You can just pick people up and put them down so easily, like rocks on a beach? Or even worse, fling their hearts around like rubber balls or hold them in your hand and squeeze?
He can't ask her because she left him without saying much of anything. "Take care." And she was gone, and he knew the moment she faded from view how unsatisfied he really was. And he stayed unsatisfied, for the days, weeks, hours, months he did not see her. The world kept turning, time kept flowing, and he grew a little taller, a little thicker, a little smarter. And his resentment just built until it became too big; it collapsed like a star and became something hard and cold, a knot in his stomach he feels from time to time when he thinks of her. He never imagined she could force herself to be this cold. And he hates her for it.
So when he wakes to that wind chime feel of her, sees the violet eyes gazing down on him, he wants to strangle her. He could, but he just stares back at her. "What now?"
She is silent, just comes in through the window and stands, staring, arms at her sides. Her face is blank but her eyes are tired. And something else he doesn't think he really sees. He sits up. "What is it?"
"I miss you," she breathes finally and he closes his eyes, feeling the knot dissolve and fade away before he lurches forward and holds her. In the end, he doesn't have to say it at all. She already knew.