The store was empty save for Ishida, who looked up and nodded in greeting.
“Hey. Aren’t you supposed to say “irrashaimase” or something?”
“Normally. But I figured that such pleasant language would be wasted on someone like you.”
“Are you trying to say something?”
“Hmph. Don’t be ridiculous.”
Ichigo couldn’t help but chuckle as he deposited an armful of onigiri and a couple of sodas on the counter in front of the register. Leave it to Ishida to be Ishida in all circumstances.
“Hungry?” Ishida eyed the pile and started running items across the scanner.
“I guess.” Ichigo shrugged. “Didn’t feel like cooking tonight, so I guess we’re just eating from here.”
Ichigo snorted. “For the whole two bites of food that girl eats, yeah.”
“She doesn’t like this kind, you know.”
“What are you talking about?” Ichigo frowned and wondered when Ishida, of all people, had become an expert on Rukia’s eating habits. “Of course she does, she eats just about anything.”
Ishida shook his head. “Not the tuna ones. She won’t eat anything with mayonnaise.”
“Eh. She can just eat the rice off it.”
Ishida looked skeptical. “Are you sure you don’t want to grab another kind?”
“Whatever. I trudged down here in the rain, she’s just gonna have to deal with what she gets.”
By the time Ishida finished ringing him up, Ichigo was more than ready to go home, put on a pair of dry socks, and pray that no more hollows decided to attack between now and and the time he opened his eyelids tomorrow. He waved his goodbye, stepped out the door, and immediately realized something was wrong.
His umbrella was gone from the rack.
There hadn’t even been anyone else in the store. Which meant some asshole passing by had simply swiped it. Fuck, he swore to himself, and stepped out into the rain.
Ishida greeted him with a raised eyebrow when he re-entered the mini-mart some fifteen minutes later, looking even more wet and more irritable than he had before.
“Do not. Say. A goddamn word.”