Ichigo lifts me from behind, his big hands easily encircling my waist as he swings me to the ground.

"Hey!" I protest, trying for a second to cling to the window ledge a little longer. He's too strong for me, though, and my sandaled feet hit the ground. I glare up at him. "What?"

"You shouldn't spy on people!" he chides, scowling down at me. I swear, it would kill him to smile.

"I wasn't spying." I say, with as much dignity as I can muster. "I was just . . ." I fold my arms, stalling. "Creatively participating."

Ichigo raises one eyebrow. "Creatively . . .?"

"Participating." I finish for him.

"In other words, spying." he turns, heading down the sidewalk as if his sole purpose coming to see me was to pry me away from that window.

"Hey!" I call after him, frustrated. "Hey!" I run after him, and when I catch up, I give the belt of his pants a hard tug. It doesn't take much for the already baggy, worn low jeans to slide to the ground.

"RUKIA!" Ichigo bellows, going down hard. I snicker. "My bad."

"I would almost believe you if you didn't look so damn happy." he gripes, struggling to his feet and pulling up his pants. "What are we, in sixth grade?"

"It's your own fault for being you." I jut my chin out, knowing I both look and sound petulant.

"That doesn't even make-" he gives up, as he usually does, rolling his eyes and letting his sentence trail off into a muttered stream of gibberish about Soul Reapers, girls, and the instability of combining them into one being. He jams his hands in his pockets, jeans sinking down another inch, revealing tanned skin between his belt and the hem of his sleeveless shirt. I look away, clasping my hands behind my back.

"So, since you don't want to join in my espionage, let's go somewhere." I suggest. "Big brother and Urahara will probably be talking for a while."

"Hold the phone-" Ichigo cranes his neck towards the window, suddenly interested in what I was looking at. "That droopy-eyed guy with the weird hair is here?"

I assume he means my brother, though the description could fit either of the men holding conference inside. "Yes. Something about my . . . that is, about the Hogyoku."

He glances between me and the building, then sighs deeply and starts to move away. "Come on. We'd better not snoop. I'll buy you an ice cream cone."

"Yay!" I can't help skipping as I trail after him, being sure to keep up a stream of annoying commentary, from criticizing his summer wear to complaining about my own light dress. Beneath the happy banter that I dole out, though, I'm very worried about the meeting back in the shop. Actually, I'm very worried about everything, but when I'm with Ichigo it's easier to pretend that I'm not-it's, somehow, easier to laugh and joke and think like the whole world isn't about to be set on fire from the coming enemy.

"I want strawberry. Absolutely." I say when we get to the ice cream stand, then tug on his sleeve. "You hear, Ichigo? I want strawberry."

"I heard." he grumbles.

"Make it a medium."

"Okay."

"No, a large. With sprinkles. And syrup."

"Wha-whose money is it that you're spending, here?" he demands, annoyed.

"I just almost died, you know!" I remind him. "The least you can do is buy me what I want."

"I almost die every day!" he snaps back. "I don't see anyone thankin' me!"

I cross my arms. "Cheapskate."

He sticks out his tongue. "Spoiled little princess."

"Next." the server calls out listlessly, looking hot and tired from behind the counter. It's true that the sun is beating down like a punk band's drummer, and the thermometers have all given up and moved to Alaska, but could the customer service be any worse? I fan myself with my hand and stand in the cool shade of the awning as Ichigo digs out his wallet and orders two cones, strawberry, with sprinkles and chocolate syrup.

I beam at him. He scowls. "This is the last time, I swear."

"Sure, sure." I take one of the already-melting cones and dig in.

We head down the street, with some vague idea of swinging by the community pool or maybe, if we're that desperate for air conditioning, the school, licking furiously as we go. Ichigo isn't fast enough, and sticky syrup runs down his hand and wrist.

"Disgusting." I observe. And, guess what he does?

Ding-ding-ding! That's right. Ichigo scowls. I don't think he has any other faces in his repertoire-it's neutral or caveman.

"Here, let me get it." I grab his forearm without thinking, and lap up the ice cream like a cat. My cool, mature self is screaming what an idiot I am, but unfortunately, Soul Reaper Rukia is off duty and can't control her joking, pouting, creatively participating self. And, as usual when I'm with Ichigo, I'm too busy having fun to think my actions through.

He starts back when my tongue comes in contact with the underside of his wrist, but then he goes deathly still. It isn't until most of the melted ice cream is gone that I realize exactly what I'm doing. My tongue is just running over the ball of his thumb when I jerk away, sure that I've totally grossed his out.

"Whoops-sorry. I forget sometimes that you aren't . . ." the words die away as I look up at my best friend. His face is beet red, and he's pointedly staring at the sidewalk instead of me. "Ichigo? Is everything okay?" I realize that my own ice cream is starting to melt, and go to clean it up.

Ichigo jerkily grabs my wrist and does it for me, out positions changing-and I'm abruptly thrown into the world he must have just experienced. When he first licks the stream of pink syrup off of the side of my hand, I'm taken aback by the warmth-and then swallowed by it. He runs his tongue over my knuckle, and pulls back.

"Wh-you-" I stammer, knowing that I have no right to be mad when I just did the same thing. It's just-I never expected to feel this way about someone ever again, and now I do, and while the fun side of me is celebrating, the rest of me knows that this is really, really bad.

"Revenge." Ichigo says gruffly, but his teasing lacks its usual edge, and there's an underlying layer of forced lightness that ruins the effect. He brushes past me, scarfing his cone down in a few giant bites, and strides away. His legs are long-I have to trot to catch up, and by the time I have, out of breath and a little irritated, his face has returned to normal. He cuffs me upside the head- "Slowpoke!"-and smiles.

Actually smiles.

No scowling.

I smile back, finish my cone, and push away the momentary feelings I had for Ichigo. He's only my best friend. Our relationship is too important for such flimsy emotions-I won't be the one to let them get in the way. "Let's go swimming. It's hot." I suggest.

"Whatever. Sounds good." the furrow in his brow is back, but I remember his smile. I try not to remember how good it felt, to be the one he was smiling at.