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There was a dead girl in his closet and Ichigo wasn’t sure how he felt about that. She had appeared out of the blue a few days earlier, had settled in his room and he couldn’t quite fathom why. At first he had thought she may have followed him home, harbouring some misguided hope that he might be able to help her somehow – that had happened to him before, on more than one occasion. But the more Ichigo watched her, the more convinced he became that she was totally unaware of being under scrutiny. And really, she hadn’t tried to talk to him even once.
Some people believed in ghosts though they’d never even seen one. Some people didn’t. Some people said they didn’t though deep, deep down they really did, too afraid about the implications of admitting such beliefs even to themselves. Because wouldn’t it be scary, acknowledging a world where discarded spirits of the dead lingered alongside the living?
Ichigo, unfortunately, had never had much choice in the matter; for as long as he could remember he had been able to see them. And some ghosts were scary – either intentionally taking on frightening forms to spook people, or helplessly stuck in the state they had died in and reliving their final moments of terror and pain. Some ghosts were kind, even helpful; some were lost and confused. A very few poor souls went about without even realising they were dead.
Ichigo wondered if the girl in his closet was one of the latter category. He couldn’t really tell and, frankly, he was at a loss. Though he had lived in a world full of spirits all his life, he had never shared his room with one, and he didn’t quite know what to think about that.
Even so, he had to admit that the girl was pretty harmless as far as ghosts went: she kept to herself and seemed content to stay in the closet, nestled on top of the folded futon lying on the shelf. When Ichigo managed to catch a glimpse of her she was usually either reading or drawing.
One morning Karin wondered aloud how volumes of her horror manga had got from her bookshelf onto her desk though she hadn’t touched them, the following afternoon Yuzu complained that her markers had gone missing. Ichigo didn’t say anything. His family knew of his circumstances, but there was no use freaking his sisters out by telling them they had an actual ghost in the house – especially when said ghost didn’t seem at all interested in harming or bothering any of them beyond borrowing some of their stuff.
So they continued, silently coexisting, and as the days grew shorter and the nights colder, Ichigo slowly got used to his unconventional roommate.
One winter evening, he was sitting at his desk and staring tiredly down at his text book, when the door of his closet slid open with a quiet creak and soft footsteps padded across his room behind him, followed by a whisper of his mattress. Without turning his head, Ichigo slanted a glance out of the corner of his eye.
She sat at the foot of his bed, gazing out of the window. Outside, the lamp post cast a warm yellow glow into the blue-tinted twilight, and big, soft flakes of snow idly fluttered to the ground, making such unhurried descent they seemed to almost hover in the air, like downy floating feathers.
Seeing the snow, Ichigo felt oddly melancholy – though a moment later he realised with an internal start that the sadness was coming from her, not him.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered into the silence of the room.
“Yeah,” he replied without thinking, “it is.”
The girl whipped around, her pale lilac eyes wide with shock.
She stared at him, and he stared right back at her. It was a little disorienting, getting a proper look at her. The ghost’s petite figure and childish attraction towards cute things – especially bunny themed ones – had made him think she was around his sisters’ age. But now, after hearing her voice and meeting her eyes for the first time, he could tell he’d been wrong.
Her surprise hung heavy in the air, mirroring his own.
“You… You can see me?”
Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a slow nod. He almost felt like he had invaded her privacy somehow; a completely ridiculous train of thought, given it was her who had decided to move into his closet.
“Yes,” he admitted out loud.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I didn’t know, I never meant to be a bother –”
“You’re not,” Ichigo swiftly cut in, scowling as he took in her slumped form. “As far as ghosts go, you’re the least bothersome I’ve met.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Though I’ve been curious about one thing. What are you doing here, at my house?”
“Something just drew me in,” she said, with a light shake of her head. “I like the energy here, it’s soothing.”
Ichigo snorted. “That’s hard to believe, knowing how crazy my family is.”
The corners of the ghost’s lips twitched. “It does get lively, yes. But it’s warm. It feels like home.”
Ichigo leaned back in his chair and watched her thoughtfully.
“What’s your name?”
She returned his gaze, a measuring look in her lilac eyes. Finally, she replied.
“Kuchiki Rukia.”
“Well, Rukia… If you want to, you’re welcome to stay.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice soft with hesitation.
“Why not?” Ichigo shrugged. “I’ve already got used to you.”
The air in the room seemed to grow warmer as Rukia beamed at him.
“Thank you, Ichigo.”