The Shinigami King grew tired of his play, so he asked an old soul to change it.
Otherwise known as what happens when an eccentric, morally questionable, teeny tiny overpowered old soul is gifted an Evil™ sword and thrown in a couple thousand years...
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1873
Although it was spring, the air was still chilly in Soul Society. I lounged beside Tōshirō on a rooftop of some food shop that smelled pretty dang yummy. Tōshirō rarely wore heavy coats despite the cold. At most, I could get him in a scarf, but even that took some nagging.
Worth it, though, 'cause he looked adorable in the red scarf I made him. I couldn't hold back my happy smile.
Okay, I might have been smiling for another reason besides getting to spend time with him.
Tōshirō gave me a dry look as soon as he noticed my smile.
"What?" I asked.
"You did something," he said.
"What? Naaahh."
In the distance, an explosion went off. A pillar of black smoke bloomed up into the air, eliciting screams of terror. I calmly took a sip of my green tea and chewed on one of the dangos we had purchased.
He used his own stick of dango to point at the smoke. His icy blue eyes narrowed. "You did that."
I took another long sip of my tea. "Maybe."
A second explosion went off. Tōshirō carefully set his dango back on the plate between us.
Tōshirō closed his eyes. "Rirī."
"Yes?"
"Why?"
A third explosion went off.
"Why not?" I asked in return with my usual smile.
"You behave nothing as a shinigami should, I'm amazed you even graduated," he said, a hint of accusation in his tone.
I beamed. "How'd you figure out I was a shinigami?"
"Mm... instinct?" he asked, tilting his head in curiosity.
"Does it bother you?" I reached forward to gently brush some of his white bangs out of his face.
"No," Tōshirō responded. His cutely chubby cheeks turned a pinkish hue as he glanced away. "Actually... I want to be a shinigami, too."
Leaning forward, I poked his cheeks. "Really? How come?"
Tōshirō tugged his scarf up to cover the lower half of his face. He mumbled, "'Cause you're one."
'Ooooh he is ADORABLE.'
"Well you are technically eighteen so you can enroll for this April," I said. "I can put in a good word for you."
"No," he immediately denied. "I want to get in on my own, not because I'm friends with someone who already graduated."
"Graduated?" I repeated blandly.
"You did graduate, right...?" Tōshirō's brow furrowed.
