Only Human

He was just a man. He was allowed to smile, to laugh, to cry. But even for a person like me, I cannot understand. Why is it that we, as people, think that a man who loves to kill cannot learn to love another person?

I have read many stories in my day, many stories of life and death, though nothing particular ever stands out. I have recently experienced death, or, more so, have been dead nine years in Earth's time.

I have been granted an interesting job as a shinigami oddly enough.

As a newly instated soul reaper, I have access to many amenities- one of them being the Red Feather Library. The library was stock full of the life stories of every person living and that had lived. Normally, shinigami didn't stay around in here unless they needed the back story of a person whose soul would be reaped next. As for me, it serves as a sort of entertainment. There are so many stories to read and learn from, even if some of them I could not bear to imagine.

When I stored away the story of Ciel Phantomhive, my eyes ran over to the next book in line.

Universe 946. Shinobi World. Hidan.

A smirk creased my face. Ah yes, Hidan. I remember that vulgar idiot all too well. My hand made an immediate grab for the book. The front cover had two numbers. One was a blue 31, the age he was now. The other number was a red 53, the numbers of years he had left. That bastard. What a long life he had despite him being a reckless shinobi.

I scanned through the first couple of chapters and read about his life as a child and how he was growing up. At page 849, I stopped. My eyes widened at the chapter title and could only grow wider as the story went on.

Chapter 49- Age Sixteen: The Paper Angel

Only then had I realized- Hidan was just like anyone else, I just didn't realize it when I was alive. He held feelings and passion like anyone would.

He was only human, after all.