I decided to try writing this after realizing that I really liked (some) Undertaker x OC stories. Since this is my first attempt at a real character x OC romantic pairing, please tell me if I write something that is too sickeningly sappy or rage-inducing! I want to make this kind of fluffy, but I don't want to outright disgust you.

I make no promises as far as updates go, regular or otherwise, because I'm absurdly busy.

Finally, a note about shinigami: though in both the anime and manga, it seems to be implied that shinigami are "born" as a sort of shinigami species/being (rather than it being an occupation, despite it seeming like one—so confusing!), for the sake of my brain, I am interpreting it as a species/being one has a chance of becoming after death. I'm taking this liberty as it is only implied, so technically it could still be kind of canon.

Anyway, enjoy!

"Um... Hello?"

A voice cut through the sleepy reverie the Undertaker had drifted into inside the urn of salt.

"Hello?"

"Hmmm~?" Cracking his eyes open (not that you'd see a difference under all that hair), the Undertaker found himself staring straight into a pair of glassy green eyes framed in glasses—they could only belong to a shinigami. Attached to these eyes was a face that was white like a sheet of paper, surrounded by black hair that was either massively tangled or messily curled.

There was a brief pause, as the Undertaker considered the sudden appearance of a shinigami inside his shop after it was closed, then chose to ignore that for the moment. "How can I help you?" He stood, still in the urn, the salt running from his clothes sounding like someone softly shushing.

The girl in front of him—for it was a girl—rose from where she had bent level with his face, now several inches shorter than the Undertaker. She looked like she had just become old enough to be called an adult. One corner of her mouth was turned down in frustration, and her hands fidgeted behind her back.

"I was wondering if—!" she started, unnecessarily loud, but abruptly bit her lip as if stopping up her words and looked at the floor. Her hands ceased fidgeting and clasped tightly together. She began again, almost too quietly to be heard this time. "—I was wondering if you could do me a favor!" Her face slowly started to redden as she spoke.

"Well, what is this? You're wanting something from me, when you've already broken into my shop? He he he…" The Undertaker's previously nonplussed face stretched into a wide grin as he climbed out of the urn, thinking of how the girl seemed so uncomfortable despite initially waltzing in like she owned the place. This could be amusing! "Well ~ what kind of favor did you have in mind?" he asked, edging closer.

"U-um," the girl stuttered as he drew uncomfortably close. Whatever nerve had made her barge in and interrupt the Undertaker from his beauty sleep seemed to have completely worn off. "I-I was wondering—"

"Yes? Go on~" he prodded, twisting to peer into her down-turned face, well aware that it was making her more and more nervous. How fun!

"I was wondering if you might—if you might teach me how to be a shinigami! Er—a better one!" she burst out in a single breath, face so red it looked like an apple. She gasped and flashed a glance at his face briefly, as if shocked at what she said, and then plowed on. "I-I heard about you from someone, and I think you're really amazing—because you are—and I was hoping, I was hoping that you might be able to help me…" Her voice slowly trailed off into silence.

How unexpected. The Undertaker stared at the girl for a moment from his awkward position, before straightening. "Putting aside why you want such a thing—tell me something," he said slowly, grin still stuck on his face.

"Yes?" she said, daring to look up at him for a moment.

He stretched out a hand and grabbed her chin, his long nails poking into her skin, before she could look down again. "Can you… tell a joke?"

The shinigami girl's face, previously just embarrassed, was now both embarrassed and confused. "A—a jo—"

"A joke," the Undertake repeated. "Do you think you can make me laugh~?"

Attempting to gain control of her voice, the girl tried again. "What—what exactly does that have to do with what I asked?"

"Oh~ It has everything to do with it… I retired for a reason." Though the playful lilt in his voice didn't change, the tension in the room suddenly grew heavier. "To make me think about that job again eeevery day~ don't you think I'd need some kind of… payment?"

The girl felt his nails poke a bit deeper into her skin. Though she wasn't fazed by the morbidity of the Undertaker's décor (really, her job was worse) nor the fact that she had found him sleeping in a vat of natron (most of her colleagues were far stranger), his presence now was downright threatening. Maybe this wasn't a good idea at all…

The Undertaker continued. "That is why you would need to be able to tell a joke. You need to make me laugh every single day I choose to help you, if I choose to help you, of course~ So, can you do it?" He released her chin, drawing his hand back under his long sleeve.

Too intimidated to move otherwise, the young shinigami's eyebrows scrunched together in thought. People laugh at me sometimes, but not because of anything I say… But am I even sure I want this? She looked at the Undertaker again. He looked as benign as he had when she first saw him. If this is my only chance… "I don't know as of late, but… I used to be able to make people laugh before I became a shinigami," she said, choosing her words carefully.

"Before~?" the Undertaker echoed, chuckling. "Well, isn't that interesting… but how would you even know there was a before to your existence if you are still a novice—let alone know what it was?" The girl opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted again, waving his sleeve. "Wait, wait. First~ who are you? Why did you feel the need to break in?"

"Oh!" Suddenly, the girl began to laugh. "Now you ask! I was getting ready to tell you my life story and you don't even know who I am!" She soon regained her composure, but no longer looked quite as nervous as before. "I'm a novice shinigami, just as you said, and my name is Ottilie Vogel, but please call me Otti. I, I'm really nervous right now, I don't usually act this peculiar... I was told to come here to find you, but when I couldn't get in I, er, panicked, and." She looked down at her hands, twisted together in front of her. "I picked the lock."

"You what—" The Undertaker stared at the door, where more than a few bent hairpins were littered on the floor.

"I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! It's just that it's getting impossible for me to do anything and I'm pretty sure you're my last hope and something about having to wait even one more day was just so…" The stream of words that burst out of her at seeing his incredulous expression (or, what showed of it below his fringe) slowly died down as the Undertaker began to laugh. "Um…"

"It's… too… much~!" he gasped between breaths. "You pick the lock and wake me up, then look so guilty and apologize so seriously! And this about remembering your life—it's unbelievable! Ahaha… Why didn't you tell me you were this good?"

"I didn't know," she muttered, bewildered. Uncomfortable at his sudden outburst, she had frozen up again. But then again, wasn't this okay? His laughter wasn't mocking like she had become accustomed to; it didn't make her feel sick or like she wanted to hide. Even though it did make her feel a little embarrassed, it was almost kind of nice. It reminds me of…back then. A small smile appeared on her face for a moment as a memory briefly surfaced.

"Well," said the Undertaker, mostly recovered from his fit (though a tear leaked from under his curtain of hair), "I guess that will do as payment for today. I'll listen to your story—I hope it's as fun as the last!—but beyond that, who knows? I'm so busy, you know, so many people die each day~" He gestured at the coffins scattered in the room. "Have a seat, I'll bring tea. Then you can tell me all about your problem~"

He wandered into the next room, leaving Otti to stare after him. This is COMPLETELY the opposite of what I expected, she thought, unsure of whether to be frustrated with the famous ex-shinigami or to be relieved that he was willing to listen to her at all. Choosing a coffin at random, she lifted the lid the tiniest crack—no, this one was occupied. Shutting the lid, she tried again; she really didn't want to sit on someone. Midway through her check, the Undertaker strolled back in, carrying two beakers containing a dark liquid—presumably this was tea?—and what appeared to be a funerary urn under his arm.

Quickly assessing the situation, the Undertaker spoke. "Choose a~ny one you like, there's a guest in every one," he said, plunking the beakers and urn onto a large desk at the side of the room.

"But—won't they mind?" Otti asked, turning to look at him.

"Mind? Hee hee hee!" The Undertaker leaned on his desk with one hand as he doubled over with laughter. "A shinigami, even a novice, should know best about that~ Each and every one of them is filed away in the library, right? As cute as my guests are, they're not in any position to mind such a little thing as being sat on~" As the girl took a seat on the nearest coffin reluctantly, the Undertaker passed her a beaker and settled himself at the chair behind the desk. "Now, why don't you continue? But try not to make me laugh too much, it's hard to listen well~"

Looking at the Undertaker sitting behind his desk, it was much more easy to take him seriously, even if he was currently munching on a biscuit shaped like a bone he had pulled from the urn. Having to explain myself to a superior—this doesn't seem too unusual, Otti thought, and began to speak.

"Actually, I heard a little bit about why you might have retired from being a shinigami," she started hesitantly. "Only a little bit, though—only the higher-ups really have a good idea about it, and they wouldn't tell me something like that. But it was enough to make me think, out of all of the shinigami that are really respected in the Department—you were the one I should go to, that you could maybe, just maybe, understand a little bit." She paused, looking nervously at the older shinigami.

"I suppose I can guess what you heard well enough," he replied, seeing her faltering. "Go on~"

Otti's gaze returned to the beaker she held on her lap. "You know already that I remember my life—my time as a human. But… it's more than just remembering." Her grip on the beaker grew tighter. "It gets in the way. My memories do."

"Oh?"

"I—I can't do anything. I've tried to collect souls and—nothing comes out."

Otti looked up at the Undertaker now. On her face was an expression he rarely, if ever, saw on a shinigami: what was it? Anger? No, that wasn't quite it. It seemed very familiar to him, somehow…

"Three times—three people I've tried to judge. But every time, their soul—no, their Cinematic Record—it vanishes, like it never was. And all that's left—all I've done—"

That was it! This expression—

"I've killed them."

—It was pain.

To be continued. In the next chapter: more backstory and less dramatic punctuation (probably)!

If you've enjoyed this, please consider leaving a review. If not… even better reason to leave a review! Any comments and critique are appreciated. Thank you for reading!