So I decided to deviate a little from the chronological order of this fictions basis. I need something to do, for I am terribly bored. And people keep alerting this story so I thought I'd throw a bone or something. jk :D Also forgive me for any bad grammar/spelling mistakes. I proofread it, but I am too lazy to read it thoroughly.
Anyway, enjoy!
Disclaimer: unfortunately, you already know the answer.
29 – Old
Momo was an older woman, but to him, who was matured far beyond his years, age was just a state of mind.
"Isn't she like ten years older than him or something?" whispers a female shinigami with brown hair.
Beside her a friend with wisteria hair remarks, "that's kinda weird if you ask me.." she covers her mouth, directing her comments to her partner, trying to cover her judgement.
An older woman who is joined around the two friends plainly states, "its not our place to judge, let them do as they please." The two girls let out a masculine grunt, very displeasing to the ear.
Hitsugaya noted that wherever he seemed to go lately, the walls liked to talk. Their whispers of discontent tickled the lobes of his ear and he found himself dissatisfied with their opinion. Yet to rebuttal their comments would be just what they wanted and that is why he never hastened to utter a derisive comeback.
He just sipped his tea in peace as the people behind him bore holes in the back of his head with their burning curiosity. Presumptively, if he turned his head to meet their gaze, they might suffocate beneath his cold and calculating gaze. That was what he hoped at least.
The scrape of his stool against the mahogany flooring and the sound of his footfalls stilled the remarks in the room. They checked their tongues in his omnipotent present and remembered just who they were so intimately gossiping about. He sat some money down on the table, each coin making a distinct clang against it.
Making his way out of the tea shop, he noticed that some people were giving him timorous stares. His ice cold facade could unnerve even the most apathetic of people. And that most definitely placated his resolute ego.
She was waiting for him, the object of their conversations. That woman who was so many years older than him. Yet, age, in this land seemed to matter very little to say the least. His mind was satisfied, and he was satisfied. To someone like him, who was aged beyond his years, Hinamori Momo was just the right woman.
The soft curve of her lips and the roll of his name off her tongue delighted him. Her name delighted him, and he would forever cherish it like a delicate butterfly. "Momo," he says her name to none in particular. Ite carries from his mouth like the crescendo of a symphony. Some asshole might remark that it's an ugly name, simplicity in it's rawest form. "Shut up," he would argue. To him, the name was a beautiful gift from the gods. Perhaps that is a bit superfluous, but he always liked to associate her with the most extravagant things.
"My dear," he whispers, a placid smile accentuates his striking face.
