Characters: Kon
Words: 585
When: Unspecified
Kon stares up at the ceiling and sighs once more, fluffy little chest heaving up and down cutely. He glares (cutely) at his plushy body and then wriggles (cutely) off the desk to flops face first on the ground, pathetically... and cutely so.
There are no words, he thinks, to express how much he hates being stuck in a stuffed animal.
But then again, it's better than being in that pill again. The reminder causes him to push himself up, his current body strutting (cutely) over to the bed, tail waving (cutely) to and fro as he clambers up on the mattress and then towards the closed window, pressing his face flat against it.
He stares outside for a long time, watching the world unfurl at its own rhyme and pace, the ivy framing the window shivering in the wind now and then. A child bearing a lunchbox walks by, the red metal container being swung back and forth gleefully as the mother tugs the smaller version of herself along patiently, shaking her head in amusement and not looking at all as the girl points up in delight at Kon, basking in the sunlight, staring down at her just as frankly as any child would.
He's never hungry, in this body, he realized, watching the girl turn the corner, one small hand waving at him frantically before disappearing out of sight.
He was though, once, while taking care of Ichigo's body. On a whim he snuck down to the kitchen in the middle of the night and curled up in front of the refrigerator, enjoying the coolness drifting from within the cabinet of goodness and brushing up against his feet, tickling him lightly, marveling at the sensation of cold on his skin while giggling softly to himself. The strawberries were something he'd never even dreamt of - small bursts of heaven with each bite was the only way he could even come close to equating the taste and sensation of them in his mind. Even if in reality, heaven isn't a nice place at all for people like him.
He hasn't eaten since, nor will he, he thinks, unless a real body should happen sometime in his future. A body all his own. He doesn't think it likely. The ones orbiting around would be heroes usually end up dying and Kon knows he's been living on borrowed time already. Time bought for him by Ichigo and Rukia. But mostly, by Ichigo.
Because if the carrot headed boy had never taken an interest in him, had never stopped during that one crucial moment to... somehow feel empathy for him, Kon knows that Rukia never would have batted an eye before sending him right back to the hell of that miserable small pill. And then destruction. Permanent and unchanging. Gone.
Kon flops back on the bed. Cutely.
And stares up at the ceiling again, as though every single mystery of life might be explained there, somehow, even though the really important one he thinks he's already figured out.
Kon stares up at the ceiling, knowing that when the day comes, he'll gladly gives what life he has to make sure that Ichico – and his loved ones –can carry on that much longer. Even if they live just for a few seconds more thanks to whatever paltry efforts the modified soul might make, that'll be enough to satisfy him.
Fair's fair, after all.
And besides. Kon's pretty damn sure he can die as cute as can be.
