I've been having serious writer's block lately, in every single one of my stories; so is nice to know I can still manage to write something halfway decent. Anyway, thank you so much for the reviews! And remember, reviews are chicken soup for the soul.
Spoilers for the end of the Soul Society arc, so if you haven't been keeping up with the manga you might not understand this.
Bittersweet
By: Nekare
Longing For Death
He keeps on seeing her all the time.
He keeps on seeing her everytime he looks at his sister, the same clothes a little girl shared with a Death God without even knowing it, the clothes that appeared and disappeared from her closet mysteriously and made Yuzu wonder just when she had washed them (and used them).
He keeps on seeing her when she sees someone her size walk down the street; his arm already up ready to ruffle her hair when he finally freezes in surprise, a myriad of short woman already seeing her as the neighborhood fool as he turns around quickly and stomps angrily away just when he seemed to be about to greet them.
Dark hair reminds him of her, which is sad since in the damn country someone decided for him to be born in there's a ninety eight percent of dark-haired people; and everytime he sees someone with a black shirt it reminds him of her too, even when he knows he's only seen her once in black – black and red, he tells himself, black and red.
He still forgets that he doesn't have to bring an extra portion of dinner with him to the room, even when it's been a month already, and Yuzu's told him just a few days ago that the extra portions have finally made themselves known in the form of body fat – which made him frown upon his reflection in the steamed mirror after the bath, though he would never admit to it.
When Chappy the bunny is played in the TV he unconsciously turns to his right – her old seat in the couch when the house was emptied but for the two of them – to taunt her about the silliness of her adoration for the stupid rabbit only to find an empty spot next to him; he scowls even deeper as he changes the channel absentmindly. He's admitted to himself he misses to set her eyes on fire with their fights. Nothing wrong with that, right?
He hardly ever uses his closet anymore, instinct telling him he would be punched if he opened the door while the most dangerous girl he's ever known is changing into her pajamas (his sister's, actually); his head screaming how big of an idiot he is for forgetting her absence at the same time.
He keeps on seeing her everytime he has to go Hollow hunting, a shadow on the back of his mind that refuses to let him go as he faces the monster alone; a telltale sound from his brain that tells him to expect the criticism and teachings he used to need so much, and when he turns around with a cocky smile expecting the sarcasm – since she would be caught dead before giving actual praise – from her little form, he can't help but be surprised of the fact that she's gone.
He thinks he'll go crazy, thinking of her that much. So he tries to smother himself with his pillow the night the realization collides – hard – with his brain, because the fact that he's pining after Death herself sounds way too much like teenage angst for his liking.
So he snaps at everyone within a mile radius from him, and he leaves a bloody mess (quite literally, too) with the next few Hollows just to let out some steam.
And he swears he's going to yell at her the next time he sees her.