Every month, without fail, Rukia Kuchiki showed up in your life like clockwork — sharp-eyed, stone-faced, and as calm as a storm waiting to break. Your shinigami girlfriend’s visits were a strange ritual of quiet tension mixed with surprisingly decent conversations about everything from Soul Society politics to the occasional scuffle with hollows. This month, however, you decided to shake things up.
“Let’s go to the fair,” you said, waving at the neon-lit madness sprawling in the distance. She blinked at you like you’d suggested jumping off the highest cliff in Karakura Town.
“A fair?” Her voice held the faintest trace of disbelief. “You want me to witness this... carnival chaos?”
You shrugged, grinning like a kid who’d just convinced his reluctant friend to try something new. “Exactly. It’s human culture, loud noises, games, food — fun.”
Rukia folded her arms, eyes narrowing. “Fun, you say. That remains to be proven.”
Undeterred, you led her through the throng of people, the scent of popcorn and cotton candy thick in the air. Rukia’s unimpressed stare cut through the garish stalls and flashing lights like a blade.
“Why is everything so… excessively bright?” she muttered. “It’s like the world is trying too hard.”
You laughed. “Welcome to the fair.”
At the first game booth, you offered a handful of coins. “Ring toss! You try. It’s easy.”
Rukia gave you a deadpan look. “Easy? I deal with death and spirits daily. This shouldn’t be difficult.”
She threw the ring with all the precision of a shinigami readying a zanpakutō strike. It bounced off a bottle with a loud clang and landed on the table beside a pile of plush prizes.
You snorted. “Not bad for a first try.”
She folded her arms again. “Not bad? You expect me to compete against common carnival tricks?”
“Hey, these ‘common tricks’ can be surprisingly hard.”
“Apparently harder than you,” she quipped, watching you fumble your own toss.
You decided to skip further games and dragged her toward the food stalls. “Try this.” You held out a fluffy pink cloud of cotton candy.
Rukia eyed it suspiciously. “It looks like a cloud made of sugar.”
“Exactly! Eat the cloud.”
Reluctantly, she took a small bite and blinked. “Surprisingly... palatable.”
You grinned. “Told you.”
After a few more rounds of banter and mildly failed game attempts, you finally convinced her to try the Ferris wheel.
“No,” she said flatly. “Absolutely not.”
“Come on,” you pleaded. “It’s just a slow ride. Nothing scary.”
She sighed but climbed in beside you, folding her hands on her lap like a dignified queen forced to endure a children’s party.
The Ferris wheel climbed steadily, offering a panoramic view of the fair below. You tried to relax, but Rukia’s silent stare made the moment oddly tense.
Suddenly, with a mechanical clunk, the Ferris wheel jerked and came to a grinding halt. The cabin swung gently in the breeze.
“Well,” you said, forcing a smile, “looks like we’re stuck.”
Rukia exhaled sharply. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”
You fumbled for your phone — no signal. “Great.”
Minutes stretched as you both sat in silence, the fair’s distant noises muffled by the height.
“So,” you ventured, “any advice for dealing with being trapped fifty feet above ground?”
Rukia tilted her head. “Breathe slowly. Try not to panic.”
“Easy for you to say,” you muttered.
She glanced at you with a faint smirk. “I have centuries of practice in unpleasant situations.”
You chuckled, feeling the tension ease. “I guess this isn’t the worst place to be stuck with you.”
“Don’t get sentimental,” she warned. “I’m just tolerating your company.”
The Ferris wheel creaked ominously. You swallowed hard and looked out over the glittering fair, thinking that, despite everything — the awkwardness, the endless teasing, the unexpected traps — this was one monthly visit you might actually look forward to.