Retirement, Darius decided, was not at all what it was cracked up to be. Four months, since he had handed in his equipment and been left to run free. Two, since he had brushed hands with death, and come out the reaper. He'd been busy enough at first, filing all the paperwork, getting affairs in order, arranging the wedding. Now, with most of both done and settled, he found himself with an overabundance of free time that had gone from relaxing to mind numbing in short order. There were only so many games he could play, and only so much time he could spend sleeping in, before long standing habit and the simple realities of his personality demanded he make himself busy with something productive... At least, something other than the training that had been quietly undertaken, in that world nestled within their own, where spirits ran free of their bodies.
Exercise was an easy place to start, once the wounds across his midriff had sufficiently healed. It filled his mornings well enough- once his fiance went off to work. Weekends has been easy enough, too, once some encouraging words from his soon-to-be wife had nudged him into starting up a self defense class for the young adults and teens in the area. But, that left his afternoons during the week painfully empty, in the hours before she came home. Much to the polite suffering of his neighbors, he had taken up trying to learn guitar, in those hours, settled on his porch with a beat up old acoustic he'd bought in town across his lap, and instructional videos pulled up on his laptop, set in the vacant of the two rocking chairs.
It was there he could be found, fumbling his way through a lesson and gritting his teeth at every muted note or off key pluck, by the wandering youths as they went about their own lives. Darius had been a pleasant enough presence in their varied group training with the shinigami, always encouraging, if a touch loud. He'd made a point of inviting everybody to his little weekend classes, an effort to encourage comraderie and fitness among their growing group of misfit substitutes, as he put it. So too had he declared his door open to them all, whenever they needed it... Though perhaps there were better things to come across than his awful playing. Surely, he would improve with time.
Surely.
Still, if they did decide to make their presence known, he greeted them with a smile, quick to set the instrument aside- otherwise, it seemed unlikely he would notice them at all, so focused on his pained attempts to learn and fill the time.