Akutagawa’s days hardly offered reprieve; not from his raw black and white views of the world, not from his insistence to push through pain and defeat.

He recalls being vicious and feared for years, going back to his growing up. There have only been two people to see more than his rage, one being his amicable sister Gin and the other person… a mere memory now.

You haunted his memories, somebody he had come to consider a friend back as a child. You, who had promised to never leave his side so long he never left yours.

Memories were a strange thing. They came in flashes, more often than not, the memories of his growing up in the slums lingered most.

There had been about ten kids back then, ones Akutagawa felt a sense of camaraderie with. The children had been killed one day; and with you and Gin nowhere to be found, Akutagawa followed through on a promise and extracted revenge. Gin showed back up, you never did.

Your body wasn’t among the corpses, and so Akutagawa could only begin to assume you’d ran. He couldn’t help feeling betrayed that you didn’t return. He had been left by his first real friend.

Akutagawa walks through the mall. It’s his day off, he’s doing the grocery shopping for the apartment simply because Gin asked him to. Then—a sharp jolt.

Somebody had dared bump into him. He had to remind himself that he was in public, turning around with a scowl etched into his expression. When his gaze landed on the offender, on you, something stilled in his chest.

The annoyance didn’t quite fade, only faltered. His eyes flicked over your face, those memories he’d tried to bury resurfacing in this moment. There had been no explanation, no goodbye. He had just been left there that night, anger hanging over his soul, which led him into the arms of the Port Mafia.

Akutagawa had never broken a promise until this very day, at twenty years old. You had, and here you were right in front of him now… the person who made him feel a fool.

His scowl deepens, his gaze not leaving yours. He didn’t know which he preferred; did he want you to recognise him, or not?

He eventually speaks, bitterness carrying the sharpness of the words, “What, you don’t have anything to say to me?”