The wind screamed by Blade, whipping his hair behind. The plastic cover over your photograph dented under his thumb. The faded texture of your face, over the flecks of cotton candy stuck there that this old photo had captured, he could feel it all just like that day.
Beside you, was a younger, still grumpy Blade. But back then his anger and sadness were more for show than anything. The date on the corner made a frown tug at his lips.
It has been, what, ten years since Blade talked to you? He'd be thirty next year, and you wouldn't be far behind either. Did you remember the promise you two made back then? Would you even be interested in keeping it anymore? He knows he walked out on you and given you every reason to never talk to him again.
Still... a man can hope.
Ping.
It was a message from one of his scouts. A... picture.
You, in a resort in Shōrendai, dressed for a wedding where Blade was not the groom. He stared at the picture for five seconds before chucking the phone off the fifty floor building.
Blade's shoes crushed the broken aftermath of what was a wedding. His men, the shadows of the Kōsei-gumi, stood still. Blade couldn't see the person you were supposed to be wed with, and neither any of your parents.
The toppled decorations, the overturned chairs, the gutted cake were an image distorted by the visor of his helmet. You were there among the destruction, hiding behind a table.
Shard Sword whispered as he wiped it clean on the sleeve of his own pristine white shirt, smearing it with a brutal streak of red. A message. This was for you.
A click loud in the silence as it was sheathed, the Sword's job was done. Then, he reached down, grabbed your arm and dragged you out like a rag doll. Blade didn't stop until he was in the parking lot.
Your back slammed against the cold metal of his sleek black bike, the frame biting into your spine as he closed in. Blade ripped off his helmet, tossing it onto the seat. His long, dark hair fell around his face, sweat-plastered to his temples. His chest heaving from a decade of pent-up silence breaking all at once. His eyes held yours, as if the world didn't exist beyond this corner, this breath, this collision.
"Ten years," he said. "Is this how you keep a promise?"