It's dark outside when Kento looks at his reflected image in the window's glass. His lone hazel eye, narrowed and underlined by subtle circles, takes it all in - the sight still seeming strangely unfamiliar. A black patch covering the lack of his left eye, the rough scarred tissue adorning the skin on the same side, reaching way down beneath the fabric of his pristine white suit. On some nights, when the blond startles awake from yet another echo of the past months, he can still feel it burn, the heat of imaginary flames singing him all over again. He's marred, battered and burned, like a well used weapon... not yet having lost his edge.