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Akihiko Sanada learned a long time ago that he couldn’t save people.
He couldn’t save his little sister from flickering red-orange flames that swallowed everything he knew. He couldn’t save the man he called his best friend from a cold bullet fired from a gun held in the hands of a man with piercing yellow eyes. This world had taken his family, his home, and everything he knew, in turn granting him a power that was meant to protect those he loved.
So, he leaned on this power, using it as a crutch when his emotions threatened to spill out. He used to escape the annoyance of girls surrounding him, anxiety bubbling up in his throat as he tried to think of a single person’s name in the crowd. He used it time and time again until his knuckles were bloody under boxing gloves, body aching and adrenaline pumping through veins as a broken heart tried to combat physical strain. Blood-soaked bandages were a common occurrence, a half-used medical kit hidden from the few people that entered his room.
It was a vicious cycle, scabs turning into scars and then new cuts opening on old scars. It was what he sought comfort in, the repetition and the physical pain grounding him and reminding him that despite the pain and the death he was one of the ones who lived through it all, grey eyes watching horrors unfold time and time again.
And then you came along. And the world, that Ceaser held in his left hand, seemed to stop its orbit as grey eyes scanned your pretty face. In fact, it seemed to reverse its orbit as his eyes met yours when you put that cold gun to your head, accepting death and welcoming the power it gave you with open arms. It spun in tune with your voice, your laugh, the way you called for your other self and picked yourself up with determination flashing in those oh-so-addicting eyes.
He could see you in his mind’s eye even now, on the cold floors of that neverending tower after getting knocked down time and time again. He could feel the blood pouring from your nose as if it was his own, the ache in your body and of that silver gun being pressed to your temple. He could feel the scream that ripped from your throat, anger and desperation causing you to reach your breaking point.
It reminded him so much of himself that he was almost scared. With you, he was reminded of all the things he couldn’t save, whether it was Miki, Shinji, or the child he used to be. With you, he was scared again.
His fear was apparent in the way he seemed to keep an eye on you wherever he could. It showed in the way he held himself, more reckless and self-destructive in his actions both on the battlefield and in the halls of Gekkoukan. He was meaner, caring less about those around him and the reputation that was carefully crafted around him.
He always had a craving for the past, but even worse when you were around.
He saw the way you looked at him. The glances in class, the frown on your face as he entered the main doors of the dormitory and had a new set of bruises on the exposed skin of his arms and hands. The gentle chiding of your sweet voice as you pulled out a medkit identical to his in the safety of your room, desperation hidden in your voice as you urged him to take better care of himself.
It was like a drug. And he couldn’t get enough. He couldn’t get enough of the way you uttered that name in that sweet voice, the way his lips slotted to yours as the two of you hid in the safety of your dorm room, a heavy quilt covering plain sheets. He couldn’t get enough of the way you grinned at him after a particularly tough fight, or the way your eyes shined as his eyes met yours. He couldn’t get enough of your very existence.
New Year’s was approaching, and it had you all questioning the meaning of your existence. To live was one thing, to die was another. But was it better to live with no recollection of your past self and die peacefully, or die for what you believed in until the bitter end? It was an unspoken question that fell upon the dormitory. All of you had considered death at least once, some more than others, and no one in the room knew what to do.
In order to activate one’s persona, one had to accept that death was imminent. That someday, somewhere down the line, they would die, and eventually, their names would be forgotten. It was something they had all grown to accept, but with that acceptance came an even stronger desire to live, and even stronger to fight for what was meant to be the right thing.
But what was the right thing? No one seemed to know the answer to that.
With the air heavy with uncertainty and fear and confusion, he had begun to fall back into old habits. He felt weak once again, powerless to the hands of fate and those that had more power than him. Caesar, a direct reflection of himself, was at the forefront of his thoughts, projecting an influx of negative emotions.
Knuckles were bloody again. Circles under grey eyes became darker, exhaustion more prominent. Electricity ran through veins, hidden underneath pale skin and layers of clothing. There was a constant need to be doing something, to keep hands and mind busy in order to not reflect on impending death.
You were in a similar state. Eyes were bloodshot and hands shaking as you forced yourself to eat, cold days becoming even colder as the grim reality of the situation crept closer and closer, time as unforgiving as it was linear. You were not afraid to die, as much as that fact scared you. The thought came fast and jarring, waking you from a state of blissful peace next to the man you loved. You were not afraid to die.
You were afraid of what would become if you didn’t die. If the fight was won, and everything was reverted to how it should’ve been. You didn’t want to forget any moment, from seeing your own blood on the floor in front of you in a neverending tower, to the gentle quiet moments confined in your small room in the dormitory. You would rather die like this, in this exact moment, than see the worst of your fears come to life.
But you fought anyway. The gun got raised to your temple once again, blood pumping and unspoken energy crackling heavy in the air. The storm raged on inside of you, taunting and tempting you to dive into the dark waters.
Akihiko knew he couldn’t save you like this.
And you knew you couldn’t save him like this.
But you two fought anyway, the very same storm in you being present in himself. It spun and silently formed in moments of peace, coming to the front of his very being as he watched blood pour from gunshot wounds and self-inflicted wounds. He was being choked by his very confidence, his own desire to fight.
He knew that he couldn’t save you. But even so, he held that gun to his head, calling forth the other side of himself that greeted him like an old friend.
He knew he couldn’t save you, but he tried anyway.