"You and I, Yuki. We're both pitch black. I have to make it match. It has to be the same on the outside, as I am on the inside."
And she waves her paintbrush everywhere, flinging little drops of darkness all around the room. Marching into the blackness without a regret or a second thought, barely looking back as she steps deeper down.
And Yuki tries to march out of the darkness but he's being pulled in. Falling, fast and hard, screaming as it grips him and it hurts and he's choking. Suffocating. And everyone is just staring at him, angrily, apathetically-- because the ones that don't hate him just don't care. Can't they tell they're pushing him? He's slipping and falling, crying and screaming, begging and pleading, needing to be saved.
And how could Akito just decide one day she was going to go down, needing no invitation, no convincing? When Yuki was struggling against the darkness that pulled at him, pressed down on his lungs, demanded he come down? He could almost see Akito walking down but then she was too far away, and somehow he knew that they had been walking different paths all along. Different kinds of blackness.
His was the stifling kind that stole his breath, stole his hope, stole his confidence, until he was left with nothing. and hers, maybe it was the worse kind-- the kind that took nothing but the sanity.
His was the kind he was trying so desperately to struggle free from, and hers the kind she was happily marching into, because she was so far gone she could no longer see the damage being done.
And then it was too late for both of them.