"People leave traces of themselves where they feel most comfortable, most worthwhile."
― Haruki Murakami
Kougami's absence lingered like the scent of his cigarettes, cloying Akane's mind until she could think of little else. Routine responsibilities quickly became a nuisance, decreasing in significance altogether, disappearing in a crescendo of light, colour, and sound. He'd dominate her thoughts like a weed, taking root as though he belonged there. She'd struggle to drive him away, storing all memory of him somewhere out of reach, but he'd always emerge unscathed, an insistent presence she could barely contain. She lived in accordance to her own values, but coveting the memory of a wanted criminal crossed the line. She admired his sense of conviction, how he'd march to the beat of his own drum in the face of uncertainty, and how he'd stare at her sometimes when she'd say something unconventional or even outright dangerous. His eyes weren't as guarded when he'd look at her like that. She'd catch sight of sentences he'd never say out loud, watching in silence as they'd slip away like smoke, blending into the blue of his eyes until darkness remained where there had once been light.
The man he'd become in the time they'd spent together had frustrated her, but he'd proven her wrong on many occasions, allowing his penchant for justice to supplant his need for revenge. He was capable of so much more than he'd believed, and she wished more than anything to witness it in person. He had seen her potential and she had done her best to rekindle his own. She refused to admit that she missed his presence in her life, living under the pretence that he deserved everything he had fought so hard to obtain, but her assumptions seemed presumptuous, constructed in an attempt to shield her own sensitivities. She had always been unorthodox, deconstructing people's characteristics in order to better understand them, but Kougami was an enigma, difficult to comprehend. She continued to chase him, grasping at the dregs of his cigarette smoke long after it had faded away. She'd convince herself to carry on in spite of it all. Her dissatisfaction with herself bothered her more than anything else, eroding what remained of her constitution until it felt as fragile as a sheet of glass. She'd embody his beliefs, wearing his wisdom like a second skin, losing herself in the musings of a man many people considered insane. She felt empty, afraid to analyze herself in fear of what he'd say if they'd ever see each other again.
The sensation of his stare persisted from their last encounter, orange from the light of dying explosions, full of intent, tenderness, and something she refused to acknowledge in the midst of an all out war. She could still feel his hand on her shoulder, allowing the sound of his voice to fill her mind until she could hear nothing else. His face consumed every thought within her head, demolishing the sanctuary she'd built around her heart in an attempt to keep him out, but while she'd been unable to decipher him, he'd done the opposite. The taste of his mouth tormented her the most. Her first thought had been of whiskey, spicy and hot, spilling into her bloodstream like liquid fire, making her feel as though she'd become as unstable as the surface of the sun. Before she'd become aware of it, her fingers had found his shoulders, face, and the spaces between his ribcage, disappearing into the fabric of his shirt in an effort to keep him from running away from her. His lips had been a welcome distraction from the chaos occurring around them.
Their actions had be wrought from desperation and she knew that every second of it had been wrong, but she couldn't stop herself from reliving it. She had witnessed a side of him that existed only in the darkest corners of her mind, a place she'd visit when all else had failed, illuminating her inhibitions until she became subservient to them. He wasn't as difficult to understand under those pretences. She'd peel back his layers one by one, decoding every thought that danced behind his eyes until he stood unhindered before her, the man she'd sometimes see in subtle moments, aware of every move he'd make. She had learned to accept that he preferred to reside on the borders of her life, watching from a distance but never truly allowing himself to take part, elusive like his cigarette smoke, lingering in the air around her at all times. There was only so much she could do to withstand the memory of him. She'd light one cigarette after the other, running her fingers across her lips in thought, remembering his mouth and the promises written within his kisses. She'd continue to chase him and he'd continue to run, but she'd never truly understand him until they lived as equals, free to choose one another of their own volition. Until then, he'd lie in wait. She'd live her life in constant pursuit.
That was all she could ever hope for.