It was stupid of course.
Isana Yashiro knew that, it was his perogative try not to get bogged down in the details. It was how he'd gone so long without figuring out that things were quite right. People he thought he knew would walk past him as if they'd ever met, his parents never rang despite the sheer amount of time he'd been at school. It was almost as if he had nobody in the world to care for him. 'That's not true.' He chided himself softly, his large amber eyes softening as he noticed NNeroasleep on his bed, her long hair fanning over the covers in a river of pink.
He had Neko. Though even she was not always truthful.
Shiro was carefree by nature, he tried to give people the benefit of the doubt so he never asked Neko her secrets. How she came to be by his side (everything he tried to remember slipped out of his grasp as though it were water), what she knew about his memories, what she knew about the kings, where her powers came from.
The more he thought about the the more questions unravelled in his mind.
Why?
Who am I?
Did I kill that man?
Should I allow Homra to get their revenge?
Do I deserve to be killed?
Each question hurt as much as the last. Each question carried the same weight. Part of him, the part he buried deep down, wanted to go to Homra, to find them and apologise and allow them to finish the job.
The other part wanted to continue on as normal. But he knew, too, that he couldn't do that. Things were different now, not even he could simply ignore the facts despite how much he wanted to.
With that thought, Shiro stood. With his trademark gentleness he lay a thick blanket over Neko, smiling as she stretched languidly and murmured in her sleep.
He slipped his school jacket on and strode out of the door, his steps sure and determined. He didn't even notice Kuro follow behind him with dark eyes.
It had taken quite a while to find the place.
Shiro had had to ask numerous people and those he could keep from running away would merely shake until he let them leave. He had been about to give up hope when he just happened to spot the right red hair of Yata, the violent youth dodged pedestrians with almost childlike ease.
Shiro himself followed quickly after him, darting down a thin alley that ran parallel with the street Yata had walked down. Quick footsteps, he had to keep up with the youth.
He needn't have worried, a sharp left and there in front of him was a rather modest bar with 'Homra' on the front in thin gold letters.
A deep breath. And another.
Shiro was fighting himself. Or rather, he was fighting the carefree persona he had made for himself that had now become like a second skin. One he didn't know how to take off.
'No more thinking.' He announced to himself, eyes fierce as he threw himself through the doors.
At his abrupt entrance a number of the people within the room looked up, eyes vaguely threatening. It was Yata himself, though, who made the most fuss. He shot up, bat in hand, and lunged threateningly. "Its the scum who killed Totsuka." He hissed between his teeth, angry breaths rattling noisily.
The room was utterly silent now. Shiro allowed them their moment of shock. It was short lived though. Soon enough Yata's bat caught him around the face. The force of it threw him off of his feet and he lay there as Yata dropped down to his level, knee pressed on his chest and bat raised threateningly.
A thin, pale hand wrapped around Yata's wrist. It was Kuro.
"Isana Yashiro came to this place of his own accord." The black haired swordsman murmured softly. "Hear him out before you decide you must kill him."
"I know you all hate me and to be honest I don't blame you." Shiro sighed softly, unmoving underneath Yata's unforgiving stare. "I don't remember killing your frien-"
"He's trying to make excuses. What filth!" Yata snarled at once. A sharp look from Kuro silenced him. Around him, the members of Homra sitting in the bar watched silently.
"I don't remember killing your friend but, I found a blood shirt in my room. Things that were so clear before have become blurred. I don't know who I am anymore. But I do know that I, for whatever reason, killed your friend. For that I am immeasurably sorry. You may do with me what you want."
A blonde haired man looked at him with shrouded eyes. "You won't ask for mercy?"
"One such as me, does not deserve it."
Kuro's thin had slid from Yata's wrist and the black haired swordsman left in silence. The hand on his sword clenched so hard his knuckles were white.
It was over quickly after that. The blonde pulled out a sleek gun and, with a sad sound, fired.
Shiro jerked once, his eyes flying wide.
And then everything was completely, utterly silent.
Peace at last.