Red is supposed to be his lucky color. He's worn it since his first win in the ring and always kept part of his outfit in the same tone to remind himself that he overcame the challenge that day. Akihiko was a bumbling mess of nervosity before facing his opponent and came out on top in the end, starting a never-broken win streak.

Fingering the wool of his torn bloody vest, the holes and pulled strings where the buttons used to be, he doesn't feel quite so lucky now. He has replacements, somewhere in his laundry, but there's something like unworthiness creeping up in the back of his head. He doesn't know if he should throw this one out, burn it, hug it close or ignore it. In the end he just hangs it in his closet, at the back behind some of his coats.

He grabs his uniform jacket, puts it on like a flimsy shield and makes his way to school, bag in hand. If there was anyone in the stairs or lobby, he can't say. It's all a blur, meshing with the slight drizzle outside.

It's only on the monorail, when the sea takes all the scenery and hides the bustle of the city, that he catches his reflection in the glass. There's a gaunt paleness to his face, black circles under his eyes and with his current getup, he stands out in the train's mosaic of color like a black and white photograph.

There are whispers, like always, but not as many as usual. Either he doesn't stand out as much without his trademark beacon, or the thundercloud that serves as his expression is scattering all the little birds away. It's all just a swarm of black shadows to him, a roaring mass of shoulders and knees he must sidestep to get where his feet are automatically guiding him.

The static roar in his mind is lulling him like the sound of a beach's waves, almost like wearing headphones. Akihiko barely focuses on his classes, going through the motions and almost falling asleep. The rain has stopped, but the clouds outside are still as heavy as the guilt he can't quite swallow down.

His knee is jittering quite a bit and the noise in his ears is giving him a headache, why is he even here doing this... It's so close to the end of the day but school is suddenly insufferable. He raises his hand.

"I'm starting to feel a bit sick, can I be excused?"

The teacher blinks at the interruption but grants him leave to go visit Mr. Edogawa, so he slips out of class and beelines to the first floor. He should be ashamed of the deception but Akihiko can't find it in himself to bother, he has no plan to actually make it to the infirmary to begin with. Loitering until he can bolt it out of here seems reasonable, so he takes his time splashing some water on his face in the bathroom. If he times it right, he can slip through the locker mayhem when the bell strikes.

Once he reaches the main entrance, his eyes spot the pillar. That pillar. He freezes.

There's a tingling feeling in his left palm under the glove, where he held the back of her hair, and his chest is pounding in echo with the flurry of vivid memories flashbanging in his skull.

She's so warm he'll spontaneously combust.

There's her hand raking his hair, his mouth is latching on her pulse.

Her nails are digging in his shoulder and he's biting her lip.

The bell rings suddenly, summoning chaos and a thousand footsteps. He's actually feeling faint for real now and has to hold on to the wall to steady himself.

Get it together.

He spots two flashes of red making their way down the stairs in close confidence, lost in the nondescript dark grey of the student mob. Minako looks like a shadow of herself, all doused flames and dull eyes. Mitsuru has her arm around her shoulders like she's comforting her. Her scarlet curls are so close to their leader's face that he can't help but see the rivulets of blood painting it all over again.

His eyes feel a bit wild.

Mitsuru sees him and freezes. Minako stops walking, confused, and follows her gaze to spot what interrupted her, locks eyes with him. The crimson glint comes alive in a flash but he can't, he just can't. Akihiko melts into the exit rush to run away.

He's kicking at a can in the alley like it personally offended him, this is taking forever. A few randos are sizing him up from beyond the nearby trash container; with the fancy getup and slick shoes they probably think it's worth it.

Let them try.

A lifetime later, he hears the heavy pace he expected coming from the back courtyard. Akihiko waits.

"Whose funeral? You look like shit."

Hands in his coat, Shinjiro makes his way over, glowering at him. Storm-filled orbs meet hazel stare and neither back down.

"Tch. If this is about your recruitment campaign again, I swear…" He sounds exasperated but his eyes are softer than he sounds.

"…You were right."

That seems to take Aragaki aback, he never admits he's wrong. Shinji learns on the brick wall, looks in the distance for a while.

"Eh, just like at the orphanage. How big of a fuckup? Do I need to kill anyone?"

Akihiko stays silent, sits in the store's back stairs like a sleepwalker. The words are hard to choke out.

"…Might as well just trash me."

Shinjiro laughs out loud in amazement, like he knows something he doesn't.

Is everyone in on some sick joke?

"You didn't come here just so I can beat your ass into a pulp, that's your thing."

Still no response.

"Shit, you're serious…"

Uncrossing his arms, he comes to stand over Akihiko, just waiting for him to talk patiently. After a few minutes, the larger teenager sighs heavily, grabs his silver-haired friend up by the jacket and socks him on the jaw.

Busted lip oozing blood down his chin and eyes alight, Akihiko jumps on him and misses badly. Shinji pushes him back to the other wall again, a defiant smile on his face and narrowed eyes inviting the strike back. The tug of war continues for a while, Akihiko barely scoring hits, while his friend dodges or pushes back with light jabs until the boxer finally calls it quit, heaving from the floor.

"You done dumbass? Tired of losing yet?"

He wipes the blood on his mouth with his sleeve, gets up slowly with trembling legs to stare at his "brother". Shinjiro glowers back, smiles grimly.

"She's not dead at least, right? Whatever you did, figure it out and fix it."

Akihiko spits red, deflated.

"…I… don't..."

Aragaki turns on his heels, about to leave, again.

"I'm sorry is usually a good start. Now get lost."