Fractured Reflections

Chapter II

Akutagawa's POV

The fight is swift and brutal. Rashomon tears through the air, slicing through our enemies with ease. The weretiger fights beside me, his movements surprisingly precise for someone so clumsy outside of battle.

But then I notice something—one of the men, moving toward Atsushi's blind spot.

"Watch out!" I shout, lunging forward.

Atsushi turns just in time to see the attacker, but he's too slow. Without thinking, I step between them, Rashomon surging forward to block the blow.

The force of the attack sends us both stumbling back, and for a moment, I can feel Atsushi's weight against me as he catches his balance.

"You... saved me?" he says, his voice filled with disbelief.

I glare at him, shoving him aside. "Don't read too much into it. I can't complete the mission if you're dead."

But as the fight continues, I can't shake the memory of his wide, startled eyes—or the strange warmth that lingered in my chest when he looked at me like that.

Atsushi's POV

The battle is over almost as quickly as it began. The warehouse is silent once more, the floor littered with unconscious bodies.

I glance at Akutagawa, who's already inspecting one of the fallen men for clues.

"Why did you do it?" I ask, my voice breaking the silence.

He doesn't look at me. "Do what?"

"Save me," I say, taking a step closer. "You didn't have to."

He finally turns to face me, his expression unreadable. "Don't mistake necessity for kindness, weretiger. If I wanted to save you, you wouldn't have needed saving in the first place."

I narrow my eyes, but before I can respond, he turns and walks toward the exit.

I watch him go, frustration bubbling in my chest. But beneath the frustration is something else, something I can't quite name.

He's infuriating. Cold. Impossible.

So why can't I stop thinking about him?

Akutagawa's POV

The night air is sharp, cutting through the lingering adrenaline in my veins. I walk ahead, my footsteps measured, though my mind feels anything but calm.

The mission was a success—or as much of one as it could be, given the weretiger's incompetence. Yet, I can't stop replaying that moment in my mind: stepping in front of him, the startled look in his eyes, the way he looked at me like I was someone worth trusting.

It's infuriating.

"Akutagawa," he calls from behind me, his voice hesitant.

I don't stop. "What is it?" 

"You keep acting like you hate me," he says, his tone uncertain, "but then you do things like that."

I halt abruptly, spinning on my heel to face him. The moonlight catches his silver hair, making him look annoyingly serene, even as his expression is etched with confusion.

"Don't mistake necessity for sentiment," I say coldly. "You were in the way. I acted because it was practical, not because I care."

He flinches slightly, but to my surprise, he doesn't back down.

"You say that," he replies, his voice steadying, "but your actions tell a different story."

My fists clench at my sides. The audacity of this boy—this child—to think he can see through me, that he can unravel the person I've spent years becoming.

"You don't know anything about me," I snap.

His gaze softens, and for a moment, I see something in his eyes that makes my chest tighten—a mixture of empathy and something far more dangerous.

"Maybe not," he admits. "But I'd like to."

The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable. Before I can respond, I turn away, walking into the shadows.

Because if I don't, I'm afraid of what I might say.