How To Heal: A Fragmented Shadow

Chapter 2: Tides of Frustration

Chapter 2: Tides of Frustration

The mission had been an unmitigated disaster—or at least, that's how Akutagawa saw it. Every interaction with Atsushi Nakajima felt like a personal affront, a reminder of failures he was still clawing his way out of.

Now, hours after their begrudging collaboration had ended, Akutagawa stalked into the Port Mafia headquarters with a sharp, deliberate stride. His coat swirled behind him, the frayed edges of Rashomon snapping like a restless shadow. He passed Higuchi near the entrance, her concerned eyes following him as she called out, "Akutagawa-senpai, is everything—"

"It's nothing," he cut her off, his voice razor-sharp. "Focus on your work."

Higuchi flinched but nodded, murmuring an obedient, "Yes, sir," before retreating to wherever she was needed.

By the time he reached the quiet office where you were waiting, his mood had simmered into a tightly coiled storm. He slammed the door behind him, the sound reverberating through the room.

You glanced up from the stack of reports you'd been reviewing, unfazed by his dramatic entrance. Akutagawa's temper was as much a part of him as the dark coat he always wore, and by now, you'd learned not to take it personally.

"Rough mission?" you asked casually, leaning back in your chair.

He fixed you with a glare, his sharp features etched with irritation. "Rough doesn't begin to describe it."

"What happened?" you prompted, setting the papers aside.

Akutagawa crossed the room in a few quick strides, stopping near the window where the faint glow of the city lights spilled in. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "The weretiger happened," he spat, the words laced with venom. "That idiot had the audacity to get in my way. Again."

You bit back a smile, knowing better than to let him see any hint of amusement. "Atsushi does have a knack for pushing your buttons."

"It's not just that," he snapped, turning to face you fully. "He's... infuriating. Every time we cross paths, he treats me like I'm some sort of charity case. As if I'm beneath him."

You studied him for a moment, taking in the sharpness of his features—the narrowed eyes, the tight line of his jaw. It wasn't just anger fueling him; it was frustration, self-doubt, and the endless weight of trying to measure up.

"Maybe you're imagining it," you said gently. "Atsushi doesn't strike me as the condescending type."

Akutagawa huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're defending him now?"

"I'm not defending him," you said, standing up and walking over to him. "I'm just saying you might be reading too much into it. He doesn't see you the way you think he does."

He scoffed, but his posture shifted slightly, the rigid tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. "That's easy for you to say. You don't have to deal with him."

"No," you admitted, leaning against the desk, "but I do have to deal with you."

His head snapped toward you, his eyes narrowing. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're wound tighter than a spring," you said, your tone light but not unkind. "You let him get under your skin, and it makes you miserable."

Akutagawa opened his mouth to retort but stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. You were right, and he hated that you were right.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. He let out a sharp breath, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"I don't know how to stop," he admitted quietly, the vulnerability in his voice almost imperceptible.