How To Heal: A Fragmented Shadow

Chapter 4: Troubles

Chapter 4: Shadows of Envy

The Port Mafia headquarters was a labyrinth of steel and shadow, its dimly lit halls cloaked in a heavy silence that only the bold dared to break. Akutagawa Ryunosuke moved through these halls like a specter, his sharp, angular features cast in stark relief by the faint glow of overhead lights. His black coat swept behind him like a second shadow, the frayed edges brushing the ground in restless motion.

He had intended to find solitude, to drown his thoughts in the silence of an empty room, but instead, they followed him—you followed him.

When he stepped into one of the smaller briefing rooms and closed the door behind him, his hand lingered on the knob. He exhaled sharply, as if trying to expel the feelings clawing at his chest. Jealousy. Loneliness. Frustration. They gnawed at him like a relentless tide, eating away at the stoic façade he so carefully maintained.

But before he could collect himself, the door opened again.

"Do you ever knock?" he snapped, spinning to face you.

You stepped inside with a deliberate calm, closing the door behind you and leaning against it. "I didn't think you'd answer," you said simply.

He scowled, his sharp black eyes narrowing. "What do you want?"

"To talk," you replied, your tone firm but soft. "And before you say no, you don't get a choice this time."

He crossed his arms, the tendrils of Rashomon stirring faintly at his sides. "I'm not in the mood."

"You never are," you said with a faint smile, stepping closer.

The room felt smaller with your presence, and Akutagawa's already-tense posture stiffened further. "If you're here to lecture me, save your breath."

"I'm not here to lecture," you said, your gaze steady. "I'm here because you've been avoiding me. Again."

"I haven't—" he started, but you cut him off.

"You have," you said firmly. "And don't even try to deny it. I can tell."

His jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked away. "I've been busy."

"With what?" you pressed. "Because it doesn't look like work. It looks like sulking."

"I don't sulk," he bit out, his voice sharp.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Right. So what do you call sitting alone in the dark, glaring at the floor like it insulted your coat?"

He opened his mouth to retort but found himself at a loss. Instead, he muttered, "I don't have time for this."

"Make time," you said, stepping closer. "We need to talk, Ryunosuke."

The use of his name made him falter, his sharp gaze snapping back to you. Few people dared to call him that, and hearing it from you always felt different.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said curtly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.

"There's everything to talk about," you countered, your voice softening. "You've been pulling away, and I want to know why."

He bristled, Rashomon flaring slightly before retreating. "It's none of your concern."

You stepped closer, refusing to back down. "It is my concern. Because I care about you, whether you like it or not."

That seemed to snap something in him. His pale cheeks flushed faintly, and his sharp features twisted in frustration. "Why?" he demanded, his voice rising. "Why do you care? Why do you..."