◣ akutagawa ◥ :

The downpour was harsh for someone of his constitution; bronchitis, pneumonia, and a myriad of other diseases he deemed unnecessary to commit to memory - he was susceptible to each one and it was a sign of weakness. (Disgraceful.) He would use this vessel to his liking and what happened as a result was of little concern. Akutagawa had dealt with far worse hardships than a heavy storm. It was not as if his viscera was lying upon the ground because of this child’s pitiful attempt to refute him. He would see this through to the end, a dog’s tenacity ingrained into his core; he intended to tear into the remnants of her hope with a vicious precision. A cough preluded his next string of interrogation, disregarding the ache constricting his lungs and what weak protest she had to offer.

“Can you?” A challenge issued by the hound, one that spared no time to lay bare every vice he saw in her. “Can you stop the way your fingers yearn for a weapon to hold, the way you see others as targets to be cut down when necessary? Can you stop your instinct to slaughter when it is your very being? You were raised to kill, Kyouka. You are a killer, and you will surely kill without hesitation again. It is your nature.” Indeed, children of the mafia were mere weapons, their value stemming only from their ability to destroy. He did not know what sort of life she led before carving up her parents, but he was certain of one thing: Ozaki had saved her from despair and gave her a reason to continue breathing. Perhaps she was like him and that person, he once thought.

But his conjecture had been wrong. The mafia was a sanctuary of darkness for children like her - those who were shunned, left to choke on the muck of the unforgiving nadir. It was not a merciful haven, but it was a way to survive, to derive meaning from a dismal reality. She should have been grateful to be spared from a meaningless existence of groveling in filth, never knowing the blessing of a purpose. Yet she would prefer to stand in the rain before him and futilely reject him rather than live beside him, beside the comrades she had been given in the cruelty of the world.

The words of a fool were contagious, promises of blithe days a poison. She desired a life where she would not have to take another life, but what could she possibly hope to accomplish when slaughter was all she knew? When she fell, Akutagawa would not be there to catch her; he would only be a vulture gazing upon her broken corpse.

The rain had thoroughly soaked his garment, the chill now seeping into his skin and bones. The tightness in his chest had gotten worse; each breath failed to grant him reprieve, instead coiling around his lungs in an act of betrayal. His condition made him familiar with this type of pain, but it had been a while since he experienced it to this extent. It’s an inconvenience, how the coughs that regularly plagued him were now akin to daggers thrust between his ribs. A labored wheeze left him when the cough subsided, his frame lurching forward for a moment before settling upright once more. It would be best to leave now and save himself the grief of both this child’s ignorance and the weather, but he would not rest until the she bent to his truth.

◣ ✿ ◥  Kyouka, of course, had to question what he knew about her life if he was accusing her of being raised to kill; he knew of her parents being killed by Demon Snow, but not the true circumstance of the incident. He didn’t know that her mother, the original possessor of the ability, used it to commit murder-suicide to protect the girl before transferring the ability so that she could use it to protect herself. That even though her parents committed crime, they raised her in a kind and loving home and never taught her to hurt a fly.

Three years didn’t come close to the time she’d spent living with her mother and father. Thinking she’d killed them for three years did damage her, however, making her easily susceptible to the teachings of the mafia. How different would her life have been if someone from the Agency found her instead? Would she have no blood on her hands? No sins to atone for?

Ah, such trains of thought were pointless. If the Agency picked her up, she may never have known the truth behind her parents’ deaths (and lives, for that matter). She could spend years thinking of every possible path her life could’ve taken, and it would never help her deal with anything.

His coughing fit pulled her attention away from thought. She noted that his condition seemed to be getting worse the longer they stood out in the rain. Perhaps she could defeat him by just stubbornly keeping them out there–the hypothermia might be worth it. But after hearing stories of how the Agency’s resident doctor treated her patients, she wasn’t too keen on needing treatment. Maybe a display of mercy would throw him off.

With that in mind, she raised a shaking hand and pointed a few blocks away, towards one of the few restaurants keeping its business open despite the weather. “Over there. Inside. Hot tea. We can talk there.” If she remembered correctly, the owner of that restaurant was a kind, generous man who would likely offer them warm blankets and dry clothing from his apartment located above his business. She enjoyed going there.

Stepping forward, she used her outstretched hand to grab his wrist before all but dragging him in that direction (as though fearless in the act, but she was, in fact, afraid that he’d recoil and lash out at her). There was some saying about being the bigger person, but even if only to spite him, she’d buy him a cup of tea.

For the most part, she just wanted out of the rain, and getting home without freezing to death was proving more difficult than expected.