Akira's Pain, Akari's Love (Part 1: Anguish)

A nasty text from his abusive parents sends Akira down a spiral, interrupting his morning date with Akari.

Akira retreats to weep in the restroom, away from anyone else, especially her. Yet there, he wonders…

Is sharing his sadness truly selfish?

Is it really wrong to lean on the one you love so much?

Akira was thankful, beyond belief, that there was no one to see him. In this swarmed cafe, just across the street from their university campus, he found a semblance of solitude. As he trembled against the white bathroom wall, gripping his phone, staring at that jarring block of text, he noticed a mirror above the sink. That mere second of acknowledgement blared in his mind a dire reminder: If all the men his age grew to be as big and strong as wolves, then his body was no more competent than that of a cub. A man he was, but a pitiful, frail one, just under five feet tall. Indeed, he could tell immediately that the mirror would reflect at most his bust, and the sink was about twice as wide as him. These were just guesses, of course; he was not going to move from where he was. But this was nothing new anyway; these scathing thoughts had always strangled his mind.

His body refused to stop shaking, even when he tried to imagine her hugging him. She, his girlfriend, was waiting for him back at their table—Akari. She must have seen his puny form tense up, his voice crack as he announced a bathroom break.

Akari’s parents were dead.

She had attended a dangerous high school where she constantly got into fights.

Akari used to pay no mind to the blood and spit of bastards. But then she renounced her ways, dedicating her strength to protecting others, refusing to continue down a path of self-destructive delinquency.

Henceforth, that futile past haunted her. Violence, once thoughtless routine, warped into torturous obligation.

Akari wasn’t even a bully before she reformed; she only attacked the willing and deserving. And yet, she was no agent of justice either. She cared not for karma, but rather catharsis.

The senselessness of her actions, and the stress she caused for the aunt who fostered her. For these Akari endured a harrowing guilt, a mental anguish impossible to dissociate from violence. And so, she grew to become terrified of the human body. Horrified at its fluids, its touch, its germs. Her guilt had blended with her Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

However, there was an exception to this aversion.

His name was Akira.

Even an incredible fear could not triumph over her heart’s desires.

Loving her back just as much, Akira would listen to Akari’s troubles. So much sadness and trauma, all which he was more than willing to take in. All for her.

But what about him?

Would it be selfish to share his sadness?

Still standing in the bathroom, Akira gulped as his eyes shed tears.

Was it selfish?

Was it selfish?

He shook his head, muttering in futility, “It shouldn’t matter.” But his eyes convulsed, tearing up further. Indeed, he continued muttering that phrase as his mind went to his friends from college, his friends from back home, and especially his girlfriend. And then his useless mutterings stopped, replaced by one huff, then a puff, then another, then more, back-and-forth, rapid, dense, insufferable.

“It shouldn’t matter,” he managed to let out another whisper.

But just after, his eyes exploded like a collapsing dam. His boney shoulders shot up. His quivering fingers spread, freeing his phone, the torturous device close to falling onto the disgusting floor, but not before his instincts, for once, did not fail him, forcing together his fingers to keep the device in his grasp.

“It shouldn’t…” he whispered, “It… should… not…”

He whipped his palm onto his face, just under his eyes, those pathetic fluids collecting through his fingers.

—

Minutes had passed, and he finally moved away from the wall. After all, his girlfriend was waiting for him. His eyes dryer and his face flushed, he confronted the door, trembling before the handle. He darted his vision towards those small, pathetic sticks growing from his hands. Then, he withdrew his hands to his chest, and simply stared at the door.

Once more, he realized the obvious, that which his mind fought so desperately to reject.

Ten minutes had passed; she already knew something was wrong.

He put his hoodie up to cover his eyes. He looked down as he opened the door and walked slowly towards the table, where Akari waited.

Frail Akira heard endless utterances from his stronger peers, chatting, drinking, laughing. Even with his lover, his own weakness got in the way of his happiness.

He could not bring himself to look up. His lips quivered, and of course, just as he stood in public, it was almost like he was going to sob all over again. “Akira,” Akari’s soft voice murmured to him. He heard some footsteps beside him, and then, a warmth enveloped his hand. “Did you want to leave?”

He gasped with an intense subtlety. And then came a simple nod.

“Alright.” A strong hand patted the top of his hood.

He blushed, almost smiling amidst his tears. He wanted her to see, see how much her affection helped him. But would she not perceive something else instead? Something far more tragic… “A-A…” Once more, his mind returned to the haze. “Akari.”

Akari’s narrow eyes opened further. “Akira?”

“Am I… good enough?” The shouts from the other tables should have completely smothered the question.

However, Akari let out a small exhale, her face growing red, as her eyes looked down at him, her mind glaring up to the skies. “I love you.”

Akira gulped. His body shook once more, his face a mess, but… he smiled fully.

And just then, some force in his body communicated to him a strong will. Following it without a second thought, he took his phone from his pocket. His tiny fingers trembling, he brought it in front of Akari, who slowly grabbed it from him. “P-Please hold onto it,” he murmured, his eyes wide and quivering. “Let’s go back to my dorm.”

Akari smiled at him. And, admiring the angel before her, she replied, “Yes, let’s go home.”