Renji sat on the floor, his back against the cold wall. The lights in the room were off only a dim glow from the street slowly crawled across the ceiling, as if hesitant to descend. He stared into space, but it wasn't her he saw.
The smell of damp.
Sharp, sour.
A school restroom.
He winced, as if the memory were a physical blow.
That man had appeared suddenly. Not a student that was immediately clear. His steps were too heavy, his gaze too calm. Renji had been washing his hands, the water running too loudly, as if deliberately trying to drown out the tension that hung in the air.
"Hey," his voice was low. "You."
Renji didn't answer. He turned off the water, slowly wiped his hands on his pants, and looked up. The mirror reflected them both: a teenager with tired eyes and an adult man standing too close, too confident. "Do you know what happens to those who meddle too much in things that aren't their business?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
Renji felt something twitch inside. Not fear—anger. That familiar anger, sticky like blood on his knuckles. He clenched his fists before he even realized what he was doing.
"Get away," he said quietly.
The man chuckled. One step forward.
And then everything went blurry. The rush of blood in his ears, the shortness of his breath, the thought if I don't strike now, I'll lose. His shoulder jerked, his body ready to lunge forward
"RENJI!"
Akio's voice hit harder than any fist.
He stood in the doorway, out of breath, with that expression on his face that Renji hated most: not anger, not fear weary disappointment.
"Are you picking a fight again?" Akio said. Calm. Too calm.
Renji froze. His fists were still clenched, but his body had become unresponsive. The man muttered something, retreated, and vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. All that remained was the smell and the disgusting feeling, as if you had just been tested and you don't know if you passed.
Akio came closer.
"Do you understand how this could end?" he asked quietly. "You're not a father."
That phrase hit him the hardest.
Renji closed his eyes.
Father.
The image of the bars, the dim light of the cell, the heavy gaze through the glass flashed through his mind. The last conversation. A voice that no longer held any strength only regret and something akin to shame.
"Don't repeat my mistakes," his father had said then.
But Renji still couldn't figure out what exactly.
He exhaled slowly and stared into the darkness of his room. The past wouldn't let go. It didn't scream it simply sat nearby, like a shadow, a reminder: blood runs in the family.
Renji ran his hand over his face. His hands trembled not from fear, but from the fact that he was once again on the brink. And next time, Akio might not make it in time.
"I don't want to be like him..." Renji whispered into the void.
But the void, as always, didn't answer.