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Saviour

Akira has always been the saviour.

It doesn't matter that he's just a kid or that he's barely educated past normal functioning (or at least, that's what his teachers say). He's strong, and these idiots keep following him around, even after he's told them a dozen times and then some. Kengo wasn't the first; no, there were many more before him, but that doesn't matter, because he can't remember any of them, anyway.

It's funny how chivalry and decent moral code has been instilled so thoroughly into his blood when he hasn't had a dignified someone to teach him, and yet he reacts on instinct – like clockwork.

The strong protect the weak.

There are lots of stronger guys out there – both on his side and on the other side. Akira hasn't found any of the former, though, but the latter seem to have no trouble picking him out from the rest of the population.

Maybe it's his hair, Akira muses one day as the heavy, succulent grey clouds roll in, pregnant with rain while he lays face-down in the dirt, bleeding and bruised and medically unstable. The sandy brown colour is unusual to Japan, and the blue-grey eyes even more so an oddity. He'll dye it when he gets home, Akira thinks.

He never has, and probably never will.

Despite what Aya calls his "crappy personality", Akira has no wont for bloodshed or clash, but with the way he can't seem to control his temper he can't help it. Akira's always been attracted to the fight and the red hues of "sophisticated" war.

One way or another, he always ends up fighting and protecting, protecting, protecting....

He's always protecting, even when he doesn't mean to or want to. It seems he's surrounded by idiots who think that he'll always come to their rescue.

Akira wonders if that's true.

But still, protecting is what he does, and he hates it.

And then along comes a chance opportunity: a monochrome little entity dressed to the best with a little top hat and a dandy little cane with the silver and white to accentuate it. It's like lithium in a crystal bottle, and Akira is hopelessly addicted.

The world is tipped upside down in lieu of the norm; suddenly things seem more vibrant and awake, and there are splashes of colour all around him. It's the first time the world has looked so... not boring, and Akira thinks he might be transfixed.

It's a curious thing that he's laughing and smiling and the somehow the glib little remarks aren't quite so glib anymore.

It's different and dangerous and Akira thinks he might just have sold his soul to the devil, but he can't find the time (or the will) to give a damn, and he feels strangely out of place.

He still fights and he still protects.

Akira still hates it, but now...

... Now Akira is someone being protected, too.