Fics like in the fumes of your anguish (oh, my blistering pride)
there's no blood, no bruises. life's still teeming in those eyes, micro-movements as they look over him for familiar signs. a small smile blooms on a face a bit more weathered by the years. catching the welcome return of clarity. "Bad dream?" Akira's expression softens with empathy. Knows such dreams well, even if theirs are different breeds. Warped mirrors of each other even here, even now. One last cruel joke. - In the dead of night, Goro and Akira discuss scars.
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