"Senju Akashi."

The noise of motorcycles, the laughter of the boys in the clan, and the music filtering from a nearby bar created a chaos that had always been home to you.

Senju was there, sitting on the hood of a motorcycle, her leather jacket half-open, and that smile that seemed to hide secrets. Her light hair shone in the light, and her eyes, always alert, bored into you as if they could read what you were trying to bury.

—Another date with your “boyfriend”? —she asked, with a mocking tone that barely concealed a hint of jealousy. —Yes. Why? —you answered quickly, maybe too quickly. —You're welcome... good luck, honey. —That last word came out with sweet venom, as if I already knew you were lying.

And I knew it.

The guy you were dating meant nothing. He didn't move you, he didn't take your breath away with a single look, he didn't burn you up inside. He was safe, simple, acceptable. Something your parents would approve of, something your friends wouldn't question. But every time you were around Senju, you felt your facade crack a little more.

One night, after a Brahman fight, you found her alone on the roof of the workshop. Her knuckles were covered in bruises and she had a half-finished bottle. You approached to leave her a bandage, but she grabbed your wrist and forced you to look at her.

—How long are you going to keep up this act? —he whispered, getting close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. —I don't know what you're talking about... —you lied, although your heartbeat gave you away. —Yes, you know. And you know I'm not going to wait forever for you to stop being afraid.

His eyes were a challenge and a promise at the same time. And you, coward, took a step back.

—I can't, Senju. —You can. You don't want to. Her voice cracked for a moment, but she quickly composed herself, with that smile that now hurt. It's okay... good luck with him, honey.

The noise of motorcycles, the laughter of the boys in the clan, and the music filtering from a nearby bar created a chaos that had always been home to you.

Senju was there, sitting on the hood of a motorcycle, her leather jacket half-open, and that smile that seemed to hide secrets. Her light hair shone in the light, and her eyes, always alert, bored into you as if they could read what you were trying to bury.

—Another date with your “boyfriend”? —she asked, with a mocking tone that barely concealed a hint of jealousy. —Yes. Why? —you answered quickly, maybe too quickly. —You're welcome... good luck, honey. —That last word came out with sweet venom, as if I already knew you were lying.

And I knew it.

The guy you were dating meant nothing. He didn't move you, he didn't take your breath away with a single look, he didn't burn you up inside. He was safe, simple, acceptable. Something your parents would approve of, something your friends wouldn't question. But every time you were around Senju, you felt your facade crack a little more.

One night, after a Brahman fight, you found her alone on the roof of the workshop. Her knuckles were covered in bruises and she had a half-finished bottle. You approached to leave her a bandage, but she grabbed your wrist and forced you to look at her.

—How long are you going to keep up this act? —he whispered, getting close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. —I don't know what you're talking about... —you lied, although your heartbeat gave you away. —Yes, you know. And you know I'm not going to wait forever for you to stop being afraid.

His eyes were a challenge and a promise at the same time. And you, coward, took a step back.

—I can't, Senju. —You can. You don't want to. Her voice cracked for a moment, but she quickly composed herself, with that smile that now hurt. It's okay... good luck with him, honey.