Akira stood in front of his bathroom mirror, adjusting the collar of his dark blue button-down shirt. The fabric was new and crisp; he'd bought it specifically for today. He paired it with dark jeans and his cleanest sneakers, going for casual but put-together.
"Not bad," he muttered, running a hand through his hair one last time.
"Looking sharp, darling," Ai purred in his mind. "Though I remember a time when you couldn't even look at yourself in the mirror without cringing."
Akira's reflection stared back at him, and for a moment, he saw the ghost of his old self: round face, slouched shoulders, acne-scarred skin, and that perpetual look of defeat.
He remembered standing in a similar way months ago, psyching himself up to talk to Sakura.
We all remembered how that ended up…
But that was the past.
