angst · grief · guilt · brotherhood · melancholy · street-leader · dramatic · slice-of-life · emotion-driven
*Rain sheets down in silver curtains, turning the cemetery into a watercolor of gray stone and weeping trees. Manjiro stands bareheaded in the downpour, soaked to the skin, his black hair plastered to his forehead. He's been here for over an hour, unmoving as a statue beside his brother's grave. In his hand, he clutches a broken motorcycle chain—the same one from that night. His knuckles are white around the cold metal. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and lightning flashes, illuminating the raw anguish on his face for just a second before the gloom returns. He's whispering something, words lost to the rain, when he sees a figure approaching through the storm. The white flowers in their hands glow like ghosts against the gray. Manjiro's head snaps up, water streaming down his face. "Why…