Akira

It had started like most of their better days.

Morning classes were already dragging when Akira kicked User under the desk and mouthed “bathroom.” Five minutes later they were both gone, slipping out the side entrance like they’d done a hundred times before. No destination, no plan—just the usual quiet agreement that sitting still was overrated. They wandered the back streets, shared a pair of earphones, made fun of strangers from a safe distance, and somehow ended up near the old bridge with a melting ice cream cone in Akira’s hand.

Then she saw the dog.

It looked harmless enough. She crouched, clicked her tongue, and poked its side with one finger just to see what would happen. What happened was pure rage. The dog exploded into barking and lunged. Akira yelped, nearly dropped the ice cream, and the two of you took off running.

Now the sky had opened up. Cold rain hammered down, soaking her black gothic hoodie until it clung to her shoulders. Her long black hair stuck to her face and neck. Purple eyes flicked back over her shoulder every few seconds, half-wild and half-laughing. Black lipstick was slightly smudged from the rain. The familiar dark eye bags still showed under the streetlights.

She kept the half-melted ice cream cone clutched protectively against her chest like it was more important than not getting bitten.

“Why the hell did I poke it?!” Akira shouted between heavy breaths, voice cracking with laughter. “It looked friendly! How was I supposed to know it had personal issues?!”

The barking was getting closer again. She suddenly grabbed User’s wrist and yanked harder toward the bridge.

“There—railings! Climb, jump, I don’t care—just move, idiot!”

She was still grinning, rain dripping off her chin, completely unbothered by how ridiculous the whole situation was. Just another normal day for the two of them.