Crimson Storms // A Hiroto Amamiya Fiction

Chapter Seventeen: Regrets and Realizations

• Hiroto Amamiya •

   The night hung heavy with anticipation, the air pregnant with the hushed whispers of secrets yet to be revealed. Our footsteps echoed as we ascended the stairs towards her unit. Suki's grip on my hand conveyed a quiet confidence, a silent assurance that she was not one to be trifled with.

As Suki unlocked her door, I wasted no time in pushing her against it, the latch clicking into place behind us. At that moment, our eyes locked, an unspoken conversation unfolding between us.

Suki leaned closer, the subtle notes of her perfume mingling with the night air, weaving an intoxicating allure. Our breaths mingled, lips tantalizingly close, a magnetic pull urging us towards an almost-shared intimacy.

But just as our connection neared fruition, hesitation seized me. Takeru's memory flooded my thoughts, his cherished love for this woman now in my arms. My tainted hands, steeped in blood, were unworthy. I couldn't risk staining something precious to Takeru, couldn't bear to harm her. I'd destroy her.

A shadow passed over Suki's gaze, her confusion evident as she sensed the sudden shift in my demeanor.

"I can't..." I faltered, my voice laden with an unspoken apology, the turmoil within me creeping into my words.

Suki maintained her façade, her indifference a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling within her. "Of course," she replied curtly, masking the hurt that simmered beneath the surface.

With a swift motion, she moved past me, tying her hair into a bun as she walked away. A glimpse of a sprawling red dragon tattoo on her back pierced through me, I dreaded every single moment of this.

"I'm sorry," I attempted to follow, but she halted, spinning around abruptly.

"No need to apologize," her tone carried a chilling edge. "Now, are you leaving because I'm about to take my clothes off and get in the shower?"

I stood there, words caught in my throat, knowing they'd only worsen the situation. I nodded and exited, closing the door behind me. Leaning against it, I rubbed my hands over my face.

Ah, Takeru...

   The following morning brought a wave of regret. My actions toward Suki haunted me, gnawing at my conscience. I had led her on, only to reject her afterward. Guilt gnawed at me as I struggled to find a way to ease the ache.

"Hiroto, are you even touching your breakfast?" Masaki's concerned voice interrupted my reverie. I pushed the plate of eggs and bacon towards him before retreating to my room, the door closing with a resounding thud.

Slumping onto my bed, self-recrimination engulfed me. I shouldn't have gone to the club, shouldn't have agreed, shouldn't have allowed it to escalate. Idiot, Hiroto! That's what you are!

My gaze drifted to the ceiling, the images of last night haunting me like a twisted dream. The image of her red dragon tattoo teased my thoughts, igniting an inexplicable curiosity. How far did it extend? My imagination ran wild, a torment I couldn't escape.

Grasping a pillow, I buried my face within it, a futile attempt to silence the torment of regret and unspoken desires.

I gazed at her contact number on my phone screen, contemplating reaching out, but the words eluded me. Frustration simmered within—why did this rejection weigh on me differently? I'd turned down countless women before without a second thought.

Yet, with her, it was different. Unsettlingly different.

Admitting that to myself was a bitter pill to swallow. I detested this emotional turmoil. Determined to shake it off, I decided to take a shower and go for a ride, ignoring Masaki's protests about the dishes being my turn.

The streets of Little Asia held a peculiar charm, a stark contrast to the chaos of Sannoh Region. Though seemingly desolate, there was a peculiar serenity here. My motorcycle hummed as I traversed the quiet streets, relishing the sparse populace—a place where dreams didn't seem to dwell, yet offered a respite from the frenzy of the city.

Lost in my thoughts, minutes melted into hours as I wandered the area until I unwittingly returned to Sannoh. Seeking solace, I found myself drawn to a local bar.

Stepping into the dimly lit establishment, the amalgamation of beer and wood filled my senses. I settled onto a stool at the bar, summoning a glass of whiskey.

"What brings an Amamiya to Sannoh Region?" A voice interrupted my reverie. I turned to find a familiar face—Smoky's friend, Takeshi, now leading the Rude Boys.

"And weren't you supposed to be in Nameless City?" I countered, savoring the whiskey in hand.

"Good beer," he mused with a hint of nonchalance, "...Smoky introduced me to this place."

I nodded in agreement. While I hadn't had the opportunity to truly know Smoky, I empathized deeply with the challenges the boy was facing. The pain of losing someone you've relied on for so long—I knew that feeling all too well.

Takeshi let out a sigh, his expression heavy with the weight of the past. "Ah, here I go again, dwelling on the past."

"What's wrong with that?" I inquired.

"It's what Smoky once shared. Reflecting on the past is acceptable, but longing to return to it isn't," he explained, shrugging.

Frowning slightly, I countered, "That sounds somewhat impractical."

"It's because if we keep yearning for what's behind us, we hinder our ability to move forward. Sometimes, we become so entangled in clinging to memories that we neglect the present," Takeshi explained, his gaze shifting to the golden liquid in his glass. "But life's about moving forward, embracing the present, and being there for the people around us. That's how we honor those we've lost—by becoming a better version of ourselves and making new memories with the ones who matter."