"Trust me," Shinjiro grimaced, feeling this punk's words hit a little close to home, "they all saw it. If shit is temporary, you think I really want to put any of 'em through that again?"

His hands clenched in his pockets. In his right pocket, just like in his coat pocket, there was that fucking bottle of pills. Shinjiro was sure it was all in his head, but those bullet scars - he could swear they were pulling at his chest just then. What did this kid know, anyway?

But he remembered Ken's look of horror as he died. The choked sound of Aki's voice while he held him, when he promised to look after the kid.

"I've already done a lot they can't forgive anyway," Shinjiro told him, pushing past his own painful memories. He shut his eyes. "Just, forget the whole thing."