That's Not Potpourri
Akihiko has been remarkably well behaved since his withdrawal stint in the clinic- there's been no monuments to Zeus made of live wiring, no fights with inanimate objects, and no obscenely loud music playing from his gym at odd hours in the morning. And today he isn't causing a large disturbance either, just sitting outside of his gym quietly, like a good citizen.
A good citizen with a pile of matches, both burnt and unlit, surrounding his body on all sides. He's lighting them with a disturbing level of focus, oblivious to any passers by as he watches the flame consume on match after another, mesmerizing light dancing and arcing its way down to his fingertips. The pain of the flames meeting his fingertips doesn't register- he watches the fire consume his skin as if it's no different from the matches wood.
Judging by the pile of unlit matches beside him, this could go on for quite some time.
[Akihiko's been bad, if that's what you'd call it.]
A good citizen with a pile of matches, both burnt and unlit, surrounding his body on all sides. He's lighting them with a disturbing level of focus, oblivious to any passers by as he watches the flame consume on match after another, mesmerizing light dancing and arcing its way down to his fingertips. The pain of the flames meeting his fingertips doesn't register- he watches the fire consume his skin as if it's no different from the matches wood.
Judging by the pile of unlit matches beside him, this could go on for quite some time.
[Akihiko's been bad, if that's what you'd call it.]