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Summary
A deeply buried part of him can’t help but wonder what it would feel like if he smashed the mirror, destroying that damned reflection once and for all so he doesn’t have to look at it anymore. Atsushi secretly longs to see his own blood splatter and stain the shattered glass as it flies in all directions. Maybe then the pain of his cut up hand will feel good (maybe it’s better if the pain is something he chooses to inflict on himself).
But he only lays his palm flat against the mirror’s glass and thinks that life would have been so much better for everybody had the White Reaper of the Port Mafia never existed at all.