[It should be shocking, maybe even disconcerting or fear-inducing, to see the young man hurl the chair into the wall. And if Akira were someone that he wasn't, someone who didn't just roll with the punches in life and come out unbothered by its weirdness and quirks, maybe he would be. Maybe, especially, if he hadn't already been dead for a day.

His first response is instead a strange one. It's a sense of déjà vu, of a face that he feels like he's seen before...

He really does mean to ask one of the questions rotating in his mind. "What's your name?" or "Are you alright?" - something that's a lot more normal than what comes out of his mouth.]

I really do love a guy that can throw me around.

[Shit, he doesn't say out loud, arms crossed over his chest where he leans against the wall and with none of the horror ricocheting through his brain showing up on his face. Damn it, why is it still happening?! I don't even know him-]

I'd ask if you're free next weekend... but if we're dead, don't we have all the time in the world to get to know each other?

[He'd already had the worst day of his life when he realized he had this weird effect on him... and now he gets to have the worst day of his death, too.]