For as long as Shuya had been outside, the thick hoodie he was wearing was of no use against the cold air. He had been wandering for hours, his hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans, and his eyes predominantly glued to the pavement in front of him. It was the weekend after everything had fallen apart, and Shuya had fled AIASF, heading back to the other side of the city in an effort to get away from his mistakes. He was plagued by thoughts of Frankie, of course; visions of her face after he had broken up with her, along with the sight of the bracelet on his doorknob, and the image of her balled up quietly in the corner of her room, were clouding his vision, so much that he couldn’t focus on much of anything else. He had bumped into countless people while he had been walking, mumbling apologies over his shoulder but not stopping to properly look into their faces.

He had been on thin ice with Frankie after she had taken him back the first time, and as sweet as Frankie was, he could tell she wasn’t one to be crossed; there wasn’t much that he could do to fix it this time, if there was anything that could be done at all; the thought of that did more than just upset him, it made him panic. He was torn between these two trains of thought, and had been since the door had been slammed in his face; kicking himself for his stupidity, and trying in vain to figure out what he could do to right his wrongs.

He didn’t see or hear the gang of men that had singled him out until they were within only a few feet of one another, and even then, it wasn’t until the wall of them shoved him backwards, bringing his simultaneously thoughtless and thoughtful walking to a stop. He was in a neighborhood; he wasn’t sure of which one, but they seemed to be completely at home here. It took a minute for Shuya to realize who was standing before him; the last time they had met, he hadn’t exactly been thinking or seeing clearly. Even if he had made the effort to apologize, or explain what had happened, it would have been in vain. After the rampage he had gone on, resulting in the scars and healing stitches that marked his victim’s face, there was no apology or explanation that would d have stopped what was coming.

Despite his scatterbrained state, his instinct for self-preservation, and the natural fighter in him, were always alert; he was ready for the first swing when it came from his nameless former victim, relying on his instincts to protect him rather than his mind, which was in no position to fight.

He was no stranger to uneven fights; in his teenage years there had been plenty of times when he had been outnumbered. There were four of them in total, and they were rich in brute strength, but Shuya had skill and experience to level the playing field at least a little. But his prowess angered them, and only made them fight back harder. He held his own, like he always had, and he always would.

He didn’t get a chance to see what it was that one of them hit him with, but it was hard, and the blow was stunning; he lost his focus and his footing, and it was all they needed to turn the tide. They overpowered him in seconds; there was only the mercy of unconsciousness left for him as mind-numbing pain battered his body relentlessly, even as everything faded to black.

*  *  *

Frankie was surprised that her heart hadn’t exploded yet.

When she had gotten the call from Kazuma, she hadn’t had even the slightest guess at what it was that he wanted. She didn’t even remember giving Kazuma her phone number; as kindhearted and warm (in his own way) as he was, Shuya’s giant brother intimidated Frankie, and she had never spoken to him without Shuya present.

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