we feel, we grow, we fight.
He couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, a dozen of cameras trained on him at once. Whether it was true or not, the vigilance and paranoia that fueled his survival instincts when he had his back against a wall wouldn't allow him to take up residence in such a place. Some street thugs with nothing but their fists. They ask for valuable things; he has nothing. Unless they want the spare for bus. He can't avoid telling the careless joke -- their cacophonous laughter resounded the alley.
He wasn't actively looking for a fight, per see. However, that didn't mean he had to deny his barbaric impulses either. He wasn't expecting to run into trouble, but trouble finds him anyway as he wandered. It was dark around there. No one probably would help, perhaps because no one could see, or they were turning a blind eye. He could have turned on the radio secretly, but he haven't had the opportunity to punch someone in some time and besides, unfair fights really piss him off.
Tatsuya starts the round launching himself right into it without hesitation, grabbing the nearest guy by the neck of his shirt and slamming a fist in his face. It's a knockout, but another one catches him in a chokehold and the third finally starts to strike hard fists against his stomach. These guys had no sense of sportsmanship whatsoever.
He breaks one's rib and the other's arms, just for that trick they attempted, but his wounds are still bad. Eyes start to swollen, as upper lip doesn't stop bleeding. Scratches upon his knuckles, and his outfit is now dirty and bloody. The mere adrenaline's the only thing that maintains him lucid, time to act quick.
Fifteen minutes walking and he's already knocking someone's door. Naoya's door, specifically. Luckily for him, he was near. At the very least his bike is safe within the safe walls of a park lot. Knocking again, he says aloud, " ----Naoya, it's me, Tatsuya. "
He only hopes Naoya's home.