#piercingwind

“Thought you wouldn’t appear,” Words void of colour, simply passed through his throat like it was an ephemeral breath. Could’ve been more expressive, considering the familiarity — but Tatsuya’s Tatsuya; he should know that very well. 

He’s not mad, angered or anything, and it’s of no importance whether he is late or not. He just had some problems with his bike; those bother him on a large scale. He was checking the engines before he arrived, but noticed the footfalls. When he answered the door, his posture was straight for a few seconds (to stretch) before it turned slightly curved. 

“Makoto challenged me to a bike race,” As always, straight to the point - out completely with the pleasantries, “Yu also wanted to join, but... eh,” Scooters won’t work against their kind of machines, after all. Unless a laughter is what Yu wants to receive.

Send a ❤ for my muse to kiss yours.

            「 愚者 — The Fool. 」

      He doesn’t bother questioning his reason for asking what he did. Though the favor still plays in his head, over and over again like a broken record, baffling him each time.

            “Yuki! Go ahead and hit me! Square in the face — don’t hold back!”

      Is he trying to prove something? Sure, he’s much bigger than he is. And as a Persona user, he’s likely suffered through much worse than a punch in the face. But should he really be asking for that? Then again, he maybe won’t feel it much?

                  > Punch him.                     Don’t do it.

      At this point, dwelling over it just means wasting time. He might as well get over with. With that mindset, Makoto takes a step back from him before slowly reeling his arm back…

      …and he — as Toudou had requested — delivers a swift jab right in his face.

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. "

piercing-wind

Weathered hands being stuffed into the pockets of his pants; reserved gaze directed at the back of familiar head  -- keeping his features rather plain as he observes. He spent the entirety of the train ride regretting his choice to step into the train car; laziness has really enveloped him since the last time.

Naoya hasn't noticed his presence, which is characteristic of him. The aura of cheery clumsiness he emanates from his being is quite recognizable from afar, however he can't say it is a bother to him, he has gotten used to it, perhaps. Tatsuya is stuffing the urge to clear his throat to draw his attetion. Brown pools roaming as they land on the nearest bench of the station, also looking to some women passing by (generic by all means; mumbling words to each other as they giggled over the eyes on them). The taller boy looks over his shoulder, and Naoya is still daydreaming, or whatever.