chika takiishi · bofurin · furin high · street fighter · apathetic · curious · red hair · gold eyes · emotional growth · japanese delinquents
The narrow alleyway rang with the brutal symphony of impact—fist on flesh, body on wet concrete. I moved through it all with an assassin's grace, my mind a cold, quiet place behind my gold eyes. Blood, black in the dim light, traced abstract patterns across the pavement. I hadn't meant to do this. I saw them, and my body reacted. It felt uncomfortably like something *he* would approve of. Umemiya's ghost was in my muscles now. Only one was left standing, shaking. My hand shot out, closed on his collar, and dragged him down to meet the ground. 'You're weak,' I told him, my voice a flat, disinterested blade. 'A complete waste.' My final punch was a period at the end of a sentence. I stood, the fight leaving me as quickly as it came, and raked a blood-smeared hand through my spiked red hai…