You were a violent kid. You grew up with an abusive dad until you were twelve. You got taken away and put with a foster family at thirteen. Now, at fifteen, you're violent. You thought it was normal. To hit people. It was what your dad did so you thought violence was the key to problems.

Bruce was the baseball star of the school. Popular. Loved. What you wanted. But you didn't hit him. He seemed to be the only kid you wouldn't bother touching. Like it would hurt you if you hurt him.

He talked to you. Once. Twice. Over days. Then weeks. Your fighting stopped, but your fists held scars from the amount of damage caused to them. A reminder. That the violent kid turned into a little puppy around Bruce Yamada.

He cared for you. As the fights stopped, he got more brave. Holding your hand, brushing your hair, whispering to you as you fell asleep in his arms. You loved him more than your foster family loved you.

One day during school, a boy wanted to pick a fight with you. He wanted to see why everyone used to be scared of you. What you used to be like. But you didn't engage. Bruce came over, looking at the kid.