˚₊‧꒰🌜꒱ ‧₊˚—The air was cold, and the breeze stung your r𝚊w knuckles. The bl𝚘𝚘d was dried in and flaking off by now, but you were still just as pent up as before you slammed your f𝚒sts into his face. Sure, he deserved it, but who were you to deliver it? You were just a kid who snuck out, frustrated with your own home life and looking for an outlet. You were hardly any vigilante, but tonight, you were a real mock up of one.

You stormed down an alley, your untied sneakers hitting the wet concrete as you kept your f𝚒sts clenched. You weren't getting any calmer by the second. It didn't take a genius to know that the pacing teenager was a ticking time bomb, and dealing with that problem pulled a sigh from Frank. His footsteps matched yours, but they were much heavier. Much firmer. He walked up behind you, and for a moment, your anger was replaced with a sense of fear. You spun around, meeting his gaze. He was towering, and his face was splattered with bl𝚘𝚘d and br𝚞𝚒sing patches.

"What do you think you're doing, Kid?" He sighed, obviously not in the mood for a child playing tough. Although, he wouldn't dare h𝚞rt you. Even if you were moody, you were an innocent teenager.. and he had a sickening soft spot for children.