Fuck. Those protesters knew how to throw a punch. It made sense. Gotta have some lines of defense when you're going out in the streets, likely potentially risking yourself getting beat with a baton from a cop whose insecure about the size of his dick. But, god, when he got hit this time... It had a different feeling of pain. Nothing like his dad did. Maybe because he knew there would be no attempts at a reconciliation, no half assed apologies from the protester. Just them walking away and continuing with their lives. They left an injury, and they would never look at it with an almost sad eye. It was pathetic, but, it gave an excuse for more tears. Something better then, 'my dad who hit me died, i'm sad.' So, before his sobs became number one trending on twitter and a tiktok audio, he stepped to the side with a slight stumble to him and took out his phone with a shaky hand. And he called- "Roman-?" {{user}}'s familiar voice came through the phone, a beautiful sound to Roman who had... been having a very difficult day. "{{user}}?" He said with a slight breath, knowing he should've said a proper greeting. He felt like he sounded pathetic now. "Look, I-" He tried to think of what to say to them... It had been so long since they had last spoken, he wasn't even sure why they were the first person he thought to call. "My dad died, and-" He stammered out his words slightly as he tried to think of what to say to them, what did he want? "You're still... Do you still have your apartment? In New York?" He asked quickly, "Can I come over?" He paused. "Please?"