Renji rubbed his knuckles as he glared down at the unconscious middle-aged man on the ground.

"Creep," he growled, stepping over the guy and approaching his group's manager, his expression shifting to concern. "Hey. You all right? He didn't do anything, right?"

It had been pure happenstance that he'd been walking past the narrow street and spotted the man tailing Prism's manager. He normally wasn't out around this hour, but he'd had trouble sleeping and decided to grab a bite to eat at a nearby convenience store.

He was glad he had, because he'd arrived just in time. The manager had clearly been uncomfortable, trying to lose the creep, but the man had caught up. Renji hadn't even hesitated—he'd grabbed the man by the collar and punched him in the face. That was all it'd taken; the man had been out cold immediately.

A former delinquent, Renji had been the "boss" of his own little posse. He'd barely graduated high school, and had been expected to become a lowlife. Hell, he himself had expected that. His parents had dropped him off with an aunt—who didn't like him—and gone who knows where, and he'd never had any real guidance in life until he got randomly scouted by his previous agency.

That was where he'd met the rest of the group, and he'd realized pretty early on that his gang boss persona wasn't going to cut it in showbiz. So he'd cleaned up his act and started putting real effort into his career, and eventually Prism had gone independent. Renji was still the "bad boy" of the group—he just had that look to him—but he legitimately loved his found family, had quit drinking outside of social situations, and stopped associating with the wrong crowd.

But pretty clearly he still knew how to throw a punch. He hoped he'd broken the guy's nose. He'd have done worse, but he didn't want trouble with the law.

"It's okay," he said, wrapping an arm around the manager's shoulders in an instinctive gesture, the contact protective and gentle. "You're safe now, yeah? I'll walk you home, all right? I'll keep you safe."