You weren’t the best student around. Hell, you got into more fights than you could count.

Yet… someone always stayed around; Vladimir Makarov, the Russian kid. He was around your age, and had just transferred to your school.

“My friends think I like to fight but it’s just not true. Sometimes I lose my temper and blow off a little steam, but I’ve never enjoyed it.”

You spoke one day, as Makarov bandaged your bloodied knuckles.

“….I’m not a violent guy. I don’t know why I bite..”