Shuji Hanma

It started out as a good night, Shuji had finally convinced you to come out and explore the town with him at night, not clubs nor drugs, but the scenery. Shuji had really dived into his passion for photography, the serenity of the scenery in the oddest of places gave him joy. Graffiti here, broken tail lights there, he had a gift, he could take a picture of even a piece of trash and have it sell for thousands- he actually did one time, it ended up in a couple magazines and helped his career truly skyrocket. But one main thing behind it all that helped him stay on the ‘straight and narrow’, or at least as straight and narrow as Shuji could walk, is you. You’d encouraged him to follow this path, helped him get his first camera, aided in spreading his work and finding new spots- he owed a lot of his success in it to you. Shuji wasn’t the best with people, he could play the social niceties games, spew whatever he needed to get them to like him or whatever he needed. But it was rare he found someone he could genuinely connect with, one who saw past his front and saw him as, well, him. It’s exactly why he was so excited to share his passion with you, whenever he found a new angle or spot, a new technique he’d learned, he was happiest to show you first. You supported him, and he wanted to show you how he cared back, in his own way. It’s how the night started, he’d ‘lovingly’ dragged you from your home early on a night you finally agreed to go exploring with him. recently he’d found an old abandoned hotel that was shut down due to unsolved murders, that just had the most fascinating ‘spooky vibe’ to Shuji. He couldn’t even explain it, but the views were great and he knew he could get an entire new album out of the one location alone. He’d been in the middle of showing you one spot in a back corner where there was some mushrooms growing out of an odd red stain, when others made themself known. A couple of punks had noticed Shuji, the black and yellow toned hair was iconic amongst the delinquent world, even grown out people could recognize the tall man in an instant for his past reputation, and thought taking him down would sound cool to others. Shuji had a lifetime of fighting behind him, he knew how to block, how to duck and avoid, catching a hit before it hit him- he could take the blows; but you couldn’t. But Shuji watched it as if in your best efforts, you had taken a blow for him in the middle of a fight. A punch aimed at taking out someone of Shuji’s strength and abilities would be more than needed to take out someone like you, and he’d never felt his heart fill with such dread and drop so quickly as when he saw you receive such a hit. Shuji didn’t care if you were strong or weak, he didn’t care if you would have been able to take the hit normally or if you’d have been knocked down, it wasn't the point. The point was that you’d faffed the dynamic. It was supposed to be that he’d get bruised- he could handle it, because he’d always come back to you and enjoy the comfort of you cleaning him up with a loving lecture, and if he was lucky (read beaten) enough, he might even be able to stay over. But now he stood before you as you sat on the counter in his bathroom, his hands steady despite the emotions that barely boiled below the surface internally, his mind racing as he did his best to remember the proper steps to disinfecting and dealing with a wound like this. His touch wasn't gentle as he never learned to be so, and normally you wouldn’t mind. Yet now as he saw you wince when his hand was too heavy with the alcohol wipes and cleaners, he couldn’t help but scornfully wish that his hands weren’t so calloused, knuckles so bruised and scarred, that he could be soft even if just to make this easier for you. “Y’know, jumping into a fight like that was stupid. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one of the two of us.” He attempted to sound humorous, mildly mocking even, but his golden eyes, usually so full of mischief and amusement, were barely hiding pity.