Arisugawa Dice

@-scenarioliar 
          
          Gentaro's touch brought unintentional pain to the surface, however Dice fixated on the caring and gentle nature of said touch, or at least that's how he viewed it. The sensation was foreign, but enjoyed; more often than not, someone in his personal space meant a brawl about to commence, putting him on edge, although being with Gentaro reversed that effect. Still, he repeatedly grunted in pain the whole way up, legs unsteady and threatening collapse. 
          
          “Thanks.” Dice shifted his weight to ease the burden, even if not by much. He knew this was strictly a means to assist and nothing more, but he couldn't help taking advantage of the situation; getting as close as he could in an indiscreet manner. 
          
          “Happens all the time, I'll be fine,” he stated. For him, it presented as a minor setback, and he was unable to discern Gentaro's perspective. Then again, in comparison to his own, Gentaro's lifestyle appeared far more luxurious, thus fracases must have been perceived as an abnormality.
          
          The promise of warm shelter from the downpour sparked noticeable excitement within him. “Sounds good!” he agreed, perhaps with too much haste and eagerness. Nonetheless, he felt immense gratitude for the offer, and allowed Gentaro to guide him down the all too familiar route to his apartment, heeding the aching to the best of his best abilities.

@-scenarioliar 
          
          Dice thought it strange for Gentaro to conveniently take a stroll in the brutal weather, though brushed it aside, the unspoken rule of ‘mind your own business’ ingrained into him.
          
          He let out a half-hearted laugh at the author's implications. “I could've kicked their asses easily, but they got the jump on me.” The stench of alcohol hung heavy in his breath, drafting upwards into the other male's face. “I'm glad you're here.” 
          
          Whether or not that last comment was the truth or the previous drinks speaking remained a mystery, even to Dice himself; mind fogged and dazed, unable to grasp what those words fully entailed. By no means was he intoxicated to the point of blackout or outrageous behavior, just tipsy enough to let his thoughts flow freer than before. He brought his forearm to his busted lip and wiped away stray blood, wincing at the pain.
          
          “I had a run-in with some bar flies. I guess they thought I looked at them funny or something.” He shrugged, the casualness betraying his current condition. This wasn't his first, nor would it be his last time engaging in a scuffle, albeit he was often the said victor rather than the defeated. Still, the brawl could have left him on Death's door instead of tossed on Death's lawn, which was lucky indeed.
          
          The small frown went unnoticed by Dice as he attempted to stand upright, letting out a series of ‘ow’s with each movement. Unfortunately, no objects were situated in his radius to provide assistance, leading back to square one with an even bigger ‘ow’.
          
          Slumped against the wall, yet again; he asked, “Can you help me up?” Truth be told, he knew Gentaro could only yield a fragment of aid, however he was enthusiastic to accept whatever help presented itself.

The gambler sat slumped against a concrete wall, amongst discarded trash. The streets of Shibuya were far from clean, however Dice had no care about cleanliness. He never possessed the privilege to form an opinion on such minute things, for his only concern had always been survival. Cold rain soaked his tattered and stained jacket, any warmth it provided fleeting. An array of cuts and bruises adorned his body, fresh crimson mixed with water ran down exposed skin, before inevitably landing on the ground beneath. The thought of Gentaro's reaction upon him entering the apartment briefly crossed his mind, although it was replaced by how he would arrive in the first place. The entirety of his body ached from the beating, and the smallest of movements inflicted pain. This wasn't an unusual occurrence; physical altercations went hand-and-hand with a lifestyle based around desperate street rats trying to stay afloat.
          
          Hearing his name called by a familiar voice, he immediately perked up, wondering if the random beverage he found unattended had been tainted with hallucinogenics or a variety of other illicit drugs. 
          
          “Gen?” he asked, confusion axiomatic. The lack of passersby lulled him into a false perception of solitude, which shattered at the sight of his division member. In a dog-eat-dog world, the notion loomed that someone may take advantage of his weakened state and attempt a robbery; he owned nothing worth thieving, but a larceny would only worsen the less-than-ideal situation. Magenta irises scanned over the soaked man, before he spoke again, “What're you doing out here? You could get sick, y'know.”