you know, I could never leave out my favorite INFP musician! it was hard to choose just one song, but i think his personality really shines in this one. it seems to be an INFP thing, to search for a purpose and meaning so ardently. everybody feels that way, more or less. but he's the one who put it into words. or maybe he's just that much more aware of it...
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A purple and blue-blotched fist lands on Adrian's temple with accuracy, knocking him to the wall. His head greets the bricks and stars spread across his vision.
There isn't time to recover. The same hand takes an uppercut to his jaw before he's even off the wall.
"Best not to pick fights around here, twerp," the owner of the hand states, rubbing his red knuckles. He gives a scoff before turning on his heel out of the alleyway, his friends following like a pack of loyal dogs.
Adrian takes a few breaths before he looks to the shaking man beside him, scrunched into the corner as far as he'll fit. In his raggy sweater and rumpled fedora, he doesn't resemble one who frequents a mirror. Wrinkles piled on wrinkles; they all seem to shake up and down around his unknown eye color.
"Thanks. I don't know what I would've done with-without you." the man stutters, wringing his hands so hard, the skin threatens to rip off of his bony fingers.
I don't know, take the beating instead?
"Yeah." Adrian licks the blood off of his teeth. "What'd you do, anyways?" What did he do to deserve it, is the better question.
The man gives a mousy laugh, rubbing his aged hands harder. "I've bumped into them before. They keep grudges though, don't they?" He laughs again, zoning in and out of mental stability.
Why did I decide to play the hero, today?
There was no choice. Five to one isn't kind odds. No matter who it is. Or what he did.
Adrian grits his aching jaw as he fingers a bump against his temple. It's wet to the touch.
Always trying to be the valiant protagonist. Not minding my own business like I should. I'm such an idiot. What was I thinking? They could've killed this man. They could've killed Adrian. Don't even have any supplies at home.
But the diner does. A first aid kit, complete with all the fixings. And pie. Really good pie.
"Well, stay away from here. I doubt I'm gonna be the punching bag next time." Adrian hefts himself off the wall, only swaying for a moment. He walks out of the alley, hoping there isn't blood on the wall, but not bothering to look.
By the time he reaches the diner, his lip and temple are swollen, throbbing with his uncertain heartbeat. He fingers the lock as his keys jingle.
The bell is the only noise that announces his entrance. Other than the creak of the floor, the room is silent and empty. It gives more of a welcome than an actual person. It's finally quiet.
No thumping bass, no honking cars, no 60's swing; silence.
He opens the cabinet beneath the bar and pulls out the first aid kit. Dents and scratches give meaning to the word, used. With sticky fingerprints from hurt kids, to grease-covered hands from the cook, to long brown scratches from tossing it back on the shelf without a second thought; used is definitely the right word.
He traces the dents, almost adding a new one when the bell announces an unexpected entry.
It dings and the floor creaks. Adrian looks up in alarm, almost assuming it's a robbery. His hands release their death grip on the box as he recognizes the same color as his laundry detergent.
YOU ARE READING
Life is Funny Like That
Romance[Completed Novel] Burned by his past, Adrian is a salty human with a knack for avoiding romance like it's the plague. But destiny has other plans for him, specifically a girl with laundry detergent eyes and a serious addiction to waffles. It's lif...
