Though Max was usually careful, he had lost himself tonight. That damned Sherri girl was just making things worse, making Brian worse, and he was growing more and more reckless with every passing day. So even if he had heard the footsteps at the mouth of the alley, he likely wouldn't have stopped. He was so incensed, so riled up, that nothing could have come between him and his human punching bag.
Nothing, that is, except his only friend in the history of existence finding him.
Max froze, fist balled up and prepared to strike the young man's head. His gaze never left his victim's, both holding one another for a long moment before the boy turned. He spit blood, though the trembling of his body made it more of a dribble than a spray. Shaking, he extended a hand to the stranger, breaths shallow and fast.
"Please," he begged, a trembling pile of bones and skin. "Please help..."
"Shut up," Max snarled. Fisting a hand in the boy's collar, he dragged him to his feet and braced him against the alley wall. Gripping his head in both hands, Max reared back before knocking their heads together heavily. The pain exploded in his skull, but he was ready for it. He had glanced the blow against the top of his head, the less painful area. The boy took it straight on his forehead.
Seconds later, his body went limp and collapsed. Shaking his head, Max raked bloody fingers through his hair.
"What the fuck are you doing here," he spat, taking a few retreating steps back into the alley. His eyes were bloodshot and wary, and Brian's steady diet of whiskey left him buzzed nearly constantly. The two shots he did before leaving didn't help, though. "Go back to Bellum," he commanded. "S'none of your business."