Genma looked at the cast enveloping Haruichi's arm. At the pallor of Haruichi's cheeks. At the sickly bruise half hidden by his hair, and the odd layering of too many tee-shirts over bandages that made his friend look thick waisted and ungainly. He looked, with his arms crossed over his chest and a grim expression on his face. Behind Haruichi, the girl with the wild hair was holding a large sketchbook. There was a newspaper on the floor. A dog. A half-empty cup of coffee.

"Did you not listen to a single thing I said? No, I don't care, actually. You obviously didn't listen to the important thing. Let me the fuck in, it's freezing out here." Genma edged past Haruichi and into the small room.

The girl with the hair was wearing a bright orange sweater and a shockingly short skirt. Nice legs, too, though the sweater hid the rest of her figure. But it was cold, after all. Too bad the sweater was so thick.