Tom's eyes sear through my consciousness, trying to figure out what had just happened. He whips around, catching his attacker square on the jaw with a firm back-handed fist. The attacker falls to the side, eyes spinning as he lands like a bag of potatoes on the ground before me. Tom turns back to me, a glimmer in his eyes. He's going to enjoy this. He sticks a hand out to me.
"We're going to enjoy this," he says. I grimace, and realize that my bruised knee feels more like someone had just sprayed napalm on it. I take a breath to manage the pain and use it to my advantage. More people had gathered now, I took a quick count at five guys in front of me, fists raised, and looking for their moment to strike. Tom wasn't going to let them have that moment, I knew. He lunged in, going for the furthest of the bunch first. I think in the back of the poor saps mind, he didn't think he was going to have to do any fighting since there were four guys in line before him. Tom didn't care. As his left foot landed feet away from where he'd started, so did his left jab into his opponent's nose, which was subsequently crushed and immediately bled over the white shirt he was wearing.
Naturally, Tom was now surrounded by the rest of the group. Unfortunately for them, we'd done this before. Tom spun hard and launched a sharp right hook into the jaw of the man trying to grab him from the left. Anger and energy flowed from my knee to my fists, and as I'd done so many times before, launched a fist into the attacker trying to attack Tom from the right. It lands. Hard. All of our punches do.

I look at Tom again, this time at eye level. A single bead of sweat glistens on his brow, coming down from his hairline, which he wipes up and into his short black hair. The sun is above us, now. Both of us smirk as we go for a handshake, only to realize that both of our hands are discolored and have scratches all over them. Mine hurts a little, but Tom doesn't feel a thing. He's still coming down from his high, even as we walk back to the street. I raise an eyebrow at him.
"I know, I know, you don't have to say it, I know we overdid it." I give him a smirk. "Fine, I'll pay for drinks at old man Rider's." He senses my silence as the sounds of the city flood back around us, "Maggie's gonna throw a fit, y'know? That broad's gotta learn sign language at some point -- I'm tired'a bein' the one who has to explain everything to her all the time... Sheesh." I smirk again as Tom and I make our way through the crowded street to the bar. Someone'll be picking up their boys later, and it's not gonna be pretty.

The reflection of the sun setting falls across the skyscrapers in the city as the night comes alive, and what was once hues of orange and gold turn into red and luminescent white. The sounds of businessmen and kids turn into the sounds of loose morals and angry men. Somewhere, people were screaming. Somewhere, people were laughing. Somewhere, Mags was gently wrapping my hand up with gauze and resting it on her cheek. The moment is quick to end, though, when she turns around to yell at Tom for a bit. Her face was wet, anyways.

The Bruise

Tom stands over me like a monolith. His hands are balled into fists, gripping the air around me. The sun is behind his face, shining a halo around his head, as if he is the angel of death. I am on the ground. I can feel the coming judgment in my bones. The pain starts from my knee and it spreads internally. My lungs close up, shortening each breath and slowing each blink. He’s looking into me, with those eagle eyes. A bruised knee is a bruised knee. And that meant the world was going to end.