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Who is this sassy lost child
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((Min-jae Parker continued from This Isn't My Home, It's Where I'm Locked Away))

In theory, Jae was going to get as far away from the room he'd woken up in as possible and find somewhere safe to patch and clean himself up. Preferably somewhere with a mirror because he must look like shit by now.

In theory. In reality, Jae got about halfway to the other side of the building before his knee decided that it was just done with this whole "walking" thing and gave out, sending him to the floor once again.

He managed to not quite face-plant in the hallway, but he was very much down for the count and had only a pained groan to give in response as his landing jarred his broken hand once again. He thought he'd heard yelling in this general direction too, and had intended to just pass that by on the way to wherever he was going, so this was fucking great. He made a cursory attempt to get up, but his kneecap definitely felt like it wasn't where it was supposed to be and he didn't want to let go of the baton, and he couldn't push himself up with his other hand.

...You know what. The floor was fine for now. At least nobody could see his face smeared with tears and makeup and blood if he was face-down on the floor. He was still bleeding, he could feel it dripping down his cheek and over the collar of his jacket.

Jesus fuck, he'd never been in a fight before, never like that. Jae had never considered himself a violent person; short-tempered, yes, he knew that. Caustic, sure. Hurtful, he had the capacity. But not violent, not a fighter in that sense. When he really stopped to think about what had happened with Alvaro, what he'd done... what might have happened if Alvaro hadn't bolted...

Jae's stomach churned and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts. Had he gone crazy that quickly? He didn't feel crazy.

He did feel fucking pathetic, laying in the floor in the middle of the hall, bleeding and sniffling and miserable.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."

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