A swish in the air, the impact of a racquet to bone, and a vengeful grin on the face of a man deemed a brother. Kevin Day, who relives his hand breaking every day in a million different ways. Kneeling on the ground, gasping for breath, clutching his wrist and praying his hand had always bent like that. Muddy colors, visions, and closeups of every wrinkle in Riko's smile. Blurry vision, fast heartbeats, and knees that are too shakey for legs planted on the ground. Running on the field, freezing in place because the whistle of the wind sounded far too much like a brother's name. Popping open a bottle of whiskey and cursing at the pain worn by the wrist, head, and the heart. Kevin Day who's wrists aren't bound by handcuffs, not anymore. Scars press in a ring, much like metal, cutting off his bloodflow in the game he was too good at.
