dxganronpa 's been a while sorry I just couldn't find a good part to splice this chapter cuz it's like 7+ Google Docs pages long and eehh

So if it's broken at a weird place it's not my fault I'm sorry

But 'tis here now so yay!!

**unrelated note: went to go see Wind River today and *screams* I LOVE IT??? IT WAS AMAZING!!

But anyhoe

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It wasn't the soft slurping noise that prodded me awake. It was me literally just sensing the presence of another human being in the same room as me, so I pried open my eyes to see who was hovering.

Again with the unrecognizable ceil- wait...

Right...

Let me guess; if I take a glance towards the wall by the door, Frank will be leaning on the wall, there, slurping a can of soup.

Sure enough, my hunch was right.

What was it with this guy and his canned foods? Mainly his soups, but still, "Mornin', sunshine," Frank grumbled.

"Why is it, that every time I wake up, I see you, and you're leaning by the door eating soup out of a can?"

He shrugged, tilting his head back as he drank whatever was left inside. Then he set the can down next to the three other soup cans, which confused me, because he'd just finished his third can -- but then I noticed he took my can off the coffee table, and my empty glass of water, "I like soup."

"It looks like you like only canned foods..." I glanced around at the stock he had. Still living precariously, "Which also reminds me, by the way, why'd you lock me in?"

"To make sure y'didn't get into any trouble," I sat upright a little more as he started moving closer to where I was, "Believe it or not, you seem pretty mobile for someone with one leg," as he said this, he took his hand and -- pushing back my bangs -- pressed the palm of his hand to my forehead. A few seconds passed and he turned his hand over and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead, too, "Well, y'ain' runnin' a fever. Yet, anyway. Infection could still set in, though," he grumbled it -- honestly, he grumbled everything -- and pulled his hand away, and sat himself down on the coffee table. Again.

I shook my bangs back onto my forehead, blinking rapidly in confusion at his random act of what I assumed to be parental kindness, "What was that?"

"I's feelin' for a fever," he muttered matter-of-factly, "You never had anyone do that?"

"I didn't exactly have a traditional childhood," I huffed, looking past him. Over his shoulder.

Well, I was, anyway. 'Till he leaned into my view to make unwanted eye contact with me, "That sucks."

"My whole fucking life sucks," I snapped, breaking the eye contact. Which, in all honesty, just made me more uncomfortable with this situation, because never once in my life have I broke eye contact first. I growled and fell back on the couch, hissing through my teeth as I folded my arms back over my stomach, "I've learned to live with it."

I just continued staring at the ceiling. I was weak, and still tired, and really, really woozy and when I was woozy I wasn't myself. I was just beginning to get lost in thought when his voice spooked me back to reality, "So you're Phantom, huh."

Oh yeah... I sighed heavily, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Are you sure?" he raised an eyebrow at me, giving me this... look. It was hard to place what exactly the look was saying, but it was giving me vibes of playful seriousness.

"Am I... am I sure? What do you- yes I'm sure!" I scoffed, "Do you think I just go out and get myself shot for no reason...?"

"Well, word around the street is Phantom took out four or five gangs a while back," he motioned with his left hand a little.

"Your point?"

He set his hand back down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, "You're tellin' me that you exterminated those rats? You're so harmless, I mean, I found you more than half dead from just takin' out one'a them bastards, and you expect me to believe you took out four?"

"Five."

"Who was helpin' you?" he asked flatly.

"No one. I did it myself," how rude of him to think I needed help to do my job! What the hell?

"You almost died trying to take out one leader! No way in hell you scratched out five."

"They weren't the leader, they were the bottom'a Gallagher's food chain, mate, and the only reason they almost killed me was cuz they shot a hole straight through my Goddamn knee so eehhhh," I resorted to my inner child and stuck my tongue out at him, "I ain't as harmless as you think."

He sniggered, "I can look clear over your head, you were chasing a puppy down the street that one time we met and I saw you get tackled by a very large Mastiff the other day and collapse in a giggling heap as it licked you. You're about as scary, and as harmful, as a bunny rabbit."

"A rabid bunny, maybe," I muttered, "Wait, how the bloody fuck did you see that Mastiff incident?"

"I was passing through the park," there was that Goddamn lopsided smirk, again. Urgh, "You didn't even know that man, did you?"

"Not at all," I shook my head, "But, y'know. Large dog. Hard to hold the leash to."

"That's what that puppy'a yours is gonna turn into, y'know that, right?"

"Rottweilers aren't as big as Mastiffs," I informed him.

"Even so, as friendly as that pup is, I can assure you he'll tackle you quite a bit, and y'won't have that handsome stranger pry him off for y'either."

"So you agree that that man was indeed handsome?" I quirked an eyebrow at him, looking at him with a curious look.

"'s there anything else about your lil' nightly escapades I should know about?" he ignored my question completely, tho I swear I saw a hint of that stupid lopsided grin at the corner of his mouth.

"Why do you feel like you need to know anything about my... nightly escapades?" my tone was slightly irked. Indignant? Was that the word I was looking for? Probably...

"Because, from what I see right now," he gave me a quick once over -- well, I mean... it probably could'a been a bit quicker... -- and raised both eyebrows at me, "You're slippin' and need someone to look after your scrawny lil' ass so y'don't get yourself killed."

Why is this man so handsomely and irritatingly nice?! "Look, I admire that you think me scrawny, when honestly I think I'm in perfect shape; not too skinny not too... large... and also," my tone hardened and I sat up on my elbow a bit, "Look. I appreciate that you feel the need to look out for my well-being -- trust me, there's no well-being left to look after -- but I don't want you to do that. I... can't drag you into--"

He cut me off by placing his hand on my shoulder and pressing me back into the pillows, "Tell me."

I've asked it about seven-hundred times before and I'll ask it again; who the hell was this guy? Finds a wanted vigilante in his dumpster, takes her to his apartment and is hospitable and overly nice and understanding and wants to help her out. Probably knows I'm wanted for... manslaughter... and is still using such an authoritative voice it gives me no choice but to comply to his orders, "You know everything already. I usually get hired to do dirty work for someone."

"Who else were you working for?"

"This guy is the only one," I replied shortly, glancing down at the hand that was still pressed into my shoulder. My wounded shoulder, no less.

He retracted his hand, "Are you sure?"

"Are you doubting my abilities to cover my tracks?"

"Yes, I am," he stood up, again, headed towards, like, the bathroom-ish area. Basically he was out of my sight, again, "How do you get your reward, kid? D'y'gotta go get it or do they bring it to you?"

"If I'm unable to retrieve the money, then there's normally just an envelope of money set over the back door of my apartment building," I told him, and when I heard a grunt of disapproval I clarified, "I'm the only person who even knows that door exists."

"How do they contact you?"

"Burner phone."

He grunted again and fell silent.

Y'know, I think I already said this once, but Imma say it again; I really, really hate small talk. But, with a deep breath I grit through it and made myself as the question that would -- possibly -- begin the most irritating conversation of my miserable life, "So... do you... have any hobbies?"

"No." was the short-ass reply I got.

Well... so much for that... I moved my gaze from my feet, arching my back slightly, trying to angle myself to see where the bloody hell he wandered off too -- even though I fully knew it wasn't any of my damn business -- but I settled down when he spoke up, again, with a sort of closed-off air to his voice, "You?"

There was just... something in his voice that I couldn't place. He was baiting me, I was sure of it. Take the bait and launch into how much I love reading, and running? How I love sitting by the window in my apartment late at night, the soft glow of a nearby lamp mixing with the streetlights outside, reading with a cat curled up besides me as I listen to traffic and the sounds of the city? I kind of liked to draw, really... I don't quite think I'm all that good, but I do it anyway. Mostly my 'hobbies' do include reading 'n such but in the copious amounts of free time I have I'm delving into a bazillion different cases for a bazillion different law offices -- they're so far on the back-burner, though, that I do believe they've forgotten I'm working for them, but I still have their case files...

Whoops.

I sighed, deciding not to take his bait, "No, no hobbies..." I gave myself a nice, long pause -- it was probably only about thirty seconds if my internal clock was correct -- before adding on, "I like... books, though..."

And suddenly Frank was leaning over me, upside down because I was laying down, y'know? And he was standing up, looming over me like a really nice, angry... shadow, basically, "Well, you do got a lotta books at your place, so I'd kinda hope y'like books."

Oh yeah. He's been in my house, "It's beginning to unnerve me that you've been inside my house without me there, Frankie," I quipped lightly, sticking my tongue out at him for a second, "And that you decided to go... look around and see how many books I've got laying around... were you in my room?"

"No I was not," he moved, propping himself on the wall by the window, so I had to look down my nose, basically, at him at the foot of the couch, "But, there is a very large, very packed shelf opposite of your kitchen counter. Hard t'miss."

I nodded in understanding, agreeing that, yes, the large-ass bookshelf I had was pretty damn hard to miss. I was just concerned because there's quite a lot of books tossed about the floor of my room.

And now he was staring at me, looking like he was waiting for an answer. I blinked at him, and he made a noise, "Well?"

"What?" I quirked an eyebrow at him.

Goddamn that lopsided fucking smirk! There it was again! He was chuckling, too, looking off towards the wall, like I did something funny, "I asked why y'called me Frankie."

"I did?" looking back, I guess I did accidentally call him Frankie, "Yeah, I guess I did... I don't know why I did. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"Well... don't do it again," his tone held both seriousness and... not... seriousness at the same time. Like he didn't want me to call him that, but he didn't hate the idea, either.

I narrowed my eyes, trying something, "Whatever y'say, Frankie."

He looked me dead in the eye that time, his voice hardened a considerable amount, "No."

I raised my hands as much as I could without moving my arms and causing myself immense pain -- though I still winced a slight bit, "Sorry, mate. Won' happen again"

"Good," he uncrossed his arms and started tapping the fingers of his left hand on the wall behind him, "Now, let's say we get your ass off that couch and up and around the place."

I didn't like there this was going, "Why..."

"It's four in the afternoon the day after you've been shot," he started forward, seating himself on the coffee table, again, "You need some Ibuprofen, then y'need to be movin' around so your leg don't lock up, get the blood flowin' and used t'walkin' on it. Bein' laid up for the next three or four months at least-"

I cut him off with a start, "Whoa, whoa, whoa there, boi. Three or four months?"

"-don't mean y'gotta be a couch potato the entire time," he finished slowly, "Yeah, three or four months. Y'can't just go back out and start kickin' ass willy-nilly with a bum leg."

"I was thinking maybe a couple'a days!" nonetheless, though, I did need to get up. I'd been sleeping all day, I was hungry as all hell and my jaw hurt -- from teeth grinding -- and I could feel numbness starting to seep into my right leg. It made my knee feel like it was filled with molasses, "But now I gotta sit tight for freakin' months?"

He reached out his arm for me to grasp onto while I worked to move into a sitting position, "Yes, months. Are you honestly that careless about your body?"

I felt like he was insinuating something else behind that question, but I didn't ask, "I'm not... usually... this careless, it's just, I use... Phantom... as an outlet for my anger, and my constant energy. What am I going to do if I can't go leaping over rooftops and beat up the scum of this city?"

He shrugged, pursing his lips in that typical shrug-face way, "Walk your dogs. I saw y'got another Rottie, by the way. 's cute," still allowing me to grasp his arm, he stood up, slightly, reaching his other hand for mine, "Up."

I put literally all my weight on his arms, using solely my arms to get me into a standing position, and even then, only my left foot was on the ground, "Hi..." I looked up at him, suddenly a bit self conscious of how close we were.

And his arms were so hard! My God he's so freaking muscley! Acgh!

He was also quite warm. My hands were on freakin' fire from holding onto him. He was smiling a little, "Wanna walk?"

"No, I'd rather flop back on the couch and give up on life all together, really," I muttered, "But sure. Lead the way, sir."

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Yay this part is finished sorry for it being 70836 years late my life