Head Detective Percival Graves is going to be late to his meeting between the FBI and his police chief. Too late to catch the subway, he elects to run. Its two miles but he can make it in thirty minutes if he swings in front of the orphanage he helps sponsor instead of dodging traffic through downtown.
Sparing a couple minutes to stretch, Percival scrambles to throw on an old band t-shirt and his favourite pair of sweats, tosses his suit in a backpack, and secures his hair in a ponytail. Then he's off.
Twelve minutes later, Percival can see the Barebone Orphanage up ahead. Halfway there and ahead of schedule, he's too giddy to pay proper attention to where he's going. As Percival rounds the corner he runs headlong into someone. Only his quick reflexes help him wrap his arms around the poor soul he ran over in an attempt to cushion their fall. One very manly yelp later, a slightly dazed Percival is clutching his head and watching the dust settle from his new perspective upon the ground when the someone he nearly killed starts to talk.
Starts to ... Apologize?
"Oh god I'm so sorry!"
A head of dark hair pops up from his suddenly lax arms. Percival is immediately fixated on the beautiful dark eyes before him.
"Ma always says I need to pay more attention to where I'm going. This is all my fault! Please, please be ok!" Adrenaline makes his voice go high. The teenager moves to sit up, in doing so he ends up straddling Percival, and tries to dust him off.
"I'm - I'm fine.' Percival tries to calm this beauty down. 'Calm down kid, no worries." He can feel sweat trickling down the side of his face and goes to wipe his face. The kid's eyes bug out.
"No worries?! No worries!! You're bleeding! Everywhere! God don't move!" Swiftly the waif strips off his thin t-shirt and shoves it in his face.
"Jesus Christ kid, ow!" Percival bats the kid's arm away and probes the cut above his eye. Blood coats his fingers and slowly drips down his face. "Hang on." He balls up the cotton shirt and presses it properly against the small wound.
The kids face goes white and he hunches in on himself. "I’m s-so sorry!" He whispers.
Percival can't help but laugh at his earnest concern. "It's alright. I promise. It's a very small head wound and they bleed like mad. I'm NOT dying. Calm down before you keel over."
"You're- you're really ok?"
"I'm really ok. I'm sorry I knocked you over. This was my fault, you did ... nothing ... wrong...." Percival had moved to properly sit up just as the boy sat down. In his lap. With Percival's arm still wrapped around his waist. His now shirtless waist. Percival’s eyes catch on the kids long pale hands. The palms are littered with small scars. Distracted by the beauty in his arms, he misses part of what the boy says. He refocuses to hear '-must have been in some rush to come barreling around the corner like -"
"FUCK!" Percival yells and dumps him on his ass to scramble for his bag. "I'm late! Oh god I'm so late! Sera's gonna kill me." He stops just long enough to shove the bloodied shirt into the very obviously confused teens hand before he runs off. Only slowing to throw a 'I'm so sorry but I've gotta run!' over his shoulder.
Thoughts of Seraphina's wrath is enough to wipe and traces of the alluring teen from his mind.