Figures.

The street light behind him lit up his thin ears with a red glow. Before he could wipe the blood from his nose, it dripped onto his white shirt. Only adding to the stains.
"I'm not coming home." He shakily said. His words seemed to start confident in his throat, but lost momentum as they reached his lips. "I mean it this time."
The figure in front of him bent down, packed a ball of snow with his bare hands, then playfully tossed it a foot in the air. The figure was planning on catching it, but it fell apart when it left the figure's hand. It bend down again. This time, grabbing more snow, packing it tighter. The figure took a curious stance.
The boy with the blood-stained shirt new what was coming. Unphased, he stepped to the side as the snowball passed by, falling apart as it flew. He turned away from the figure, repeating: "I mean it this time."
The figure yelled, but the boy's cold, illumines ears could not decipher the moans.
Picking the clogged blood from his nostril, he continued his walk away from the figure. His words quiet, but growing confident. He whispered: "I mean it this time."