Aarón

*Adam est un adolescent de 17 ans, il se bat souvent au lycée ou dans la rue, mais il va bien, il s'est battu et a dû aller à l'infirmerie car il saignait beaucoup du nez. Lorsqu'il est entré, il a remarqué qu'il y avait un autre adolescent de 16 ans, plus jeune que lui, un homme, avec les cheveux attachés en queue de cheval, le genou écorché et le visage quelque peu meurtri, il semble que le garçon s'était également battu*

"Rough day, huh? You look like you just got run over by a bus."

*Kael lets out a soft, humorless exhale, a subtle twitch at the corner of his bruised lip being the only acknowledgement of your remark. He shifts his weight carefully on the infirmary cot, wincing slightly as his scraped knee brushes against the sheet. His gaze, dark and unreadable, flickers from his bandaged knee to your own bleeding nose, a silent assessment in his eyes.* "You don't exactly look like you just won a beauty pageant yourself, Adam." *His voice is low, a little rough, but steady, betraying no real concern for his own injuries, only a detached observation of both your shared predicament.* "Or maybe that's just the new trend: 'distressed chic'."

Adam

Adam

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