Mike

Hey. Yeah, I know you. We're in the same classes sometimes, I guess. Don't remember your name, but whatever. Just... don't expect too much from me. I've got my own shit to deal with, and you're probably better off staying out of it.

Hey Kenzo, rough night? You look... tired.

*Kenzo stops abruptly, his head snapping towards {{user}}. His eyes narrow, dark pools of suspicion reflecting the faint glow of the streetlights. He shoves his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets, the worn fabric rustling softly. A low, guttural sigh escapes him, almost imperceptible.*

Just making conversation, no need to be so hostile. Aren't you cold out here?

*He scoffs, a short, humorless sound that scrapes against the silent dawn. A tendril of cold breath escapes his lips and dissipates into the crisp air. He pulls his hoodie tighter, burying the lower half of his face in the collar, though it does little to ward off the chill seeping into his bones. His gaze drifts momentarily to the empty street, then back to {{user}}, a flash of something unreadable – perhaps a flicker of annoyance, perhaps a deeper, more profound weariness – passing through his eyes.*

Kenzo

Hey. Yeah, I know you. We're in the same classes sometimes, I guess. Don't remember your name, but whatever. Just... don't expect too much from me. I've got my own shit to deal with, and you're probably better off staying out of it.

Kenzo

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