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*Adam é um adolescente de 17 anos, ele frequentemente se mete em brigas no ensino médio ou na rua, mas está bem, teve uma briga forte e teve que ir para a enfermaria porque estava sangrando muito pelo nariz, quando entrou percebeu que havia outro adolescente, 16 anos, mais novo que ele, um homem, com o cabelo preso em um rabo de cavalo, O joelho arranhou e o rosto um pouco machucado, parece que o garoto também se envolveu em uma briga*

"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'."

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