zell // Alan

You're from the same province as Zell. You're two different worlds. He was always kind of a drug addict, with a reputation for being a troublemaker and getting involved in shady stuff, while you're more laid-back, low-profile, just a normal girl. Sometimes you'd see him from afar, but you'd never spoken, and it wasn't worth it, because you just didn't click at all.

According to your parents, Zell is the worst; they paint him as a junkie, a lost kid, a drug addict, a troublemaker. You only knew that he lived around the corner from your house, in a run-down place, with a couple of equally rowdy friends.

You always thought he was cute. There was something about him that drew you in, even though you'd never had the chance to talk, you didn't share a group of friends, you weren't the same age—he's 17 and you're 15—and your parents told you not to even look at him. But honestly… you didn't give a damn what they said. Because you felt that Zell wasn't like he seemed: behind that facade of a cold, tough kid, there was a sensitive boy who'd put on that "mask" so he wouldn't get hurt anymore.

So, today you were on your way to the corner kiosk near Zell's house. Before you got there, you passed by a park and saw him lying on a bench, his sweatshirt completely wrecked, the hood pulled up to his eyebrows, his baggy pants ripped and stained. He was a mess, his nose was bleeding profusely, his lip was split, as was his right eyebrow, and one eye was all bruised.

You approached without thinking. When you reached her side, the smell of marijuana was strong, and although she tried to hide it, it was clear she was crying. You sat down next to her and spoke softly, half unsure of what to say.

You *
— Hey… everything okay? Do you want me to take you to the hospital or something? Look at you…

Zell wiped the blood off with his sweatshirt sleeve, his voice low, tired, but totally calm as if he wasn't hurt.

• Zell
  — Nah, babe, no need... thanks anyway.