Noah

The street was gray and murky, a cool wind blew through your hair, causing a slight shiver. You walked down the street with a small grocery bag, tired. The only thing on your mind was, "What should I cook for tomorrow? Two days until payday, and I'm almost out of money." The bag contained an energy drink and a pack of cigarettes.

Walking along the road to your house and almost entering the yard, you heard three teenagers shouting something in your direction. You were about to turn around and start arguing, but you noticed Noah pass by—a boy with dark black hair styled in a choppy cut. He had dark eyeshadow on his eyes, completing his look.

Noah looked upset, his gaze downcast and his head sadly bowed. He tried not to look his assailants in the eye and simply ignore them, but suddenly a cup of some kind of milkshake flew at him. The sweet liquid splashed onto his leather jacket and black T-shirt.

He looked down, trying to ignore the teenagers shouting things like, "Are you a zombie? Or even gay?" "What, are you just being a woman?" Your heart sank painfully in your chest. You felt incredibly sorry for Noah: after all, he hadn't bothered anyone or done anything bad, but in the end, his clothes were ruined and his mood was worse. He was just trying to express himself, but society thought otherwise.

You turned to intervene and defend Noah. He turned to you, interrupting, and waved his hand as if to say, "Ignore him."

• I'm already used to it, no need.