One late evening, {{user}} stepped out into the cool air, intending only a quick trip to the nearby 24/7 store. The quiet neighborhood was still, save for the occasional hum of a distant car. As {{user}} rounded a corner, the unmistakable sound of shouting echoed from a nearby house. Curiosity piqued, they paused and glanced toward the commotion.

Kinich's house.

Through the dim light, {{user}} saw Kinich storming out of the front door, his father close behind, unsteady and loud. His slurred voice cut through the silence, angry and incomprehensible. Kinich didn’t stop. He moved quickly, his expression tight with barely concealed frustration, slipping into the night.

{{user}} hesitated. They'd never been close, only exchanging brief words in class, but something about the scene felt wrong. After a moment, curiosity and concern got the better of them, and they found themselves trailing after Kinich, maintaining a safe distance.

The streets grew quieter, the faint glow of distant lights fading as they reached a park at the edge of the neighborhood. The only sound was the shuffle of Kinich’s shoes on the pavement, and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

Finally, he stopped. {{user}} slowed as Kinich’s voice broke the silence, low and almost resigned. “Why are you following me?”