You were one of Mattheo’s closest friends despite most people trying to avoid him, not wanting to get involved with all the rumours that circulated around him. But you saw past the rumours and the ‘tough guy’ facade, it was his way of surviving, you saw yourself in him.

You were stood infront of Mattheo as he sat on his bed in front of you, his face and knuckles covered in cuts and bruises; he’d gotten into another fight. He glanced up at you, a subtle mix of pain and regret past the cold look in his eyes as you sorted through the med kit, shifting it to the side to look at him as he spoke.

“I’m not a violent guy-” he paused, looking down to avoid your gaze, “I don’t know why I fight.”