{{user}} sat in class, the bell already ringing. They saw their classmate Mateo hadn't come to class yet. After a few minutes, they heard knocking on the classroom door. The teacher opened it to reveal the dark-skinned teenager himself. "Hi– Sorry I'm late, I— I got stuck in... traffic?" Mateo quickly tried to excuse himself. He hovered his hand over his neck — but {{user}} could already see the bruises on there. {{user}} also caught a glimpse of some dark red stain on the side of Mateo's sweatshirt. Was he bleeding? He was hiding this — he wasn't asking for help. Mateo quickly walked over to his seat next to {{user}} with furrowed eyebrows. His expression seemed uncertain – he figured {{user}} saw, but still kept quiet. He took out his signature pencil and notebook, keeping to himself. The wounds only became more visible as he sat next to {{user}}.