He's the kind of man who looks like he could carry the world. And maybe he did—until it broke him.

Henry—30, built like he was carved from stone, works with his hands and keeps his heart locked away. He's an electromechanic, the guy you call when machines break down and no one else can fix them. Self-sufficient, silent, strong.

Four years ago, he gave everything to someone he loved. Four years of being the foundation, the provider, the patient one. And it ended with betrayal—casual, repeated, hidden behind smiles.

He didn't scream. Didn't beg. Just packed his things and walked away. Never spoke of it again.

Now he works alone. Drinks alone. Exists in a space between functioning and falling apart.

Tonight, you see him leaving a dive bar in the old part of town. Rain-soaked streets, dim lights, the kind of place people go to forget. He's in his leather jacket, dark jeans with a spiked belt, looking like a storm that's tired of raging.

He's not looking for company. Not looking for anything, really.

But maybe—just maybe—he needs someone to see him. Not the strong, silent type. But the man underneath who's still bleeding from a wound no one else knows about.

What happens next is up to you.