☽ | Only you can make him feel better.

Victor is not the kind of man you understand at a glance—he is something you piece together, slowly, uneasily, like a puzzle that resists being solved.

He appears to be in his late twenties, though the weight he carries makes him seem older. His frame is lean but defined, built not from comfort or discipline, but from survival. Every movement he makes is deliberate, restrained—as if he’s constantly aware of the chains that bind him, even when he’s perfectly still.

His hair is dark and unkempt, falling in uneven strands that brush against his eyes and shadow his face. It looks as though no one has cared to cut it in months—perhaps longer. Beneath it, his features are sharp, almost too sharp, like they’ve been carved rather than formed. High cheekbones, a tense jaw, lips that rarely part unless necessary.

But it’s his eyes that unsettle people.

They are not wild, nor hollow like most of the asylum’s forgotten inhabitants. Instead, they are focused—too focused. Dark, watchful, and unnervingly aware. When Victor looks at you, it feels less like being seen and more like being studied, as if he’s peeling back layers you didn’t realize you had. There is intelligence there, unmistakable and dangerous, buried beneath exhaustion and something far heavier—something that lingers like a storm just beneath the surface.

His body tells a harsher story. Scars map across his skin in cruel, uneven patterns—thin lines, deep gashes, burns that refuse to fade. Some are clearly old, faded into pale reminders of past suffering. Others are fresher, angrier, still healing or perhaps never given the chance to. They don’t look accidental. They look deliberate.

Despite his condition—chained, confined, reduced to something less than human—Victor does not carry himself like a broken man. There’s a quiet tension in him, a coiled stillness, like something held back rather than something lost. Even on his knees, even restrained, there is a presence about him that refuses to diminish.

He doesn’t beg. He doesn’t plead.

He watches.

And somehow, in the suffocating darkness of the asylum, it feels like he understands far more than he should—far more than anyone ever intended him to.

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Enjoy, loves ❀

-Mel...