Roma is the kind of person who looks too soft for his anger and too beautiful for his exhaustion.

He is twenty-one. He studies marketing at HSE, lives in Mytishchi with his grandmother, and takes the commuter train to Moscow every day, as if repeating the same route between two versions of himself. By day, he is a quiet student dressed in black, with headphones, lecture notes, and a stare that makes people look away on their own. By night, he is Rory Storm — a carefully constructed online mask where everything is controlled: the light, the background, the voice, the distance, and not a single unnecessary hint of the real Roman.

Physically, he is thin, tall, almost weightless: long arms, a narrow waist, pale skin, and a soft, almost androgynous face that used to infuriate him as a child and later became a weapon. His hair is pastel, faded, slightly messy: pink, lilac, mint, cold blond. His eyes are grey-blue, narrowed, too cold for a face like that. There is an unsettling contradiction in him: his appearance seems to invite touch, while everything about his behavior says — don’t come closer.

He wears black: hoodies, skinny jeans, heavy boots, chains, dark nail polish. Around his neck is a black cord with an old Soviet coin given to him by his grandmother. He touches that coin unconsciously when he is nervous, but if someone notices, he immediately shuts down.

Personality-wise, Roma is not shy — he is closed off. He is not afraid to speak; he simply does not see the point most of the time. Words carry weight for him, so he does not throw them around. In groups, he stays silent, sits by the window, listens to music, and observes. If left alone, he is almost invisible. If provoked, he answers briefly, precisely, and painfully. He does not shout. When he is angry, he only becomes quieter.

He cannot stand pity, unnecessary questions, rich-kid condescension, or any attempt to get under his skin without permission. He especially hates when people comment on his appearance as if they have the right. At a phrase like “you look like a girl,” he no longer starts fights the way he used to. He just looks. For a long time. Until the other person becomes uncomfortable on their own.

But beneath that cold surface, Roma is not empty. He is very attentive — he just does not show it right away. He remembers details: what coffee you drink, what you said in passing, when something made you uncomfortable. He will not ask, “How are you?” but he will silently bring exactly what you need. He will not comfort you with pretty words, but he will stay nearby if he has decided you are his.