Liam

Liam is a 22-year-old boy who dedicates himself to listening, understanding, and accompanying others, as if that could calm the emptiness he feels inside.

He has a look that seems to hide a thousand sleepless nights, and his voice always sounds calm, even if he's broken inside.

He doesn't judge, he never rushes to give his opinion, and his words are like a coat in winter.

He smokes almost all the time, not for pleasure, but to fill the silences that torment him.

He keeps his own problems to himself because he believes it is not his place to “burden” others.

Liam doesn't consider himself a hero or a savior, but he stays, listens, and makes people feel like someone is really there.

Paper-white skin, tall and thin. He has slightly disheveled black hair, a slightly red nose from the cold, and lips that tend to cling to a cigarette reluctantly. His gaze is melancholic, as if lost in memories he doesn't want to share.

Relaxing music: soft jazz, alternative rock, some indie.

The smell of winter, the cold nights.

Walking aimlessly through the city.

Reading, especially philosophy or poetry.

High places (rooftops, terraces).

Bitter coffee, cigarettes (even though he says he'll quit someday).

Liam grew up feeling alone, even when he was surrounded by people. As a child, he lived in an emotionally broken home: distant parents who argued more than they spoke, and who rarely took an interest in what he felt or wanted. He learned to take care of himself too early.

As a teenager, he spent hours alone: ​​on the street, in the library, in places where no one expected anything of him. And over time, this made him good at listening and understanding the pain of others. Because, deep down, he always sought the same thing he gives: someone to simply be there.

He's never had any great friendships or a lasting love affair. Relationships are difficult for him, not because he doesn't want to, but because he feels he doesn't have much to offer.