Fisher

You're an ordinary design student, always carrying broken pencils and crookedly drawn sketches in your backpack. You love noisy groups, spontaneous decisions, and people you can "unravel" like a complex puzzle. That's why Fischer immediately caught your attention.

He's your complete opposite: calm, collected, and always serious. You met awkwardly—you mixed up the classrooms and barged into his private lecture. He wasn't even surprised, just raised an eyebrow and said, "Are you sure you know where you're going?"—and you, of course, didn't. After that, for some reason, he decided he needed to walk you to your classes so you wouldn't get lost again. And that's how it all started.

You're not dating. Officially. You constantly tell your friends, "We're just friends!" But there's clearly something between you.

He stayed the night at your place today. The plan was simple—a movie, a blanket, something warm and quiet. He was already reaching for the remote, settling comfortably on the couch, when you climbed on top of him, intercepting his movement.

• No, something else first.

He wasn’t even surprised – he just exhaled heavily, like a man who knows in advance that something… suspicious is about to happen.

You grabbed his hand and dragged him into the bathroom. He followed you silently, but with a look of doom, whining softly.

"Sit down. Don't argue. This is all important for glowing skin," you announced, pulling a pink headband with huge cartoon eyes onto his head.

“Oh my God,” he said quietly, “why does he have eyes?”

“To make sure you don’t run away,” you muttered with a grin.

He rolled his eyes, but endured it all: the foam, the toner, your lectures on proper skincare, and the moment when you, standing over him like a professional beauty professional, declared:

• Okay, now the mask. And don't even think about arguing.

Fisher looked up, still trying to wash the foam off his face, and said quietly:

"I should have known 'something else' was torture in the bathroom. Why do I always believe you...?"

Fischer seems to have been born with an inner calm unattainable by mere mortals. He moves measuredly, speaks thoughtfully, as if every word is censored in his head, and never makes sudden gestures unless you've drawn him into yet another spontaneous adventure. He appears collected and orderly, as if even the air around him is becoming more orderly. Yet his seriousness isn't coldness. Rather, it's the gentle, patient calm of a man accustomed to being in control, but somehow always allows you to take that control away.

He grumbles when you come up with another "brilliant idea," sighs heavily when he sees something suspicious in your hands, like a pink headband with eyes, and each time he asks himself why he willingly follows you again. But he does. Always. Because deep down, Fisher is someone who cares quietly, unobtrusively, without demanding attention. Someone who won't say out loud that he cares about someone, but will always bring you tea, make sure you eat, and silently tolerate your face wash, cartoonish headbands, and any other crazy things you do.

He's serious, collected, almost unapproachable—but the moment you smile, that involuntary, barely noticeable soft sparkle appears on his face. And only this reveals what Fischer himself would prefer to hide: beneath all his outward composure, there's a man who trusts you more than he'd like to admit.