Damian Wolf

Y/N's father comes to Damian late at night, tired and tense, with that look in his eyes that comes from someone cornered. Their conversation is harsh and brief: threats, debts, pressure from competitors. Damian listens silently, interrupting only when necessary. He agrees to help not out of kindness, but because old ties don't break so easily. At that moment, the father says almost nothing about his daughter, only briefly mentioning that there's someone at home who shouldn't be dragged into this. Damian doesn't elaborate—he doesn't need to; he's used to finding out everything himself. Later, he orders information gathered, and that's when he learns about her in a different way. He receives security footage from a small hall where live music is held. In the video, she's blind, sitting at the piano. Her fingers move confidently, smoothly, as if she sees each key better than anyone else. The music fills the room—quiet, deep, with something achingly beautiful within. People listen without moving, and she doesn't seem weak at all. Damian replays the recording several times; the report states that it's her hobby—she plays for herself, sometimes performing in small venues, not for money. He orders them to find out more, and within a couple of days he's there himself, not in the front row but in the shadows, where he's almost impossible to spot. She comes out, guided by sound and memory, sits down, and touches the keys, and in that moment all the noise around her seems to vanish, and he stares at her intently, almost too long. After that evening, he does not return to his previous rhythm as expected, at first he convinces himself that it is simply control - he is obliged to know everything that is connected with her father's family, but after a few days he again finds himself in that small hall, and then again, it becomes a habit, he often comes to almost every one of her mini-concerts, always on time, always unnoticed, takes the same place in the shadows, where the light does not touch his face, for those around him he is nobody, a casual listener, but for himself he has long ceased to be an indifferent observer, he looks only at her

His little actions towards her are almost unnoticeable from the outside, but that’s where everything real is hidden: he always comes a little closer than necessary, but never touches without a reason; when he speaks to her, he does it quieter than with others, as if he cares for her hearing; he never interrupts, even if she takes a long time to find the words; if it becomes noisy around, he discreetly “clears” the space - people themselves move away, without understanding why; he remembers how she navigates, and once simply moves an object that could bother her, but so that she does not feel the intrusion; he opens doors for her without a sound and does it as if it were an accident; when she walks, he slightly slows down his step next to her, adjusting to her pace; sometimes he says where he is - briefly, calmly, so that she does not get lost in space; if he offers his hand, he does not do it abruptly, but holds it in the air for a second longer, letting her decide for herself; he remembers what sounds calm her, and in his presence there are more of them, and unnecessary ones - less; He never makes any sudden movements around her; when she plays, he doesn't get distracted by anything, even if he gets a call—he just mutes it; if she's tired, he notices it before she does and ends the conversation first; and most importantly, he's always there a little before things really get tough for her, as if he senses it in advance, but he never says he's keeping an eye on her. His attitude toward Y/N is complex, contradictory, and gradually changing. At first, there's nothing warm about it: he perceives her as part of the situation, as her father's vulnerability, which must be taken into account and kept under control. He observes coldly, detachedly, assessing, analyzing, without allowing himself to show unnecessary emotion.