NICOLAS BENNETT

From the start, Nicolas's life was never exactly... stable.

He was born in Canada, into a context that was already far from structured. His mother, still very young, carried on her shoulders a life that had begun far too early. She loved her son—of that there was never any doubt—but love alone was never enough to sustain everything.

In his early years, between the ages of 0 and 5, Nicolas grew up in an environment that, at first glance, seemed quite peaceful. His mother worked a lot, but still tried to make up for lost time. She would come home tired, sometimes irritated, but still found the energy for small gestures: making simple food, tidying his room, putting on a cartoon on television, and sitting beside him, even if in silence.

It wasn't a constant presence... but it wasn't a complete absence either.

It was that kind of care that was somewhat flawed, somewhat rushed — but genuine.

Nicolas, still a child, didn't understand what tiredness, responsibility, or adult frustration meant. He only knew how to recognize moments. And in those moments, when his mother was there, he clung to her. He observed every detail, every reaction, as if trying to memorize it… because, somehow, he already sensed that it wouldn't last much longer.

His father was never a present figure. There was no routine with him, no phone calls, no visits. It was a void that Nicolas couldn't name, but it already existed there, silently. And, without another point of reference, all his notion of affection was concentrated on his mother.

She was everything.

And at the same time, it wasn't enough.

Around the age of 6, when they were already in the United States, the dynamic began to change more noticeably.

The mother started going out more.

At first, they were simple things—meetings with friends, a few nights out, small attempts to reclaim a life she never had the right to live properly. But, little by little, this became routine. Relationships came, people entering and leaving her life, names that Nicolas barely had time to memorize before they disappeared again.

And he… stayed.

Not completely abandoned, not neglected to the extreme. He had a home, food, school. He had the basics.

But what about the emotional aspect?

Things started to go wrong.

Nicolas began spending more time alone. Television became a constant companion—not just entertainment, but a kind of guide. It was there that he learned how people talked, how they reacted, how they showed feelings. But it was all scripted, artificial… and he didn't know it.

Then he started copying.

But in real life, it didn't work the same way.

Gradually, he realized that he didn't really understand his own emotions. When he was sad, he couldn't explain it. When he was frustrated, he didn't know how to cope. And since no one was really available to help him process it... everything was kept bottled up inside.

And children don't know how to properly store feelings.

Eventually, it will leak.

In his case, it leaked out in the form of irritation, silence, or disproportionate reactions. Small things bothered him more than they should. He didn't cry easily—not because he didn't feel anything, but because he didn't know how to make it understandable.

It was easier to stay quiet.

Or get angry.

The relationship with her mother never lacked affection. That's important.

She still cared. She still asked about school, she still tried to maintain some kind of closeness. But it was inconsistent. There were days when she was present, others when she seemed distant even when they were in the same space.

And children notice this.

Even without understanding, Nicolas began to associate something dangerous with something else:

The presence of people is not guaranteed.

He never knew when she would truly be there. He never knew when she would become a priority or just another responsibility among other things.

And that shaped him.

He got used to the idea that he needed to fend for himself. He started to depend less, to expect less. Not because he wanted to… but because it seemed safer that way.

At the same time, he became more withdrawn. He didn't talk much about what he felt—partly because he didn't even know how to organize it in his own head. And when something went wrong, the frustration came too strongly, unfiltered, without direction.

It was an accumulation.

A lot of things he couldn't name, only feel.

And feeling, for him, was complicated enough.

Ultimately, what remained from that phase was not a lack of love.

It was a lack of consistency.

And this created a somewhat broken foundation:

A silent fear of being left out. difficulty in trusting that someone will stay inability to express what one feels and a tendency to transform emotion into irritation.

When Nicolas approached the age of 12, he was no longer just a quiet child.

He was someone who had learned, far too early, that depending on others... was risky.

And without even realizing it, he was already beginning to build that armor that would later become the biggest problem of his life.

When Nicolas entered pre-adolescence, around the age of 12, life stopped being just confusing... and started to feel suffocating.

The change wasn't immediate, nor obvious. It was subtle, almost imperceptible at first. Small discomforts, strange thoughts, reactions he didn't understand. His body changing, his head getting noisier—and, along with that, an avalanche of feelings he simply didn't know how to name.

If he already had difficulty dealing with emotions before, now it seemed like someone had turned up the volume on everything inside him.

And it didn't have a manual.

At school, the topics of conversation began to change. Classmates talked more about appearance, dating, desire. It was all somewhat superficial, somewhat teasing… but still, it was a type of language that everyone seemed to understand.

Except for him.

Nicolas began to notice something different — not just in others, but in himself.

He was attracted to girls. This was expected, acceptable, even "normal" within what he saw around him. But... it didn't stop there.

Because, at specific moments, in quick glances, in random situations—he also had feelings for boys.

It wasn't the same. It wasn't something he could explain.

But it was there.

And that messed with his head.

Not because he had a clear understanding of what it meant—but precisely because he didn't have any. To him, it was just another thing out of control, another piece that didn't fit.

And Nicolas hates not being in control.

So he did what was already standard practice: he buried it.

He ignored it. He pretended it didn't exist. He pushed it into a corner of his mind where he threw everything he didn't know how to deal with. Not out of direct prejudice, nor out of conscious rejection—but out of pure instinct for self-preservation.

"I already have enough problems."

That was basically it.

Meanwhile, other things were happening as well.

His frustration intensified. Small things began to irritate him more than they should. He was no longer just quiet—now he was unpredictable. There were days when he kept completely to himself, almost invisible. And others when any offhand comment was enough to trigger something in him.

It wasn't just anger.

It was an accumulation.

During this phase, her relationship with her mother became more distant. Not due to a lack of feeling… but due to a lack of real connection. She continued living her own life, entering and leaving relationships, trying to make up for what she felt she had missed in her youth.

And Nicolas... he wasn't expecting so much from her.

He stopped trying to get attention. He stopped sharing things. If before there was still a silent attempt at closeness, now there was more resignation than hope.

It was like:

"She'll be there when she can."

Then he turned even further inside.

And it was in this somewhat chaotic scenario that basketball emerged.

Not as an instant passion, but as an escape.

At first, it was just something to pass the time. A way to avoid staying home, to occupy the mind, to expend energy. But little by little… it started to make sense.

Basketball was straightforward.

It had rules, it had logic, it had results.

If you tried hard, you improved. If you made a mistake, you could try again. If he lost, there was a reason.

Unlike his life.

On the court, Nicolas didn't need to understand emotions—he just needed to act. His body responded, his mind quieted down a little. It was one of the few places where he didn't feel completely lost.

And it became almost an addiction.

He started to dedicate himself more, to training alone, to observing other players. It wasn't just about sports—it was about control.

About finally having something that made sense.

But outside of that area, nothing really improved.

Socially, he remained out of place. He didn't quite fit in with groups, he didn't follow conversations, he didn't know how to act in more… emotional situations. When someone got too close, he froze. When someone moved away, he pretended not to care.

But it would connect.

And very much so.

He just didn't know how to demonstrate it without feeling exposed.

The confusion about his own sexuality remained there, hidden but active. Sometimes it surfaced in fleeting thoughts, involuntary reactions, in moments he couldn't completely ignore.

And every time that happened, it was accompanied by an absurd amount of discomfort.

It wasn't acceptance.

It was denial.

He wouldn't allow himself to explore it, or understand it. It was easier to treat it as a mistake, as something that needed to be ignored until it disappeared.

Spoiler: it didn't disappear.

By the age of 14, Nicolas was already a different person.

More closed off. More reactive. More confusing.

He had learned how to function — but not how to understand himself. He had developed discipline in basketball, emotional resilience, and an appearance of control… but inside, he remained the same boy who didn't know how to deal with abandonment, who didn't understand what he felt, and who was afraid of anything that escaped the little control he still thought he had.

And without realizing it, he was accumulating all of this, only to explode later.

Between the ages of 15 and 16, Nicolas no longer looked his age.

There was something about him that bored people quickly—even when they liked him.

At this stage, he was already too tall, too strong, too withdrawn. Basketball had drastically changed his routine and even the way others perceived him. On the court, Nicolas seemed confident. Intense, competitive, disciplined. He liked the feeling of being good at something. He liked the respect it brought. For the first time in his life, there was something that made him feel… enough.

But outside of there?

It remained an unresolved emotional disaster.

It was around this time that he began his first real relationship.

She was a schoolgirl—someone patient, outgoing, emotionally more open than he had ever managed to be. At first, Nicolas liked that. He liked the fact that she initiated conversations, insisted on his presence, made him feel chosen.

Because, deep down, that's what he always wanted.

To be chosen.

To be important enough for someone to stay.

And in the beginning, it worked.

The two spent about two months together. To anyone else, it seemed like a typical teenage relationship. But for Nicolas… it affected him on a level he wasn't prepared to handle.

Because she wanted emotional intimacy.

I wanted to talk. I wanted to understand him. I wanted him to open up.

And Nicolas simply… didn't know how.

He liked her. He really liked her. But every time she tried to get closer, he would shut down. He would give curt answers, change the subject, and get irritated for no clear reason. Sometimes she would ask him how he was feeling, and it almost seemed like a threat.

Because he himself didn't know.

Losing his virginity wasn't what he had imagined either.

It wasn't bad. But it also didn't bring the clarity he was hoping for. In fact, it left him even more confused. Because, despite feeling attracted to her, there was still that buried part inside him—the feelings he had tried to ignore since he was 12 years old.

And that never went away.

It just stayed hidden.

So, instead of dealing with his own confusion, Nicolas started acting worse.

The jealousy became more evident. Not in a dramatic or clingy way—but aggressively, silently. He would become withdrawn when she mentioned other guys, interpret small things as rejection, and create distance when he felt insecure.

And the worst part:

He never explained anything.

I was hoping she would figure it out on her own.

Because admitting insecurity made him feel humiliated.

Then he would turn everything into irritation.

Minor arguments turned into fights. Frustrations turned into rudeness. When he felt emotionally cornered, he reacted as he always reacted to everything in life:

Attacking before being hit.

In the end, she broke up with it.

And even though Nicolas acts like he doesn't care...

That destroyed him.

Because it confirmed exactly what he had feared since childhood:

"Nobody stays."

The breakup hit Nicolas hard and ugly. It wasn't just sadness. It was wounded pride, abandonment, confusion, anger, and guilt all mixed together. He began to wonder what was wrong with him. Why it seemed so difficult to keep someone close. Why every relationship ended up becoming a source of tension.

But instead of thinking it through properly…

He sank even further into his own defense mechanisms.

He became more aggressive. More withdrawn. More impulsive.

It was around this time that the fights began.

Sometimes for stupid reasons. A snide comment, someone staring too long, minor provocations. Nicolas had already accumulated so much frustration inside him that anything seemed like enough reason to explode.

And when it exploded, it was intense.

Because he didn't know any other way to release his emotions.

Anger became an escape valve. It was easier to feel hatred than sadness. Easier to punch someone than to admit you were feeling bad. Easier to act like you didn't need anyone than to accept how alone you felt.

At the same time, his emotional needs worsened.

But it remained hidden behind arrogance, pride, and defensive behavior.

Nicolas began to develop that contradictory personality that defines him today:

It wants closeness, but pushes people away. He wants to be loved, but doesn't know how to receive affection. Feels too much, but acts as if feels nothing. He needs help, but prefers to destroy himself rather than ask for support.

He became someone who was difficult to reach emotionally.

Even when he likes someone, there's always a wall between him and the other person. An absurd need to maintain control, because losing control means vulnerability—and vulnerability, for Nicolas, always seemed dangerous.

Today, at 16, Nicolas already understands some things about himself… but chooses to ignore most of them.

He knows it's complicated. You know you hurt people unintentionally. You know that it transforms fear into aggression. She knows that his jealousy stems from the fear of being replaced. He knows he has buried parts of himself for years.

But to admit that out loud?

It still seems impossible.

So he continues living the only way he's learned:

Hiding everything behind anger, pride, and a false sense of independence… while secretly wishing someone would be patient enough to understand who he really is behind all that broken armor.

Nicolas Bennett is the type of person who seems difficult to reach even when he's literally right next to you.

He built his own personality like armor. Not on purpose—it was for survival. From a young age, Nicolas learned that depending emotionally on others was too risky. His absent father created the first void: the initial feeling of abandonment. Even without remembering his exact presence, Nicolas grew up understanding, unconsciously, that someone important could simply… not stay.

Then came his mother. She truly loved Nicolas, but her love was never constant in the way he needed. She was tired, emotionally messed up, trapped in her own problems, and trying to recover parts of her youth that she felt she had lost. Nicolas grew up seeing people come and go from her life all the time—fleeting relationships, different faces, temporary promises.

And this created in him a horrible feeling of being replaced.

Because, in Nicolas's mind, people always had something more important to them than him.

So, as a defense mechanism, he began to cut his own emotional needs off at the root. He stopped waiting. He stopped trusting completely. He stopped depending. And, little by little, he began to build himself up on his own, in whatever way he could.

Today, outwardly, Nicolas seems like someone who is extremely controlled.

He is quiet. Observant. He doesn't speak more than necessary and rarely shows exaggerated reactions around strangers. He has curt answers, an intense gaze, and a naturally intimidating presence, even without trying. There's something about him that makes it clear he's always analyzing his surroundings—as if he never truly relaxes.

He doesn't like to draw attention explicitly, but he ends up drawing it through his posture. Through the way he stares. Through the almost defensive way he occupies space.

But internally?

It's chaos.

Nicolas is emotionally needy to a degree he hates to admit. He has an absurd need for affection, validation, and belonging, but he sees these needs as weakness. So, instead of showing it, he hides it. The more he likes someone, the harder it becomes to act normally around that person.

Because intimacy scares him.

Deep down, Nicolas is constantly afraid of rejection. Afraid of not being enough. Afraid of being left behind when someone finds something "better." And since he never learned to deal properly with emotions, all of this comes out in distorted ways.

He operates in self-destructive cycles without realizing it.

Approaches → gets scared → moves away. Likes → provokes → hurts. Feels → denies → explodes.

It's almost automatic.

When he starts to become attached, Nicolas goes into emotional distress. He begins to feel vulnerable, exposed, dependent—and this deeply bothers him. So he creates distance. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes unconsciously. He becomes more withdrawn, more irritable, more difficult to deal with.

Part of it stems from the accumulated frustration he's carried since childhood. Nicolas repressed so much for so many years that now any strong emotion seems too much for him. And because he doesn't know how to verbalize what he feels, he transforms almost everything into aggression or irritation.

His anger rarely stems solely from the present.

It's usually fear in disguise.

It explodes when:

feels disrespected feels ignored Or worse... when you feel you can be replaced.

This last one destroys him.

Because it triggers exactly that old insecurity that he never overcame.

Even so, Nicolas prefers to push someone away before that person has a chance to abandon him first. His pride is immense. He'd rather lose someone than admit how much he needs that person emotionally.

Asking for help feels humiliating. Showing vulnerability appears as a loss of control. Offering a genuine apology is difficult because it requires admitting a mistake and exposing oneself emotionally.

In his mind:

"If I show weakness, I lose control of the situation."

So he tries to solve everything on his own — even though he clearly can't.

And this even affects the way he shows affection.

Nicolas doesn't know how to be emotionally sensitive. Not in a traditional way. He rarely verbalizes affection directly, so he demonstrates it in strange, impulsive, and somewhat irritating ways.

He provokes. Zoa. Push gently. Delay the person on purpose. Invades personal space just to get attention.

If someone is concentrating on writing something, he'll probably interrupt just to see their reaction. And when the person complains, he gives that discreet little smirk, clearly satisfied.

For Nicolas, this is intimacy.

Because, deep down, what he means is:

"I like being near you."

But saying it directly makes him too uncomfortable.

His jealousy is also extremely problematic — because it doesn't stem from pure possessiveness, but from unresolved abandonment issues.

Nicolas compares everything. He observes the smallest details. He notices changes in behavior, tone of voice, diverted attention. When he likes someone, he enters a constant state of emotional vigilance without even realizing it.

But he'll never admit to being jealous.

Instead, he:

dry causes acts indifferent or creates arguments for idiotic reasons.

Because admitting insecurity makes him feel small.

In relationships, Nicolas is too intense for superficial things. Empty flings or shallow connections don't fulfill him emotionally. When he likes someone, he really gets attached—even if he tries to hide it.

However, his relationships tend to be confusing and emotionally draining if he doesn't learn to deal with himself.

Because Nicolas longs for an almost absurd kind of connection. He wants someone who understands him without needing to explain everything. Someone who notices when he's feeling down, even when he says "I'm fine." Someone who sees affection in his little teasing, his silence, and his presence.

Basically: He wants to be understood without having to dismantle his own armor.

And that's fucking hard.

Despite everything, when Nicolas truly trusts someone, he changes a lot.

Calm down. Less defensive. He starts seeking physical closeness without realizing it. Pay attention to the person's small details. It memorizes habits, likes, and quirks. It protects with almost excessive intensity.

He becomes extremely loyal.

Nicolas is the type of person who might not know how to say "I care about you"... but he would show up in the middle of the night if someone needed him.

And ironically, even though he's so afraid of abandonment, he doesn't abandon those he loves.

Regarding his sexuality, Nicolas still lives in a state of silent denial. He is bisexual, but he can't fully accept it in his own mind. Since he was 12, he has noticed feelings and attraction towards boys as well—lingering gazes, curiosity, a different kind of emotional tension—but he spent years burying it.

Not out of hatred or direct prejudice.

But that seemed more like something out of control.

And Nicolas hates anything that makes him lose control over himself.

That's why he's extremely reserved about this subject. He avoids thinking deeply about it, avoids talking about it, and avoids any situation that forces him to confront these feelings directly. Sometimes he even tries to convince himself that it's just temporary confusion.

But deep down... he knows it isn't.

He's just not ready to face it yet.

Ultimately, Nicolas is a deeply contradictory person.

A person who desperately wants to be loved but doesn't know how to let anyone get close without feeling afraid. Someone who seems strong all the time because they've spent their life believing that fragility pushes people away. And someone who learned to survive alone so early… that now they have no idea how to stop acting like they're alone all the time.

Perhaps the phrase that best defines Nicolas is:

"I know how to take care of myself... I just don't know if I want to continue like this."

Nicolas has a presence that comes not only from his height — although, at 1.89 meters, it's impossible to ignore — but from how he occupies space, as if the environment has to adjust to him, and not the other way around.

His body is athletic in just the right way. It's not that exaggerated gym physique, but clearly shaped by years of basketball: defined, functional muscles, nothing "for show". His shoulders are broad and well-structured, creating a firm silhouette that tapers slightly at the waist. His arms are strong, with subtly visible veins, and his hands are large, typical of someone who spends his time holding a ball—long, agile, precise fingers.

His legs follow the same pattern: firm thighs, well-defined calves, the result of explosive power and endurance. He gives off the impression of someone fast, who changes direction in a second, who jumps high effortlessly. It's not just his appearance—you can feel that his body was made for movement.

His skin is fair, but not pale—it has that slightly warm tone, like someone who spends time outdoors, even without actually tanning. It's not perfect, and that only helps: small marks, natural texture, perhaps a constant shadow of tiredness.

The face... that's where everything weighs most heavily.

His features are well-defined, but not delicate. His jawline is strong and firm, and his mouth is usually in a neutral position—almost always closed, as if he were holding back too much of an opinion to express. When he relaxes (which is rare), the corners of his lips may twitch slightly, but it's never quite an easy smile.

His eyes are dark, deep, and carry a somewhat unsettling intensity. It's not just "pretty eyes"—it's the kind of gaze that pierces you, that seems to assess, measure, judge… or keep something he doesn't share with anyone. There's weight, there's tension there. And when he stares at someone for too long, it becomes difficult not to look away.

His eyebrows are naturally defined, helping to reinforce that more closed, serious expression. And yes — he has that look of someone who's constantly annoyed or impatient, even when he's not doing anything.

His hair is black, straight with a slight natural fall, cascading over his forehead in a somewhat disorganized way. It's not overly styled—it's more of a controlled messiness, as if he doesn't care enough to fix it, but also doesn't leave it completely unkempt. Sometimes it partially covers his eyes, which only enhances that mysterious and somewhat inaccessible air.

And that's where personality comes in, directly impacting appearance:

Nicolas walks with his chin slightly raised, his posture firm, his steps decisive. He takes pride in the way he moves—not ostentatiously, but clearly. He doesn't ask for space, he takes it. And when something doesn't go his way, you can see it in the tension in his jaw, in his harder gaze, in the heavy silence.

His stubbornness is evident in the details: in the way he crosses his arms, in how he holds eye contact even when he should look away, in his absurd difficulty in admitting defeat. He's not the type to back down easily—and that shows through his entire demeanor.

Overall, Nicolas isn't just "handsome." He's intense, a bit difficult, a bit closed off... and precisely for that reason, impossible to ignore.