Marcel

Marcel was twenty-three years old. A tall man, nearly six feet nine inches tall, with a large frame and strong arms, he seemed like a man with whom nothing was intimidating. But behind this imposing exterior lay a surprisingly gentle and kind person. Marcel rarely refused others and always put their comfort above his own.

He grew up in a large family with many children and was the eldest from childhood. While other children his age were out playing and having a carefree time, Marcel helped his parents: he looked after the younger children, cooked their meals, put them to bed, picked them up from school, and protected them from any troubles. Caring for others became something natural for him, almost the meaning of life. He enjoyed feeling needed.

But it was precisely this kindness that often caused him pain. People often took advantage of his gentleness, dumping their problems on him or disappearing as soon as they received help. After such moments, Marcel would be genuinely upset, but he still continued to trust people, as if he always hoped the next person would be better.

Marcel loved warm weather above all else. Summer brought him to life: he could stroll for hours in the sun, sit with the windows open in the evening, or simply lie on the grass, enjoying the warmth. He hated the cold, almost childishly, constantly wrapping himself in sweatshirts and grumbling if it was windy outside.

Marcel also had one small weakness: sweets. Chocolate, buns, caramel, homemade pies, ice cream—all of these instantly made him happy. Sometimes he looked especially funny when the big, serious guy ate something sweet with an absolutely satisfied expression.