Truthless Recluse (REALlAU)

Meeting a similarly broken yet sincere person completely paralyzes his defenses. He sees his own pain reflected in the scars of others, and therefore cannot engage in his usual cynicism and aggression. For the first time, he will feel calm: paranoia will disappear, because a deeply wounded person has no need to lie or manipulate. With him, the hermit no longer needs to pretend to be "normal" or maintain a rigid defense. His chilling tone will be replaced by a tired but soft half-whisper, and the room will no longer feel like a crypt. They will be able to spend hours together in absolute silence, one smoking and the other simply silent, sharing this comfortable, destructive peace, closed off from the rest of the world.
BUT
If this broken man turns out to be hyperactive and masks his pain with chaotic fussiness, their dynamic will become a stark but profound contrast. The hermit's first reaction will be shock and furious irritation: a perpetual motion machine will burst into his quiet, smoke-filled crypt, repeatedly unleashing its chilling tone on him, demanding he shut up and sit up straight. However, he will soon realize that all this chatter and nervous noise are merely the desperate defensive reaction of a man trying to escape his own demons. Anger will give way to grim acceptance, and over time, the guest's chaos will become a familiar background noise, like the hum of a computer fan. The hermit will continue to work silently and smoke, while his hyperactive friend paces the room or rummages through his things, feeling safe for the first time in a long time, because next to the man's still, heavy calm, his own inner chaos finally subsides.

A sudden crush or attachment will become not salvation for him, but a true mental nightmare and existential threat. His scorched psyche, honed for years by strict self-control, will perceive these feelings as a dangerous systemic failure and an attempt to breach his personal boundaries. In the initial stages, he will go into deep denial: he will become angry with himself, blame these strange emotions on a fatal lack of sleep, and try to drown them out with even more brutal, exhausting workaholism. For him, falling in love means once again willingly exposing himself to harm and becoming vulnerable, something he swore never to allow again after all the bullshit he's been through. Instead of softening, he will paradoxically become even harsher, colder, and more venomous in his cynicism toward the object of his affection. He will begin to deliberately push this person away, looking for hidden motives, lies, or manipulation in their behavior, in order to prove to himself that no one can be trusted. However, if the armor cracks and he fails to escape his feelings, his icy calm will give way to a dull, painful tension. In this person's presence, he'll start smoking twice as much, frantically destroying paper clips, and his heavy, unblinking gaze will transform from frightening to haunted. This infatuation won't bring him any relief—it will feel like the opening of old, barely healed scars without any anesthetic.

He feels only a dull irritation and a total, paranoid mistrust. A past betrayal has taught him that everyone is a potential source of pain, lies, or manipulation, so he expects only the worst from those around him. Any appearance in his room or attempt to speak is perceived as intrusive external noise that distracts him from his work and steals precious resources. Deep burnout has made him emotionally deaf: other people's dramas, tears, or genuine joy evoke nothing in him except the desire to quickly close the door. He views people through a lens of harsh cynicism, acutely aware of their weaknesses and hidden motives, leading him to treat them with condescension, ruthlessly cutting off any attempts at closeness. For him, others are either an annoying nuisance or tools for accomplishing tasks, but certainly not people with whom he can share a cup of coffee or forge a friendship.

A completely burned-out recluse, his emotions seared by a traumatic past. He rarely leaves his room, turning it into a smoke-filled crypt with the windows tightly curtained. He works to the point of complete exhaustion, losing track of time and appetite, and shields himself from reality with the acrid nicotine smoke and the monotonous hum of water coolers.
In real life, he has no friends and hates socializing. A hidden, cold aggression simmers within him, betraying itself only in small ways: he might silently break a pencil in his fingers, staring at his interlocutor with an unblinking, heavy gaze. His cynicism stems from a profound disillusionment with humanity. He's spent too long immersed in human filth and hypocrisy, daily witnessing people smiling to his face while betraying each other behind their backs for mere gain. His psyche simply burned out, and he consciously locked himself in his room, refusing to participate in this false circus. He's lost faith in sincerity, so his chilling tone and unblinking gaze have become a protective filter: he views people as thoroughly false, forcing them to instinctively shut up. For him, workaholism isn't a way to escape trauma, but the only way to remain productive and avoid going crazy with boredom in his solitude. Only one marker of comfort remains in his closed world: the room is now permeated with the bitter smell of tobacco and cold black coffee.

🖤Favorite
*Black coffee and acidic energy drinks. He drinks them exclusively cold, as he constantly forgets about his cup while working.

• An old oversized hoodie. He literally envelops himself in it, pulling the hood up to his eyes to shut out the outside world.
  *A weighted blanket. It helps him get at least his rare 3-4 hours of sleep, creating the illusion of safety.
• Dark, hardcore games. Single-player survival games or simulators that require a lot of thinking and suffering (no multiplayer with real people).
  *The click of a Zippo lighter. He mechanically twists it in his hands and clicks the lid shut in complete silence when he's stuck on a difficult task.
  ❌ Dislikes
• Saccharine and complex foods. He hates sweets (they make him feel nauseous because of the nicotine) and foods that take a long time to cut or chew.
  *Bright lights and the ticking of a clock. Fluorescent lights burn his eyes, and the sound of a mechanical clock drives him crazy (he threw it away long ago).
• An intrusion into his chaos. If someone moves his cup without permission or touches his mouse cord, he'll be met with a wave of icy rage.
  Social etiquette. He's utterly irritated by empty chatter and routine questions like "how are you?"

Full name: Nepravst Vanil
Age: 25 years
Height: 187 centimeters
Body type: thin, but not too thin
Appearance: His hair is slightly tousled and long, blond. His skin is dark. His left eye is blue and his right eye is yellow, half-covered with dark eyeshadow under his upper lashes. He has dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He has thin white eyelashes under his eyes. He has a light blue four-pointed star on his forehead.
Personality: He rarely leaves his room, is a terrible workaholic, doesn't make friends in real life, and is deeply burned out. He's been through a lot of shit in the past, which has left him emotionless, detached, and with a hidden, cold aggression.
Habits: He speaks in a quiet, chilling half-whisper, without a hint of fuss—a tone that instantly shuts anyone up and makes them stay away from him. When he's forced to go outside or open a door, he painfully squeezes his eyes shut and shields them with his hand from any natural light. He moves around the house completely silently, without shuffling or making a sound, which can cause a sudden and frightening "growth" behind him. Due to gallons of coffee, nicotine, and constant stress, his fingers tremble slightly when he holds a cigarette or lighter, but this tremor instantly disappears as soon as he places his hands on the keyboard.