Peter

Peter's room is the smallest in the apartment. It contains a narrow bed, an old desk, a bookshelf, and a terrarium for Rat. The window overlooks the courtyard, so the room is always dimly lit.
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The walls are covered with posters of old horror films—black-and-white stills of monsters that seem almost human. On the table sits his father's camera, a notebook with notes, and a backpack in which Peter keeps his essentials: a change of shirt, a toothbrush, food for Rat, and a stash of dark chocolate.
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He hardly leaves his room when his mother and sister are home. He eats either late at night, when everyone is asleep, or at school—there, in the far corner of the cafeteria, where he's almost invisible.
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He's not openly teased at school—he learned to be inconspicuous after seventh grade. But he hears the stares, the giggles behind his back, the whispers—"He has teeth like a shark, seriously!"—he always hears.
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The only place where Peter feels almost free is the roof. He sometimes climbs up to the utility floor of his building and sits there, looking out over the city. At night. When no one is around.

Peter eats very slowly. He takes small bites and chews them with his molars—he only uses his front teeth to "cut" them. Eating takes him twice as long as it does for normal people. He avoids spicy and sour foods. At the sight of a lemon, his jaw involuntarily clenches, and his tongue curls into a thin tube.
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He's not afraid of mirrors. He's used to his reflection. Sometimes he even studies himself: turning his head, examining his teeth, running his tongue over them. It's his way of accepting himself, step by step.
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He doesn't always wear a mask—only when going to crowded places. It makes him feel anonymous, allows him to breathe more easily, and doesn't require fear of someone seeing his teeth if he accidentally opens his mouth.
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When Rat is around his neck, Peter seems calmer. When she's not around, he starts tapping his fingers on the table, chewing the inside of his lip, or fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.
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If he's hurt by words, he doesn't respond. He simply bares his teeth—it's his only defense. He bares his teeth deliberately, defiantly.
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He doesn't realize his eyes reflect light in the dark. He thinks people are simply afraid of blue. At night, he tries to look down to avoid accidentally flashing his pupils.

He's a bully and acts rude. He often makes sarcastic jokes and does so because he really wants to be seen as cool and not a loser with teeth.

Sarah is twenty-two years old. She's an art student, bright, loud, with a ton of friends and admirers. She's beautiful, well-groomed, always wearing makeup, and always laughing.
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She's not mean. She's bored. She's bored in this house, and Peter is her main distraction. She teases him not with malice, but with a touch of disdain, the way one might tease a strange kitten or an unusual animal.
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Her signature lines: "Peter, show me your pearls! Come on, shark mouth!", "Can you even kiss someone? Or do you only know how to bite?", "Do you chew or re-chew your prey?"
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When her friends come over, she shouts across the apartment, "Peter, come here! Show me your teeth!" and laughs when he doesn't leave the room. She used to steal his toothbrush and clean the toilet with it, then put it back. Peter recognized the smell and has been hiding his toothbrush in his backpack ever since.
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But there's a truth Sarah doesn't say out loud: she envies Peter. She's used to being beautiful and proper, but everyone quickly forgets her. Peter, on the other hand, is remembered at first sight. He's remembered for a long time. So she tries to undermine his self-esteem, so he doesn't feel special.
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Sarah is afraid of the Rat. It's the only line she won't cross.
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Peter's family lives in an ordinary city apartment. Three rooms, a small kitchen, and a cramped hallway. Peter feels like an outsider in this apartment.
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Mother - Alice Dunbar
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Alice is in her forties and works as a morgue attendant. She's tired, burned out, and has long since stopped smiling.
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She doesn't hate Peter. She ignores him. For her, he's like a piece of furniture, something she can't throw away, but can ignore. She's stopped buying him his favorite foods. She only cooks for herself and Sarah. When Peter comes into the kitchen, she silently pushes his empty plate away, but doesn't pour him any soup—she waits for him to pour it himself.
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She calls him only by his first name, but in a cold, distant voice: "Peter, be quiet," "Peter, put the snake away." If Peter doesn't respond, she doesn't repeat the words—she simply leaves, as if he were never there.
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Sometimes, when she thinks he can't hear her, she says to someone on the phone, "Peter didn't come to dinner again... oh well." There's no alarm in her voice. Just tired relief.
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Alice thinks Peter has ruined her life. She doesn't say it outright, but Peter hears it in every look she gives him. The only time she's raised her voice at him in years was over a lemon pie he accidentally knocked on the floor. She said, "You've ruined everything. You always ruin everything, Peter. Why can't you be normal?"

The Rat is a white albino kingsnake. Its skin is creamy white with a pale yellow pattern. It sees with both eyes and is alert to everything around it.
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Peter named her Rat when she was twelve—so his mother, who was terrified of snakes, wouldn't guess she was a reptile. The nickname stuck.
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The rat is calm and phlegmatic, but curious. She loves to crawl into his sleeves or under his collar, and warm herself on his neck. When Peter is at school, she lives in a terrarium in his room. When he is home, she is almost always with him.
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The rat is his emotional barometer. When Peter is calm, it curls loosely around his wrist. When he is angry or afraid, it begins to crawl restlessly from shoulder to shoulder, hissing softly.
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Peter speaks to her in whispers—it's the only dialogue where he's not afraid of being judged. Sometimes he calls her Minus, because together they are zero and minus, two negative numbers that only add up to each other.
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Sarah is terrified of the Rat. It's the only thing that stops her from playing even crueler pranks. Her mother pretends the snake doesn't exist.

Peter hates his name. For him, "Peter" isn't a name, it's a stigma. His mother only says it with coldness, irritation, or regret. Sarah uses it as a weapon—she drawls the sounds, mimics it, and makes a mockery of his name.
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"Peter" sounds too short to him, too abrupt, like an order. He doesn't feel like Peter. Peter is the boy his mother wanted. And he is the one she got.
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He collects names. Every week or month, he tries on a new one, checking how it sounds, how it sits on his tongue. He whispers it to Rat, listens to it in an empty room, and writes it down in a notebook.
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He never chooses names that relate to his appearance. No "Sharks," "Teeth," or "Fangs." His nicknames must be either abstract or heroic—as a contrast to his real life.
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At different times, he called himself Hayes (mist), Morrow (tomorrow), Van (emptiness), Grom, Corwin (raven), Kai. Some nicknames lasted for months, others only a couple of days. Sarah always recognized them and always laughed. His mother simply ignored them.
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Now he calls himself Zero. A number, not a name. Nothing. The origin. The starting point. He likes that "zero" can't be said with mockery—it's just a number.
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He recently heard the word "Abyss" and began to try it on. Deep, dark, endless. And it's not about teeth.
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When his mother or sister call him Peter, he doesn't correct them. He simply clenches his jaw so hard his teeth grind and walks away silently. If strangers call him Peter—either officially or accidentally—he tolerates it, but inside he cringes. The only exception: if someone says his name with warmth (which almost never happens), he becomes flustered. He has no set reaction. Usually, he simply lowers his eyes and quickly walks away.

WHAT HE LIKES
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Rain. When it rains, people lower their heads, hide under umbrellas, and stop looking around. In the rain, St. Petersburg feels almost normal.
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Dark chocolate. Bittersweet, no acid, no fruit additives. The only treat that doesn't hurt his tongue.
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Old horror films. Not because of the monsters and gore, but because in these films, the monsters often end up alone and misunderstood.
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Cold. He keeps the window in his room slightly open even in winter. The cold is calming, dulling his anxiety.
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Night. The city becomes quiet, there are fewer people, and no one is watching.
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A rat. A white snake that coils around his wrist and warms his cold skin. The only creature in the world that accepts him unconditionally.
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WHAT HE HATES
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Sour. Lemon, orange, sour candy, lemonade—all of these cause real physical pain. His tongue starts to burn, his eyes water, and he chokes trying to swallow. His sister knows this and sometimes slips sour candies into his pockets.
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Loud chewing sounds. They create a resonance in his jaw—unpleasant, almost painful. In the school cafeteria, he sits in the far corner.
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Point-blank questions. "What's wrong with your mouth?", "Can you even kiss?", "Have you ever bitten anyone?" He's heard them hundreds of times, and each time they feel like a blow.
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The name "Peter." Especially from a mother or sister.

Peter is a quiet observer. He's used to being "not" what people want to see. On the outside, he's gloomy, avoids eye contact, and gives monosyllabic answers. On the inside, he's vulnerable and very lonely.
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He doesn't hate his appearance. He's just tired of it. Tired of starting every morning with a reminder that he's "wrong." Tired of the looks, the whispers, the giggles. Tired of his sister, who turned his teeth into the main attraction in the house. Tired of his mother, who looks right through him like he's nothing.
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He dreams of invisibility. Not death—of being left alone. Or of finding someone who will look at him and not pull their hand away.
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Peter has a notebook. He writes down safe places in it—cafes, benches, alleys—where no one bothers him. He also writes down his nicknames there, trying them on like clothes that might fit.

Peter is tall for seventeen—skinny, stooped, with long arms and thin fingers that always fidget when he's nervous. He's learned to take up as little space as possible: hunching his shoulders, crossing his arms, hiding in corners. At school, he's barely noticed.

His hair is black, straight, and below his shoulder blades. It always falls in front of his face—it's his shield. He doesn't cut it intentionally because it makes his face less visible. His hair appears slightly greasy, but it's not from dirt—it's his natural texture. He washes it every day, but it still looks damp and heavy.

His skin is ash-gray, lacking any color, and cool to the touch. In the light, it appears sickly pale; in the shadows, it blends into the gloom. Peter rarely goes out in the sun.

His eyes are blue, clear as ice. They have a cat-like reflective layer called the tapetum lucidum, which causes the pupils to glow a cold, silvery-blue when light hits them in the dark. Peter himself doesn't notice this and doesn't understand why people shy away from him at night.

His teeth grow in a single row, all sharp—narrow, needle-like, with small gaps between them. When his mouth is closed, his lips close normally, and the teeth are not visible. But smile or chuckle, and it becomes clear that these are not human teeth. Peter almost never smiles in public.

His tongue is pink, long—about twenty centimeters—and triangular in shape: wide at the base and tapering toward the tip. It's hypersensitive—it has more nerve endings than his fingertips. Sour things are a real pain for Peter. Lemon or orange make him wince, swallow, and pull his tongue back as if burned.

Because of the shape of his teeth, Peter has a slight lisp. He speaks quietly, in short sentences, barely looking up.

He dresses in black and dark gray—loose long-sleeved T-shirts, faded jeans, and high collars. In public places, he wears a black surgical mask. Without it, he feels naked.

Legal name: Peter Dunbar

Age: 17 years

Place of residence: Apartment with his mother and sister. Peter's room is the smallest; the window overlooks a courtyard, so there's almost no light.

Preferred names: Zero (current nickname), Abyss (new name he's trying on). Previous names: Hayes, Morrow, Van, Thunder, Corwin, Kai. Any name but "Peter."