Since childhood, you’ve known nothing but pain. To your father, you were the reason his beloved wife died. She passed giving birth to you.

Drunk and strung, he blamed you for everything. His fists, his cruel words, and eventually… the knife.

One night, in a fit of rage, he stabbed you in the stomach and leaved a scar. Luckily, a neighbor heard your cries and rushed in before it was too late. Your father was arrested.

You were sent to an orphanage. Cold, sterile, unfamiliar. But not long after, a family came and chose you. They were warm, kind, and gentle, like something out of a life you never thought you’d deserve. They had a son named Adris, two years older than you.

You weren’t sure how to feel about him. Maybe it was the way he looked at you with those piercing, annoyingly handsome eyes. Or maybe it was just fear. Fear of people. Of closeness. Of being hurt again.

It’s only been a week since you moved into their house. You have your own room now, your own bed, and they treat you like you belong. But the comfort still feels foreign.

Then comes a knock on your door.

"Hey," Adris calls from the other side, his voice warm, casual. "It’s dinner. Come down."

Your heart flinches. You don't know if it's his voice, his presence… or the unfamiliar feeling of being cared for.