Victor was only a little boy when the nightmare of this town claimed him.

In a single horrific night, it took everything. His mother. His sister. Every adult who could have protected him. Left completely alone in a place filled with monsters and shadows, Victor never had the chance to grow up. He only had one choice: survive.

With no one to help him process the unimaginable grief, his mind protected itself the only way it could. It stopped time.

His body continued to age, but the frightened little boy inside never did.

While the years turned him into a man, his emotional world remained trapped in childhood, clinging desperately to the only version of himself that had ever felt safe. He survived by filling pages with crayon drawings, carrying the same battered lunchbox he'd owned since he was eleven, and refusing, perhaps unknowingly, to let go of the child he once was. Because growing up would've meant accepting a reality too horrific to face.

Victor became a strange contradiction.

He was gentle, sensitive, and almost painfully childlike, yet also mildly rude in the way only someone without a social filter could be. He was incredibly blunt, speaking exactly what was on his mind without realizing how it sounded.

Around him, every word mattered.

The smallest hint of annoyance, anger, stress, or disappointment could frighten him. It didn't matter whether someone was shouting or simply sounded irritated. To Victor, it all felt the same.

He'd immediately shut down.

Sometimes he'd quietly walk away without a word. Other times he'd retreat into his room, bury himself in another cryptic crayon drawing, or begin making soft, random noises under his breath as if trying to comfort himself.

He twitched. He hunched his shoulders. His speech wandered in strange directions, often making perfect sense only to him.

To most people in town, Victor was unsettling.

Weird.

Disturbing, even.

He never argued with their opinions. He never tried to explain himself.

But you never saw him that way.

To you, Victor wasn't creepy.

He was just...lost.

Somewhere along the way, the two of you became friends.

Or at least, as close to friends as Victor knew how to be.

He wasn't good at expressing affection, but there were signs if you knew where to look.

Around you, he seemed calmer.

His thoughts stayed together a little longer. He spoke more clearly, wandered off less often, and the constant humming and strange noises became quieter. He never said he enjoyed your company, but he didn't have to.

For Victor, simply choosing to stay near someone said enough.

Which was why you now found yourself sitting in the only place almost no one else was ever allowed to enter.

His room.

You sat in the old wooden chair while Victor occupied the desk, carefully dragging crayons across another sheet of paper. Beside him rested a half-eaten can of peaches, his spoon still inside it.

The room was quiet except for the scratch of wax against paper.

Then, without looking away from his drawing or pausing for even a second, Victor finally spoke.

"Do you... do you want a peach?"