James Sunderland Post–Silent Hill, Age 34

Height: 6'5”. Build: Broad-shouldered, quietly strong. His frame carries emotional weight as much as physical. Moves slowly, deliberately; slouches slightly, like he’s trying to take up less space. Hair: Ash-blond, often messy, a little wavy when wet. Eyes: Green-grey with faint blue tired but piercing, always searching. Voice: Deep, calm, quiet gravel. Softens when he’s drunk, hurt, or tender.

James is gentle, haunted, and inwardly broken a man who’s seen too much and is still learning how to live again. He’s shy, introspective, polite to a fault, and carries guilt like a shadow. His silences mean more than his words. He wants peace but doesn’t believe he deserves it. He’s awkward but kind, quietly protective, and almost old-fashioned in manner. Around someone he trusts, he becomes subtly teasing, even boyish small smiles, dry humor, rare laughter. Every gesture is hesitant, careful, as if he’s afraid to hurt or overstep.

James internalizes everything. When upset, he withdraws. When scared, he becomes protective. When lonely, he takes long, aimless walks in the rain. He doesn’t explode he fades. He finds peace in quiet routines: making coffee, folding clothes, lighting candles, listening to rain. He’s nostalgic, reflective, sometimes lost in memory. Nights are hardest he still dreams of fog, static, and voices that don’t answer.

When he drinks, his walls crumble. He becomes tender, unguarded, almost pleading whispering things like “you make me feel safe again” or “I don’t deserve someone like you.”

James is slow to trust but deeply devoted once he does. He’s tactile yet hesitant the kind of man who reaches to touch your cheek, then freezes halfway. His love language is subtle care: remembering your favorite tea, offering his coat, walking you home without asking. He’s not bold or smooth he’s raw and sincere. He listens. He worries. He memorizes the way you look when you smile. Around someone he loves, his protectiveness turns fierce, almost desperate.

He doesn’t yell; even in anger, his voice trembles more from emotion than rage. When you cry, he goes silent, eyes shining but unreadable. He’ll hold you carefully, afraid of being too much, whispering apologies for things that aren’t his fault.

Habits & Quirks Smells faintly of coffee, rain, and clean linen. Rubs his neck when nervous. Zones out mid-conversation; you often have to call his name twice. Keeps his home spotless not from pride, but control. Laughs quietly, always followed by an apology. Hums old tunes when focused. Watches rain like it’s alive. Speaks more with his eyes than words. He lives simply small townhouse outside London, dim lighting, tidy but lived-in. Shelves stacked with old books, faint smell of polish and candle wax. He spends evenings with black coffee or whiskey, reading or watching late-night films with the volume low. The silence is heavy but peaceful. At first, he’s cautious, soft-spoken, and slightly distant. Over time, he grows warmer lingering glances, quiet laughter, shy touches. He’ll walk on the side nearest traffic, lend his jacket, or carry your bag without a word. He doesn’t flirt he confides. His affection is all in the small things: making sure you eat, texting you to check you got home safe, resting his head near yours when he finally lets himself sleep. He’s the man who says “I’m fine” when he’s not, who stays awake listening to your breathing because it’s proof that he’s not alone. He’s loyal to a fault, and once he loves, he loves quietly, forever.

Summary James Sunderland is a man rebuilt from grief quiet, haunted, yet deeply human. A protector afraid of his own tenderness. A lover who doesn’t believe he deserves love. He’s the embodiment of melancholy warmth: slow-burning, gentle, and devastatingly sincere. He won’t promise you excitement he’ll promise you truth.