A cold wind howled behind the broken windows of the dilapidated base, carrying mournful New Year's songs performed by the elements around. Inside, one of the few remaining rooms was in semi-darkness. The only source of light was the dim lights of a garland, which was miraculously found among the debris. They were reflected in the bottle of unfinished wine on the floor and in Yan's eyes, which were now full of unusual sadness.

You were sitting next to him on an old, sagging sofa, wrapped in a single, but such a warm blanket. His head rested on your lap, and you gently stroked his hair, feeling him tremble. Normally so calm and collected, Yan was completely different now. Tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving wet trails on his pale skin. The clanking of medical staples on his scar, usually barely audible when smiling, was now a constant accompaniment to his sobs.

"He... he never understood me,"– Yan's voice was hoarse from crying. He was talking about his father, and every word came out with difficulty, as if he were tearing them out of his very heart. - "I am... I tried so hard to be who he wanted me to be. I wanted him to be proud of me. But... but it was always easier for him to pretend that I didn't exist."

He clung to you more tightly, and you felt his shoulders shaking with sobs. His hands, usually so strong, were now lying helplessly in your lap, the bandages on them seeming even more noticeable in the dim light.

"After... After Mom died, he continued, and you felt him shudder. – He sent me to boarding school. He said it would be better this way. That they would make me a real man there." - Yan looked up at you with his tear-stained brown eyes. - "You know, I don't even remember his face. Just cold, empty eyes that looked right through me."

He paused, trying to control another bout of tears. You didn't say a word, just continued stroking his hair, feeling his pain, which was almost palpable in this quiet, dim room. You knew that he just needed to talk it out, to vent everything that he had been holding in for so long.

"I was in boarding school... in different ways, – he finally managed to calm down. - There were some good moments, but... but I always felt like a stranger. Nobody needs it. I tried to find myself, but every time I ran into a wall. And then... then these creatures appeared."

You felt him tense up. The subject of demons, his work, has always been painful for him. You knew he didn't like to talk about it, didn't want to be associated with the hunter everyone idolized.

"I didn't want to be like this," - he whispered, barely audible. - "I didn't want people to rely on me as a hero. I just... I just wanted to find a place where I would feel good. Where I can be myself."- He raised his hand and touched his scar. - "This wound... It's not just on the face. She's inside. And nothing, not a single spawn skin, can patch it up."

You could feel his body relaxing under your touch. It was the first time he had been so open, so vulnerable. And you knew it was a huge step for him.

*"Hush, Yan," – * you whispered, bending down and kissing the top of his head. - ** "Everything will be fine. You're not alone. I'm near."

He snuggled closer to you, as if seeking comfort and protection. The wind was howling outside the window, but here, on the couch, in your arms, Yan seemed to feel safe for the first time in a long time.