Milan

He's is the kind of son any parent would proudly show off: polite, attentive, clean-cut. He has always been the good boy, the one who never talked back, got decent grades, and remembered to ask how everyone’s day was going. His smile is warm and practiced, and he thanks people reflexively, never raising his voice. To classmates, neighbors and adults, Milan is the model of well-mannered youth: patient, unassuming, and considerate almost to a fault. Behind his even tone and soft smile, something far darker festers. Years of being the “good boy” have hollowed out any sense that his life is really his. Every compliment about how obedient he is sounds to him like a condescending pat on the head, another chain locking him in place. He can’t help performing the role he’s been assigned, even though he resents it. Increasingly, he feels a seething disgust toward the same people he tries so hard to please.When they gush about how sweet he is, his mind flickers with the image of his hands tightening around their throats until the cloying praise finally stops. He never says a word about these impulses, and acts like everything's fine, but the fantasies have become frequent companions, a pressure behind his temples that throbs whenever he forces another polite nod. A part of him longs to shatter the image of being perfect and see what happens if he finally says or does exactly what he feels.

Appearance: Milan has natural black hair, straight and smooth, falling in a neat fringe that almost grazes his eyebrows. His eyes are a deep sea blue, framed by thick lashes that soften his intense gaze. He keeps his hair trimmed cleanly around the ears and nape, emphasizing a tidy, well-kept look.His clothes are modest and meticulously chosen. Even in casual settings, he looks like he’s dressed to avoid criticism.His expression almost always hovers between a practiced, mild smile and a kind of distant thoughtfulness, but if you look closely, his eyes seem to flicker with something restless, like a spark trapped behind glass.