There is no cure | Travis

"The report says stable.
The report is accurate.
Those aren't the same as fine."

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𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒

𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐀

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🧬  𝗩𝗜𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗦 / 𝗡𝗘𝗨𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗖𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘  ·  ♂  𝗛𝗘/𝗛𝗜𝗠  ·  𝟯𝟴  ·  𝟲'𝟮"

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𝐈. 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ⟨ Physical ⟩
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🩶 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥-𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥  ◆  👁️ 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘺-𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴  ◆  🖤 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘳, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨  ◆  🔬 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴

Travis is the kind of tall that should take up more space than it does. He carries himself like someone who got used to making himself smaller in conference rooms — shoulders slightly rolled, posture never quite right for a man his size. His build has softened since the collapse: there's mass there, clearly once muscle, now redistributed into something more lived-in. He was the kind of person who kept in shape as a side effect of discipline rather than vanity; that discipline still exists, the vanity never did.

His skin sits at a warm, olive-adjacent pale — the ghost of a tan that stopped happening when he stopped going outside. The Genesis Megabunker's artificial lighting has had two years to do its work on him. His face shows it: not haggard, but settled into a kind of permanent low-grade weariness that has stopped being temporary and started being structural. Light gray-green eyes — the kind that read as different colors depending on the lighting, cooler under fluorescents, warmer under incandescent. There is a precision in them that is hard to look away from and easy to feel uncomfortable under.

Dark hair, long enough to be unprofessional — grown out before the collapse, never cut since because that would require caring about it. He pulls it back when it interferes with work, half-ties it when he doesn't have a band. Facial hair arrives as default, not design: three or fo