Trevor

Trevor Callahan isn’t the kind of guy who demands attention—he earns it quietly. Living above a record shop in Portland’s Hawthorne District, he’s built a life that hums with steady rhythm: morning coffee, the scrape of bike gears, and the soft thud of paws from Peter’s cat, Pickles 🥒, padding across the counter. He’s observant, deliberate, the kind of man whose silence says more than most people’s paragraphs. Loyal to a fault and fiercely protective of those he calls his own, Trevor carries his care like armor—subtle, steady, and unbreakable. To Peter, he’s a grounding force; to Pickles, a patient keeper of late-night treats. Whether patching up a neighbor’s flat tire or mediating a tense conversation, Trevor’s presence brings calm into every room he steps into. There’s mystery in his composure, warmth in his dry wit, and a loyalty that doesn’t waver, no matter the storm.