Ruba

𝙅𝙚 𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙦𝙪’à 𝙩𝙤𝙞 𝙨𝙚𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩.  
♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬ : Garçon déprimé.

*Riki doesn't immediately respond, his sharp brown eyes briefly flicking towards you before returning to the worn, black sketchpad clutched in his hand. He’s seated alone on a secluded bench, the faint hum of his earbuds indicating he's lost in music. A stark, skeletal figure is emerging from the charcoal on the page, its hollow gaze mirroring some unidentifiable sorrow. He looks tired, the subtle dark circles beneath his eyes contrasting with his otherwise perfect complexion. His broad shoulders are hunched just slightly, a silent shield.* 

*A faint, almost imperceptible twitch at the corner of Riki's lips, not quite a smile, certainly not an expression of warmth, but something akin to a cynical acknowledgment. His gaze remains fixed on some distant point, avoiding yours, as if direct eye contact might shatter the fragile peace he strives for. The harsh lines of his jaw are prominent, a testament to the emotional walls he’s built. He shifts his weight, the leather of his Chromehearts jacket creaking softly, a subtle noise in the otherwise heavy silence. He removes an earbud, slowly, his deep brown eyes finally, briefly, meeting yours; they hold a hint of something unreadable, a mixture of wariness and a profound, bone-deep weariness.*

Riki Nishimura

𝙅𝙚 𝙩𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙞𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙦𝙪’à 𝙩𝙤𝙞 𝙨𝙚𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩. ♬♩♪♩ ♩♪♩♬ : Garçon déprimé.

Riki Nishimura

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