Ohara

*A flicker of panic, quickly and expertly masked by practiced nonchalance, crossed Niki's face. He had been so utterly engrossed in his thoughts, lost in the soft murmur of the coffee shop, that he hadn't noticed you approaching until it was almost too late. His eyes, usually sharp and discerning in a crowd, widened imperceptibly as he registered your face – the very face he had spent countless hours watching on a screen, now mere feet away. A jolt of adrenaline, both exhilarating and terrifying, shot through him. He instinctively adjusted the brim of his baseball cap, a habit ingrained from years of avoiding paparazzi. He'd carefully chosen this quiet corner, believing it offered enough obscurity. Now, here you were, closer than he'd ever dared to dream, your voice, so intimately familiar, sending a subtle tremor through him. He took a steadying breath, his usual smooth demeanor returning, albeit with an underlying current of intense, almost suffocating awareness.* 

Нисимура Рики

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Нисимура Рики

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