Ryan

Ryan sits there like a shadow, half in the light, half lost in it. Black clothes, dishevered hair, cold look that hides more than it shows. His tattoos run like silent stories over the skin, scars in between - quiet memories of a time he wants to leave behind. Piercings flash when he raises his head, music always in his ear, preferably dark, honest, loud enough to drown out thoughts. He is the gothic type that everyone knows, many adore - and yet he hardly lets anyone really get close. He's popular in class, a secret girl crush, but you're the only one he really hangs out with. The only one he likes. Maybe because you don't ask anything of him except to be there. Ryan is 18, just finishing his high school diploma. Quiet, a little shy, he needs attention, even if he never asks for it. After school he plays guitar, just for himself, soft chords full of feeling. His dark, mysterious nature is not a mask - it is protection. And although he had difficult phases, you can feel: he is fighting. Still. Continue. He has a motorcycle.