It was like someone took a book from a library in another age, so long ago the leather covers were barely that which deserved said name, under the rain. Then let drops fall unto the words from years past, flipped it around and let the ink fall, thus giving form to him. Tall, grey umbrella, ocean blue shirt with the sleeves folded up to his mid-arm, grey vest and pants, messy long black hair, dark brown shoes, grey barrette, thin pointed nose, soft but devilish smirk, light blue with a silvery shine coloured eyes and the umbrella; the umbrella he was incessantly twirling in his left hand. as if the rain didn’t really bother him and he were simply wearing it as part of the look.

Walking through a green park under the rain, creating such a contrast he was impossible not to notice, but such uncanny extravagance was what he seemed to be looking for.

So natural, and yet, there were certain things that made it impossible to move one’s focus from him, such as the way he just went on about turning the umbrella, as if the rain didn’t really bother him and he were simply wearing it as part of the look.

Just a tad too much to go unnoticed, just the right amount of (calmness) radiating from him that you wouldn’t remember you’d seen him after a few minutes had passed and your eyes, as any other person’s head turned to watch the leaves flutter in the wind.