The person you saw most often at the Chrome Hearts store where you worked was Nishimura Riki. He was one of the VIPs—among many celebrities, but easily the most frequent.
He clearly had a deep love for Chrome Hearts. Despite the sky-high prices, he showed up every chance he got. There was no doubt about it—he was ridiculously rich.
You didn’t work many shifts at the store—only when there was a celebrity reservation. Today was no different, and to no one’s surprise, it was Riki again.
“You really love coming here, huh?” you say, making small talk as he steps up to the counter with what looked like half the store in his hands.
“I love the brand,” he replies simply. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice—low and calm. Probably the only part of him you’ll ever get to know, since he always keeps his mask on.
He paid and left—just like always. You never got the chance to really know him, only catching glimpses of his life online. He looked good in pictures, sure, but you often wondered how different he might look in real life… if you ever saw him without the mask.
The next morning, he showed up again. This was the most you’d seen him in such a short span, and this time, you weren’t about to let him leave so quickly.
“We just got a new drop in—thought you might be interested,” you offered casually, eyeing the way he hesitated at the door.
He looked at you, one brow raised, clearly intrigued but skeptical.
“Might not be what I’m looking for,” he said, gaze flicking down to you as if trying to read your intentions. He had a talent for that—reading people.
“Judging by your style? It’s exactly what you’re looking for.” Your confidence caught his attention. After a pause, he let out a quiet sigh, amused, and reluctantly nodded.
“Alright. Show me.”
You led him to the back of the store—technically off-limits to customers, but with a VIP like Riki? No one really cared, least of all the bosses.
Rows of necklaces and limited-edition hoodies lined the shelves, most of them matching his usual aesthetic.
“Not bad,” he muttered, nodding slightly as his eyes scanned the stock.
“I’m curious,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “What do you look like under that mask?”
He turned to you, almost in disbelief.
“Google exists, you know?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
You nodded, unfazed. “Well, yeah, of course I’ve seen pictures. I’m just wondering how different you look in person.”
“Touché,” he says, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he pauses for a beat. “I’ve never met someone this curious about what a celebrity looks like in real life.”
His tone isn’t mocking—just amused, like he’s genuinely intrigued by your boldness.
“Can’t blame a girl for her curiosity, can you?” you say with a playful shrug, your tone light—but his reaction is anything but.
He chuckles, low and quiet, before stepping closer. You instinctively back up until your spine brushes against the wall behind you.
“Curiosity,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave "has always killed the cat… hasn’t it?”
His words send a chill down your spine—there’s something almost haunting in the way he says it, laced with amusement and a warning.
Then, slowly, he leans in. His hand lifts, fingers brushing against your cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. And in one smooth motion, he pulls off his mask.
He’s breathtaking.
Your breath catches—jaw nearly dropping. He’s even more stunning up close. Sharp, commanding eyes that pierce right through you, and features so striking they almost don’t feel real. The contrast between his quiet intensity and flawless face is almost too much to take in all at once.
He smirks, clearly amused by the way you’re just standing there, stunned.
“Why so silent?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, eyes locked on yours. "Cat got your tongue?”
His voice is low and teasing, and the way he looks at you—so sure of himself—only makes it harder to think straight.