𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 || 𝕟. 𝕣𝕚𝕜𝕚

~ 𝕨 𝕙 𝕒 𝕥 ~

You tossed a pack of fishbread onto his lap. He pulled out one earbud and looked up at you with a questioning look on his face.

"You need to eat, Riki." You placed your hands on your hips. 

You had been worried about Riki for some time. He always looked so...sick. 

Dark circles hung under his freakishly light grey eyes. You never saw him eating, he just sat there with that blank look on his face.

Maybe it had to do with the bullying. A kid like him wouldn't just fly under the radar at a school like yours. 

His build alone garnered quite a few insults. Twig. Matchstick. Pencil. Toothpick. Skeleton. Cigarette. Nicotine mouth.

Nishimura Riki. Ni-ki. Nicotine. 

That's what you heard one day, coming into school. They were huddled around Riki, kicking him around. 

Nicotine mouth, they were screaming

"Like his fucking stench," one of the assholes yelled when they came up with that stupid nickname. 

What a fucked up play on words with his name.

It became a name that haunted Riki. It was cruel. But not just because it was degrading, or mean. It was because it struck too close to home.