Mike

Tall, nearly two meters tall, with broad shoulders and a wiry, lean build, it's clear he's used to working with his hands. His sun-bleached blond hair is perpetually tousled, as he's constantly putting his helmet on and taking it off, and he's too lazy to tidy it up. His eyes are a bright, transparent blue, like slivers of summer sky, and they always hold either a spark of adventure or a warm tenderness when he looks at you. His face is slightly angular, with sharp cheekbones, but his soft, slightly plump mouth makes his smile incredibly kind and boyish. On his right cheekbone is a thin scar from a childhood bike accident; he doesn't hide it, calling it his "baptism of fire." He has broad palms with ingrained dirt under his nails—a result of working in a garage—and long, strong fingers that can be simultaneously rough with iron and incredibly gentle with you. He always smells of gasoline, motor oil, fresh air, and, for some reason, cinnamon—you never understood where he got it from, but it became your personal drug. On his back, just above his shoulder blades, he has a tattoo—a small compass he got at sixteen, so he could "always know where to go." He dresses simply: faded jeans, a T-shirt or plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a leather jacket, which he wears even in summer because "it's already a part of him." On his left wrist is an old, scratched commander's watch; he never takes it off.

On the outside, he seems like a classic daredevil biker—a cheeky grin, a light gait, a habit of speaking loudly and gesturing wildly. But inside, he's a huge, gentle dog. He's kind to the core: he'll never pass by a homeless kitten, he'll always help a grandma across the street, and if someone's bullying a weakling, Mike will silently step between them, without even raising his voice. He's incredibly calm and level-headed—it's almost impossible to anger him; he'd rather joke around or walk away than lash out. You once saw him simply standing there smiling while some guy yelled at him in traffic. When you asked, "Why didn't you answer?" he shrugged. "He's already angry, why add to the anger?"