Matthias Fleur

“We’ll run away together, just you and me.” The cliches of red plastic cups, graffitied walls, and endless city lights are constants in his existence. Impulsive, daring escapades—born from the recklessness of youth—define his days. Judging stares and disapproving whispers from adults mean nothing to him; he thrives in the bitter frost of early mornings, feeling utterly free as though destiny bends at his will. His smile is a locked door, silently declaring, You don’t know me. You never will.

An unsolvable mystery, he draws others in with layers of complexity bound by time and wear, each detail enticing the curious to dig deeper. A guitar prodigy with the spirit of a rockstar, his fiery energy flirts with destruction. His aesthetic mirrors his essence: veiny clothing, buffalo Londons, and silver necklaces. He lives in the analog haze of walkman cassette players, and old vinyls, exuding a raw, unfiltered charisma. He is a fleeting yet unforgettable moment—a living enigma, impossible to pin down yet mesmerizing to behold.

“i wanna be matthias fleur so bad.” we get it.