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Cut myself into pieces easy to chew; Carve me up into someone you'd like to choose; 'Til I'm only pieces of you...

PERSONALITY
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When Hikaru’s parents named him the term for “radiance,” they had no idea how prophetic it would be. Hikaru is, perhaps, the closest thing a human being can be to a golden retriever. He is optimistic, sometimes to a fault, and it’s extremely rare to see him without a smile. His reasoning for this, he explains, is that there aren’t enough days in a lifetime to waste frowning. He also likes to keep the upbeat visage to calm others. If he’s acting like nothing’s wrong, then those around him are less likely to be afraid or nervous. It’s one of the many ways Hikaru strives to help those around him, a selfless lifelong goal instilled by his mother at an early age, the moral compass that drove him to become an officer, and the thing that ultimately drove him to vigilante work. To protect and serve, that’s what Hikaru yearns to do, even if it’s in a far less-than-legal way than he used to do it.
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Now, there are some that would assume this bubbly outer crust denotes a lacking level of maturity. In actuality, Hikaru prides himself on being rather socially adept, able to read a room and a person without too much trouble. Growing up in an extended family of backstabbing, bitter socialites will do that to a guy. It’ll also leave him with crippling internal anxiety about never being good enough, something Hikaru tries to keep tucked down deep in a lockbox of unwanted emotions. Again, if he’s acting like nothing’s wrong, then there’s nothing wrong, right? And so he tries to ignore those insecurities, putting on a sunshine smile and maybe going a bit overboard on the people-pleasing. He’s a giver, that’s for sure.
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And beyond that, he’s not much of a taker… emotionally speaking. He doesn’t feel the need to have his good intentions rewarded or returned. In fact, he gets a bit flustered when someone shows him a large amount of thanks or tries to go the extra mile for him. He’s the one who gives, who sacrifices for others; it’s weird when those others try to reciprocate.
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It was Hikaru’s dream since he was a kid to be a cop, to be the hero that solved the mystery and caught the bad guy and saved the day. Unfortunately, as so often happens, the real world was far less partial to heroics and selflessness and that whole saving-the-day thing, and so he quit, making his own way in the world of right and wrong, deciding for himself who deserves to live and who deserves to find the end of his revolver. This, ultimately, has left him with a strong sense of justice and a penchant for sticking his nose in places he maybe shouldn’t. He’s not the type to sit back and watch while injustices go on, no matter how minor, and he isn’t great at keeping himself out of situations where someone seemingly needs protection… or where someone needs to be reminded that they don’t deserve the wealth and safety they lord over others.
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Savior complex and a smile; what a combo, right?
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LOOKS
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Hikaru stands at a sturdy 6’1”, blonde hair and golden gaze the only remnants of his mother’s German heritage. Everything else is a product of his father: the height, the skin, the penchant for tattoos. Mom liked a rebel, you see, and Dad for all his high-society fluff had a rebellious streak beyond just sleeping with his German-exchange intern. Hikaru easily took over the trend when his dad dipped out of their lives, his left arm, side, and collarbone becoming a canvas. This habit is usually hidden away behind the button-down and slacks he frequents, but he proudly shows them off in his more casual-wear, usually in jeans and a t-shirt or tank top, at least when he’s not out running or working out in the park. He doesn't particularly like to wear his glasses, opting for contacts whenever possible, but they'll occasionally find their way back into his wardrobe when the need arises. The only other thing he’s regularly seen in is his maternal grandfather's old coat, an olive-colored thing with a fur-lined hood. It was one of his mother’s prized possessions and it’s one that he cherishes in her memory.

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HISTORY
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Born to the esteemed Takahashi family, one would be forgiven for thinking Hikaru had an easy upbringing. His father, Masaru Takahashi, was a renowned and successful businessman, taking over the Takahashi company with the grace and composure of an elite. His one weakness, the one thing that he broke the rules for, was Elyse Fischer. A 23-year-old German exchange student interning at his company, Elyse was everything Masaru wanted--and everything he wasn’t allowed to have. Forbidden love resulted in Hikaru, a child born out of wedlock, a disgraceful stain on the family name, but the apple of his mother’s eye.
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Hikaru doesn’t remember much of his father--the man was frequently in and out of that little apartment he’d secreted Elyse away to, distracted by his life and obligations in the realm of Tokyo’s rich and powerful--but he remembers everything about his mother. Her smile, her laugh, the smell of her perfume, the way she always held his hand when crossing the street, and how she ruffled his golden locks whenever she walked past. She was his everything, all sunshine and smiles.
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Even when Hikaru’s father stopped coming around, when the only reminder of his presence was the check that came in the mail once a month, Elysa was constantly good. She raised Hikaru to have a strong moral compass, to always act with passion, to be kind and selfless and all of the traits that would have set him up for failure in his father’s world. It wasn’t until years later, after she had passed, that Hikaru realized how much she must have suffered, how much she must have kept from him. She was a single mother in a land she was only barely familiar with, the man she loved refused to see her, and she had a son to raise and guide through life. It was so much for one person, and to this day Hikaru wishes he’d had the wherewithal back then to help out more, to make things easier.
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The hardest day in Hikaru’s life was when his mother passed. The sickness came upon her far too quickly, the hospital stay far too short, the funeral arriving far too soon. Even in those final days, Elyse would smile and ruffle her son’s hair, telling him how proud she was, how excited she was to see him grow into the good man she knew he would become.
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He was fifteen when he held her hand and watched her drift away.
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Hikaru’s father didn’t visit the hospital, but he was there when they buried her. They never spoke of Elyse, never spoke of Masaru’s actions, those men of the Takahashi clan, but Hikaru saw the shame in his father’s gaze, in the way he couldn’t look him in the eye, those golden hues that he’d shared with his mother. And so instead of talking about the past, they moved forward, an absent father becoming little more than a distant benefactor, the monthly checks now coming in Hikaru’s name.
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He was permitted to keep the apartment in downtown Tokyo on the condition that he would welcome his family whenever they deemed him worthy a visit. The only family member who ever reached out, though, was his paternal grandmother, Ichika Takahashi, and she only did so to try and mold him into the heir that the family needed. She was a cruel woman, hardly subtle in her methods at trying to “rinse out” the Fischer taint in his blood. Constantly belittling and judging, she slowly began to convince Hikaru of his uselessness, of how much of a blemish he was on the Takahashi name. This, paired with his father’s clear avoidance of any connection, made Hikaru yearn for validation, for affection, trying to wow and please the assistants and tutors that were tossed his way, their fake smiles and falsified appreciation doing little more than making his efforts more desperate.
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His eighteenth birthday was the first time since his mother’s passing that Hikaru really felt free. He could have gotten into any university he wanted to, whether from grades or familial connections, but against the wishes of his father’s family, of Grandma Ichika, he joined the police force. He wanted to help people, even if it caused him the scorn of his extended family. The force was his escape, his way of living up to all of his mother’s expectations. If he couldn’t impress his living parent, then he would do his damndest to impress the dead one. He would be a hero, a savior, someone his mother could be proud of.
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Unfortunately, he couldn’t even do that.
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The force wasn’t what he’d thought it would be, corruption and limiting beauracracy halting all attempts at doing any actual good. Too many nights he came home knowing he’d done little more than add an extra step to some bastard getting back on the streets; too often he had to sit around and wait for the news to tell him that another innocent had been lost, another life had been ruined… all because he wasn’t allowed to do his damn job. Ultimately, the job wasn’t good enough, and so he wasn’t good enough.
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And so he left. If the force wasn’t going to let him be the hero he wanted to be, if it wasn’t going to let him protect those that needed protecting and hurt those that needed hurting, then he would do it himself.
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That was three years ago. Now, Hikaru lives in an apartment in the city, only occasionally speaking with his family. He works odd jobs--anything that will pay the bills, really--frequently goes jogging around the city he loves, and has a decently successful social life. He also has a tendency to spend his nights out busting heads and working as his very own modern version of Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to… well… whoever the hell he sees fit.