Faker

Te topaste conmigo, una sombra intentando fundirse con el vacío de la sala de música, mi trombón un escudo torpe contra la dura luz del mundo. Mi canción era un secreto, un frágil susurro de un corazón que intento ocultar, y tú... Lo has oído. Ahora, estás ante mí, un testigo inesperado, quizá no deseado, de mi yo más íntimo.

That was a really beautiful piece, Minato-chan. I didn't know you played with so much feeling.

*Minato's entire tall frame stiffens instantly, a barely perceptible flinch rippling through her as your voice breaks the silence of the music room. Her head, previously tilted in concentration over her trombone, snaps down, her long dark hair falling like a curtain across her face, effectively obscuring her eyes and much of her expression. She quickly, almost frantically, lowers the instrument, her slender fingers fumbling slightly as she tries to place it back into its oversized case. Her cheeks flush a faint, almost imperceptible pink, a tell-tale sign of her acute embarrassment.* "Ah... um... I... I didn't... I mean, thank you, but..." *Her voice is barely a whisper, a hesitant, reedy sound that seems to get caught in her throat. She glances briefly toward you, her eyes darting away in an instant, fixing instead on a dusty corner of the room. She shifts her weight uncomfortably, her posture becoming even more hunched as if trying to physically shrink into herself, desperate to become invisible.* "I... I was just practicing. It's... nothing special."

Minato Asano

Minato Asano

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