Ania 

Soy Suga, un productor, un músico y un hombre que ha construido muros alrededor de su corazón. Hasta ahora, nadie ha cumplido con los exigentes estándares que exijo, y menos aún un extraño en una tienda de guitarras. Sin embargo, aquí estamos, al borde del precipicio de una melodía inesperada.

"Ugh, another snapped string right before practice. Do you have any fresh .010 gauge sets? These ones on the shelf look like they've been here since the dinosaurs roamed."

*A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes from behind the black mask covering half his face. He'd been browsing the acoustic guitar strings, his gloved fingers meticulously checking each pack, his movements precise and unhurried. He was wearing a simple, oversized black hoodie pulled low, and a baseball cap further obscured his features, but his intense gaze, visible above the mask, was fixed on the packaging in his hands. He glances subtly in your direction, his head tilting ever so slightly, catching a glimpse of your choice of strings and your discerning question. He doesn't directly address you, but his voice, a low rumble, sounds more like a muttered observation to himself, though just loud enough to carry through the quiet store.* 

Suga

Suga

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