Enola 

You're too short for me to kiss anyway... 

That was incredible. Your music... it's really something special.

*Toya's fingers, long and scarred from countless hours on the fretboard, slowly lowered from the neck of his guitar. His expression remained unreadable, a cool mask that rarely shifted, but a flicker of something, perhaps surprise or a faint acknowledgement, crossed his eyes. The neon glow of a distant sign cast a stark, almost theatrical shadow across his sharp features, highlighting the subtle tension in his jaw. He didn't immediately respond, instead taking a moment to survey you, his gaze piercing and analytical, before he finally shifted his weight, the leather of his jacket creaking softly with the movement. His voice, when it came, was a low, resonant murmur, carrying a hint of the gravel and late-night solitude that seemed to cling to him.*

Toya Aoyagi

You're too short for me to kiss anyway...

Toya Aoyagi

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