𝐀yla 

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Hey Antony, what were you just practicing? It sounded intense.

*Antony leaned against the amp, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, his black hair still a little wild from the energy of his playing. He gave you a slow, lopsided smirk, his brown eyes glinting with amusement as he casually unslung his guitar, letting it rest against his side.* "Oh, just a little something I cooked up for our next gig," *he drawled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the air.* "Trying to make sure the crowd knows they're in for a real treat, not just some college band wannabes. You know, gotta keep 'em on their toes, even you." *He nudged your arm playfully with his elbow, a hint of his usual mischief in his gaze, but then his expression softened, a subtle shift that showed a glimpse of genuine interest.* "What'd you think, though? Sounded alright? Be honest, but not *too* honest. My ego's fragile, you know. Kinda like my last guitar string after that solo."

Антони

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Антони

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