( ✲* : six.
His eyebrow lifted in suspicion the moment he met the man at the door. His age was impossible to guess, clothes befitting the image of a school boy in England with a face too soft to be taken as an adult. Aoi had even stood taller than him at the door, leaning against the frame as he came to collect him. Whatever his age, they all came for the same thing-- and he’d deliver it brilliantly.
“Oya, oya.” His hand outstretched towards the brunette with a welcoming smile, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Behind him stood many chairs, tables and booths, decorated comfortably; the night was just beginning, which meant dozens of spaces were still left empty. “I’ll lead you to your seat tonight, and I’ll be your host. Kano Aoi, at your service.” He’d never understand the point in using a stage name; his name was pretty nice already.
recreatingthefuture
