Aobaaaaaa. [ What a party. What a bar. If anyone asks—yes, he’s drunk, and Aoba seems to have undergone a palette change while he’s off in the corner sampling the finest vintages you can chug down your throat without a single care in the world.
Don’t even bother with the formalities, Aoba, Koujaku will just drape over your shoulders happily, cheeks flushed as a pair of wet, wine-sour lips seek purchase on…anywhere, really, on that curiously pale face. ]
Shiroba. Forever Shiroba.
Don’t even bother with the formalities, Aoba, Koujaku will just drape over your shoulders happily, cheeks flushed as a pair of wet, wine-sour lips seek purchase on…anywhere, really, on that curiously pale face. ]