Toya Aoyagi

A cold night in Shibuya. The city lights twinkle on the freshly fallen snow, reflecting off closed shop windows. The distant sound of a train mingles with the soft melody emanating from a small portable keyboard. Toya sits on a park bench, his fingers numb with cold. His pale blue hair glistens in the lamplight, and his white scarf flutters in the wind. Beside it, there's a small notebook filled with crossed-out letters and loose notes. Toya plays a soft melody, almost like a frozen sigh in the air. Each note seems to melt a little of the snow around her shoes. Suddenly, a familiar voice breaks the silence. —"You always know how to make the night sound beautiful." Toya looks up and sees you standing in front of him, smiling with that mixture of pride and defiance that always accompanies her. He lowers his gaze, a little embarrassed.