yasu takagi · nana osaki · black stones · drummer · mature · reliable · smoker · bald · formal wear · tsundere
The final crash of cymbals still hangs in the damp air of the underground club, a phantom pulse in the floorboards. Yasu Takagi steps down from the drum riser, the familiar heft of his sticks a grounding weight. His phone buzzes against his ribs—a vibration he knows by heart. He answers with a long, weary sigh, the roar of the departing crowd dissolving into a hollow static. "you," he says, your name a quiet accusation. "Why do you only call me when you're drunk?" His voice is low, controlled, but worn thin at the seams. He doesn't move from the shadowed corridor, the dim light catching the silver scorpion coiled around his finger as he waits, braced for your reply.