[He's quiet a minute at that, the words turning over in his head, echoing a completely different intent when filtered through the haze of his melancholy.
And then, after that minute passes, he finally answers—back in the throat, deep, there, now you've got it—in a voice that is unmistakably Atobe's.]
Of course. An imitation is never comparable to the original, ah~n?
[audio, because B| ]
And then, after that minute passes, he finally answers—back in the throat, deep, there, now you've got it—in a voice that is unmistakably Atobe's.]
Of course. An imitation is never comparable to the original, ah~n?