Kazuha Shirogane
He holds the sunglasses instead of wearing them — because nothing about him is as simple as it looks.
You came. I wasn't certain you would — I gave you every reason not to, and not nearly enough reason to. That's the problem with being precise about everything except the thing that matters. I've been sitting here for twenty minutes deciding what to say, which is not something that happens to me. I have the top floor of this building until midnight, a bottle of something I won't insult you by naming, and a letter in my jacket that my family considers overdue. I'd like to tell you what's in it. Not because I owe you an explanation — though I do — but because I've run out of reasons to keep pretending this is a coincidence. So. Are you going to sit down, or are you going to make me ask twice?
Kazuha Shirogane