"Well then." Luka says, smile spreading wide across his face. He clears his throat, and there's a brief moment of hesitation until he launches into full on playing.

Luka's hand slides the length of the neck, his fingers snapping effortlessly into place across the fret board, as though playing were simply second nature to him. When he sings, his voice is low and honeyed -- a stark contrast to the energetic, flamboyant Luka Eutychia one might typically find on stage.

It was rare moments like these when Luka perhaps wished that he could see, or at least had some way of reading Gyre's reaction. It was one thing to play to a crowd who screams in adoration, but a private, quiet performance for someone who's not even your fan left for the tiniest sliver of doubt.

When he finishes, he says nothing-- but there is a curious look on his face. Luka's eager to hear Gyre's thoughts, though he tries to hide it.