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Summary
Ayato twirled the license between his fingers. Thoma. He mouthed it silently, tasting the name. Tho-ma. Tho-ma. Two short, decisive syllables, one crisp on the tip of his tongue and the other round in his mouth. It was an unpretentious name, all the sweeter for its simplicity and sincerity. It suited him.
Thoma.
Ayato has a crush.
