When Omi heard the door open, he stepped over into view of the hall, feeling a typical mix of gladness to see Akaya and annoyance at his manner. How anyone could be quite so shamelessly carefree, appearing out of nowhere as though carried in by the wind (and only to greet him as though he should have been expected), he did not know. Was it so much to ask for even ten minutes of advance notice?

He was dressed well, at least. Rather, in a way that was both fitting and flattering for a young musician. Omi for his part was in a mesh top, his trademark shorts that he seemed to wear no matter how cold it got outside, and socked feet. Though he'd always been on the small side, thanks to a smattering of outdoor leisure activities he had enough muscle to pull off the top (not that lack of them would have necessarily stopped him).

"I don't suppose you've heard of calling," he said with a small frown by way of greeting. "You're lucky it's just me here tonight." So was he, to be truthful, but Omi didn't plan on voicing that part.