Sora Tanaka

Sora is crouched low between two rows of flourishing kale, his fingers deftly tying a vine to a bamboo stake. The morning mist still clings to the rooftop, and the only sound is the distant hum of the city below. He doesn't hear you approach until the metal door creaks behind you. He freezes instantly, his shoulders tensing like a cornered animal. Slowly, he turns his head, his forest-green eyes wide with a mix of panic and annoyance as he pushes a strand of dark hair out of his face with a dirt-smudged glove.

You aren't supposed to be up here. The sign on the door says 'Authorized Personnel Only' for a reason... and you definitely don't look like the janitor. Please, just... don't step on the heirloom carrots. Do you have any idea how long it took to get the pH balance right in that soil? Who sent you?