( for a second, makoto (very nearly correctly) worries that kazuya has entirely forgotten which room is his and that they will have to wander around, swiping his Watch past random doors, until they can find it. fortunately for the both of them, he does lead them both to the correct one. the room inside is near-identical to makoto’s, if not perhaps a few square feet smaller, though it’s hard to tell considering the bed isn’t folded out. it’s also clean—though, from the staleness of the air, he gets the sense that it’s that way from disuse and not from actually putting effort into keeping it that way.
not that it really matters right now. the room is ultimately inconsequential besides what precious little privacy it offers.
makoto follows behind kazuya, but he doesn’t join him on the bed—he does not decide to sit alongside him in the sort of bashful awkwardness of youth, fumbling through how to move forward. he’d missed out on having that sort of time in his life—at this point, he never would. instead he stands before his friend, close enough that their knees just barely touch. he looks down on him, expression complex enough that it’s difficult to read. he is finding that, though what they’d agreed upon coming here to do was nothing novel for him… there is a part of it that is, in a way that he hadn’t considered until here and now. now that he has, it tangles up in the tines of his ribs, crawling up his throat and causing it to ache painfully. )
I’ve… ( he murmurs, softly, thoughtfully, ) never done this with someone I considered a “friend” before.
( …he feels like it’s a somewhat damning thing to admit, but it’s true. he had only befriended fjord afterward, and he had certainly had no pleasant thoughts about the demon during. J—there are many, many words makoto would use to describe him, but “friend” wasn’t any of them. all the others had been clients, which was about as far away from the concept as he could imagine. and the people he’s slept with since arriving here… the nature of their relationships was definitely different than how he feels about kazuya.
apprehension—which he can’t really decide is either good (excitement) or bad (anxiety)—knots his stomach. ) …Nothing else has to change between us, right?
( he feels moderately certain that it wouldn’t have to on his end. he has gone a long way to compartmentalizing any sexual relationship he might have with another person—but he is always worried that it will drive others away from him, deviant that he is. )
no subject
not that it really matters right now. the room is ultimately inconsequential besides what precious little privacy it offers.
makoto follows behind kazuya, but he doesn’t join him on the bed—he does not decide to sit alongside him in the sort of bashful awkwardness of youth, fumbling through how to move forward. he’d missed out on having that sort of time in his life—at this point, he never would. instead he stands before his friend, close enough that their knees just barely touch. he looks down on him, expression complex enough that it’s difficult to read. he is finding that, though what they’d agreed upon coming here to do was nothing novel for him… there is a part of it that is, in a way that he hadn’t considered until here and now. now that he has, it tangles up in the tines of his ribs, crawling up his throat and causing it to ache painfully. )
I’ve… ( he murmurs, softly, thoughtfully, ) never done this with someone I considered a “friend” before.
( …he feels like it’s a somewhat damning thing to admit, but it’s true. he had only befriended fjord afterward, and he had certainly had no pleasant thoughts about the demon during. J—there are many, many words makoto would use to describe him, but “friend” wasn’t any of them. all the others had been clients, which was about as far away from the concept as he could imagine. and the people he’s slept with since arriving here… the nature of their relationships was definitely different than how he feels about kazuya.
apprehension—which he can’t really decide is either good (excitement) or bad (anxiety)—knots his stomach. ) …Nothing else has to change between us, right?
( he feels moderately certain that it wouldn’t have to on his end. he has gone a long way to compartmentalizing any sexual relationship he might have with another person—but he is always worried that it will drive others away from him, deviant that he is. )