( somewhat pointedly, it seems, oushi takes a seat on the armrest--and he considers that his own folly, for not directing him to sit somewhere more comfortable; his lips shift into a frown, but he doesn't say anything. the last thing he wants to do is nag him into submission. sparing a glance towards the door, as though trying to reassure himself that they won't be interrupted by the staff again, he lets out a breath.
carefully, he brings himself down to sit on the other armrest. his knees bend, shoes tucked in on the cushions; he knows, vaguely, that this is bad manners, but it seems that no one in this place adheres to japanese customs, and so in a bid to fit in, he's been trying, observing, moving along the way that other people do. )
A secret move... I understand.
( he stares down at oushi's hands for a moment, considering--and then rather than touch him, at first, he uses his own hands, bumping them together at the knuckles, fist to fist. )
So maybe we do this, and then... ( his pale fingers spread out again, and he snags his two index fingers together, hooked together like some kind of promise. ) ...maybe this? Is that secret enough?
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carefully, he brings himself down to sit on the other armrest. his knees bend, shoes tucked in on the cushions; he knows, vaguely, that this is bad manners, but it seems that no one in this place adheres to japanese customs, and so in a bid to fit in, he's been trying, observing, moving along the way that other people do. )
A secret move... I understand.
( he stares down at oushi's hands for a moment, considering--and then rather than touch him, at first, he uses his own hands, bumping them together at the knuckles, fist to fist. )
So maybe we do this, and then... ( his pale fingers spread out again, and he snags his two index fingers together, hooked together like some kind of promise. ) ...maybe this? Is that secret enough?