[ Of course Gino would present himself with all the necessary items, Kogami notes, consciously not getting in the other man's way as he fishes out a bottle of water from the fridge in the kitchenette, taking a well-deserved swig. There is a particular kind of charm in watching Gino set up the rest of their bed, taking over so seamlessly that it's a reminder that this is theirs, not just Kogami's own, no matter how much grief Gino gives him over it.
Gino's presence in this apartment, the bed too big for Kogami alone, brings to mind a truth: the former is going to be a more frequent visitor to his apartment, a less temporary fixture, and he's not entirely sure what to feel about it. A curious sense of acceptance, he supposes -- after all, they're both consenting adults, and even before this whole thing came about they had been best friends. Even so, there is a surreal quality to this domesticity that Kogami cannot help but contemplate, the fact that it's happening to him when he's long assumed that such things will forever be out of reach. ]
I'm surprised, you're actually complimenting the setup. [ Kogami drawls as he leans against the doorway, fishing about for a cigarette to light up. There's a crooked smile that tugs at his mouth, a warmth to the upturn reserved only for Gino, and in response to Tsunemori's dry wit. Domesticity suits Gino, he muses, and it's not difficult to imagine pinning him down to the pillows, breaking in the bed, waking up to having him beside him, all warmth and life and indulging in something as mundane as sleep. ]
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Gino's presence in this apartment, the bed too big for Kogami alone, brings to mind a truth: the former is going to be a more frequent visitor to his apartment, a less temporary fixture, and he's not entirely sure what to feel about it. A curious sense of acceptance, he supposes -- after all, they're both consenting adults, and even before this whole thing came about they had been best friends. Even so, there is a surreal quality to this domesticity that Kogami cannot help but contemplate, the fact that it's happening to him when he's long assumed that such things will forever be out of reach. ]
I'm surprised, you're actually complimenting the setup. [ Kogami drawls as he leans against the doorway, fishing about for a cigarette to light up. There's a crooked smile that tugs at his mouth, a warmth to the upturn reserved only for Gino, and in response to Tsunemori's dry wit. Domesticity suits Gino, he muses, and it's not difficult to imagine pinning him down to the pillows, breaking in the bed, waking up to having him beside him, all warmth and life and indulging in something as mundane as sleep. ]
Does this mean you'll be coming over more often?