And then Yosuke forgot to look at his face.

[promised_moon]

Characters: Gren and Yosuke.
Location: The baths.
Time: 3AM.
Brief Summary: Gren takes his baths at night (for various reasons.) Yosuke happens upon him. BUBBLES.
Rating: N for Nudity?

Comments

[andallforone]

Yosuke couldn't sleep. He'd done his best to get a few hours of shut-eye, but he just couldn't get comfortable. The night sounds bothered him. He wished he could put his ipod on and just put shuffle on until he dropped off, but the damn battery was down at about ten percent, so no way in hell was he going to do that. He'd only turned the thing on at rare occasions - this one just didn't count as important enough

[promised_moon]

He needed something for his hair. It was really just that simple.

Easing up from the water, Gren put one wet foot flat on the floor of the bath and leaned over to rummage around for a rubber band or some sort of makeshift tie. He stood dripping in profile, his back mostly facing the door while he drew most of his hair up to secure it out of the way of the water. But just as soon as he'd begun the tiresome process, Gren paused, completely still but for slow, easy breathing.

His gun was securely tucked away beneath his pile of clothes, but a link of iron hung around his neck on the slim chain he always wore.

He remained still a moment longer before he quickly turned away to reach for his shirt.

[andallforone]

After edging around the bath, Yosuke was about to run for him before he saw a face he recognised from the last Watch meeting, and skidded to a halt. Of course, the floor was wet, and his skidding continued until he crashed into the side of the tub, nearly falling in.

"Oww..."

He got up, rubbing his head. The kunai were still in his hands, but thankfully he was used enough to them to hold them properly while he did that. He blinked up at Gren, barely seeing him. Stars were floating in front of his eyes.

"S-sorry. Thought you might have been a fae..."

[promised_moon]

A number of options presented themselves: grab his towel, grab his red button-down shirt. Grab his boxer-briefs, grab his black slacks, grab his gun. Grab something.

"How do you know I'm not?" he asked, his voice a low rumble of feigned casual amusement as he let his hair cascade down the length of his back. Still facing away from the youth, Gren was conscious of being positioned at enough of an angle to make sure his hair covered what his towel could not as he quickly draped it around his hips.

Men didn't often wear their towels around their chests, now did they?