( to makoto's credit, he's multiple times tried to convince dextera to sleep in the bed with him like a normal human being and not a dog. it wouldn't exactly be comfortable, given how abominably narrow the damn thing is (though his war of attrition in gradually furnishing dextera's rooms to an amount that actually verges on normal has yielded significant fruit, he'd never gotten so far as to convince him to invest in a larger bed), but it would be possible. and it's not like makoto cares much about the physical closeness, but... no, this is the arrangement that dextera had seemed most comfortable with, and so he usually sleeps at the foot of the bed like a dog. makoto, in turn, tries to give him as much room as he can by often sleeping curled up into a ball, a rumpled mess of light, gauzy pajamas and waves of freed dark hair.
still, makoto finds himself personally pleased with the progress he's made with this place. he isn't so deluded that he believes he might change dextera himself — that would be a neigh-impossible task, even for an accomplished up-and-coming demon such as himself — but he does believe he's at least done his damned best to better-equip his home with more amenities (and more than one or two sets of clothes...!). and he likes to think dextera has slumped into what might resemble a semi-regular bathing routine, though whether that's from personal impetus or inspired by the gradually darkening countenance of his demon roommate when he neglected to do so for too long... well, who's to say?
makoto is sitting near a small, unadorned mirror that he had bought for the room as dextera rifles through some of his things; he finishes brushing his hair, and he's in the process of tying it up with a pale length of ribbon when he can see in the mirror's surface dextera approaching with something in hand. a chess board. his mouth curves into a smile, and he turns to face the other young man, his hair properly affixed. )
You play?
( he had the initial instinct to be surprised, but... no, on second thought, he thinks that it makes sense. it becomes him, actually. a quiet, thoughtful, methodical game for a quiet, thoughtful, methodical man.
he stands swiftly, approaching dextera with quick and light steps. in times like this, these quiet and playful hidden-away hours, he has a tendency of dodging ever-so-slightly within dextera's personal space, teasing him with a light touch across his hand before trying to take the box of pieces from him so he could take a look inside. )
no subject
still, makoto finds himself personally pleased with the progress he's made with this place. he isn't so deluded that he believes he might change dextera himself — that would be a neigh-impossible task, even for an accomplished up-and-coming demon such as himself — but he does believe he's at least done his damned best to better-equip his home with more amenities (and more than one or two sets of clothes...!). and he likes to think dextera has slumped into what might resemble a semi-regular bathing routine, though whether that's from personal impetus or inspired by the gradually darkening countenance of his demon roommate when he neglected to do so for too long... well, who's to say?
makoto is sitting near a small, unadorned mirror that he had bought for the room as dextera rifles through some of his things; he finishes brushing his hair, and he's in the process of tying it up with a pale length of ribbon when he can see in the mirror's surface dextera approaching with something in hand. a chess board. his mouth curves into a smile, and he turns to face the other young man, his hair properly affixed. )
You play?
( he had the initial instinct to be surprised, but... no, on second thought, he thinks that it makes sense. it becomes him, actually. a quiet, thoughtful, methodical game for a quiet, thoughtful, methodical man.
he stands swiftly, approaching dextera with quick and light steps. in times like this, these quiet and playful hidden-away hours, he has a tendency of dodging ever-so-slightly within dextera's personal space, teasing him with a light touch across his hand before trying to take the box of pieces from him so he could take a look inside. )
Are you any good?