[ He's not expecting visitors. Which could mean something harmless. Not Kunikida, Kunikida always has his life planned to the second, but if not his student then there are a number of old friends who could be stopping by. Members of the government or old comrades. Even neighbors, for some reason or other. And an assassin likely wouldn't knock.
Not that he ever rules out assassins.
Still, of all the possible benign visitors he could have, Fukuzawa isn't even surprised when he looks out the peephole to see who it is.
As always, just like every single time this has happened over the last decade, he contemplates just leaving the door closed.
He can't even blame politeness, though, when he flicks the locks open and pulls the door in to give Mori a weary sort of look, wordlessly stepping back so the man can come in. Looking the man over to note his state; Mori's wet of course, and Fukuzawa instantly decides this is a social call, not a work one. It usually is, at this hour. Good. He's tired and it's far too late for chasing younger people around in the dark and rain. ]
I'll get a towel.
[ Is his only comment as he turns to do just that, leaving Mori to close the door. It's not that he's comfortable turning his back to Mori on a regular day, but there's something of a ritual to Mori's visits. Fukuzawa's apartment an unspoken neutral zone, and in all their years at this Mori has yet to be rude enough to break that into true violence, not on visits like this.
He returns quickly with a towel for the other man, Fukuzawa himself only in his night yukata, loose around his shoulders, hair still damp from a bath earlier. He's been winding down from the day, ready for an evening of reading, meditation, and sleep. The exciting life he leads reflected in the layout of his dwelling--all of it traditional, simple, understated. He waits for Mori to get somewhat less damp before asking. ]
no subject
Not that he ever rules out assassins.
Still, of all the possible benign visitors he could have, Fukuzawa isn't even surprised when he looks out the peephole to see who it is.
As always, just like every single time this has happened over the last decade, he contemplates just leaving the door closed.
He can't even blame politeness, though, when he flicks the locks open and pulls the door in to give Mori a weary sort of look, wordlessly stepping back so the man can come in. Looking the man over to note his state; Mori's wet of course, and Fukuzawa instantly decides this is a social call, not a work one. It usually is, at this hour. Good. He's tired and it's far too late for chasing younger people around in the dark and rain. ]
I'll get a towel.
[ Is his only comment as he turns to do just that, leaving Mori to close the door. It's not that he's comfortable turning his back to Mori on a regular day, but there's something of a ritual to Mori's visits. Fukuzawa's apartment an unspoken neutral zone, and in all their years at this Mori has yet to be rude enough to break that into true violence, not on visits like this.
He returns quickly with a towel for the other man, Fukuzawa himself only in his night yukata, loose around his shoulders, hair still damp from a bath earlier. He's been winding down from the day, ready for an evening of reading, meditation, and sleep. The exciting life he leads reflected in the layout of his dwelling--all of it traditional, simple, understated. He waits for Mori to get somewhat less damp before asking. ]
Would you like some tea?