[ Allen's terrible wrapping skills are forefront and, for once, he recognizes the subpar craftsmanship having been the recipient of many 'obligatory' gifts from people throughout his life. He never cared about those presents though, expensive as they might have been.
Shouto looks up at the mention of his birthday, a question at the tip of his tongue, but he thinks better of it and nods softly before returning his attention to the present at hand. With expertise few would suspect of him, he unwraps the present one taped corner at a time, careful of preserving the wrapping paper.
At first, he's not so sure what he's looking at - A book? - and carefully picks up the tome with the same delicacy he would with one of his tea cups. He turns it around in his hand, feeling the weight of it. His fingers pick up on the texture of the intricate embossing as he turns it around to open the cover and stares at Allen's enlarged face smooshed up against his in a sort of 'caught' look that still managed to look impressively non-expressive while conveying his puzzlement with the entire situation. He was used to journalists taking his picture, so he wasn't too out of the loop that day. He turns to the next picture, then the next looking entirely immersed in the experience. Most jog his memory with a few notable exceptions. Page by page, he takes his time to observe the story laid out in the picture, asking Allen a few questions here and there. Where did you take this? What is that? Do you remember what we ordered that day?
When he gets the first blank page, he looks up in question, not quite connecting the dots until Allen starts to fidget. He's quiet in his staring, not yet having learned how disturbing it can be to be put on the spot. He watches him in silence, digesting the gift at his own pace, comparing the first pictures with the spread at the end. ]
You got better.
[ His photography skills that is. Then, after a moment, he leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek, smiling warmly when he pulls back. ]
Thank you, Allen.
[ He keeps his gaze, his eyes straying to his mouth a time or two before reaching for his hands. He's warmer than the room, something Allen may have noticed while seated so closely while he was looking through the album. Each new page spread the heat from his left side over to his right, radiating out gently by the time he reached the end. ]
no subject
Shouto looks up at the mention of his birthday, a question at the tip of his tongue, but he thinks better of it and nods softly before returning his attention to the present at hand. With expertise few would suspect of him, he unwraps the present one taped corner at a time, careful of preserving the wrapping paper.
At first, he's not so sure what he's looking at - A book? - and carefully picks up the tome with the same delicacy he would with one of his tea cups. He turns it around in his hand, feeling the weight of it. His fingers pick up on the texture of the intricate embossing as he turns it around to open the cover and stares at Allen's enlarged face smooshed up against his in a sort of 'caught' look that still managed to look impressively non-expressive while conveying his puzzlement with the entire situation. He was used to journalists taking his picture, so he wasn't too out of the loop that day. He turns to the next picture, then the next looking entirely immersed in the experience. Most jog his memory with a few notable exceptions. Page by page, he takes his time to observe the story laid out in the picture, asking Allen a few questions here and there. Where did you take this? What is that? Do you remember what we ordered that day?
When he gets the first blank page, he looks up in question, not quite connecting the dots until Allen starts to fidget. He's quiet in his staring, not yet having learned how disturbing it can be to be put on the spot. He watches him in silence, digesting the gift at his own pace, comparing the first pictures with the spread at the end. ]
You got better.
[ His photography skills that is. Then, after a moment, he leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek, smiling warmly when he pulls back. ]
Thank you, Allen.
[ He keeps his gaze, his eyes straying to his mouth a time or two before reaching for his hands. He's warmer than the room, something Allen may have noticed while seated so closely while he was looking through the album. Each new page spread the heat from his left side over to his right, radiating out gently by the time he reached the end. ]
Can we take a picture together?