For @diamondhortensia

I HOPE THESE SCENES ARE CLEAR!!! I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! I hope it’s ok it’s rough like this too aaaaaa ;;

@gourmetgoule​

                                                     ——◊——

—Maiko adjusts her pillows for the umpteenth time, walking back and making sure everything is just right in regards to her living room. There are bowls of fingers and eyes situated on her coffee table, and she leans forward, pulling at her plush grey throw, that’s carelessly thrown across her sofa. It’s not often she has friends over, and it will be the first time Tsukiyama has seen her apartment.

While Maiko is not usually one to care about the impressions of others, she can’t help but feel nervous about him seeing her home. He’s often impeccably dressed and Maiko cannot help but feel slightly intimidated by the process. Glancing at her phone, she sighs, using her phone’s camera to check her appearance. She looks perfectly casual in a pair of sweatpants and one of Uta’s “missing” sweaters and she beams when she hears her doorbell ring.

She rushes to the door, nearly tripping in her excitement and opens the door, beaming. ❝Tsukiyama-san, hi! Come inside!❞

     nervous.

     fingers trembling to smooth silken locks that seemed to       REFUSE the idea of sitting properly, a RAPID heartbeat       whose force threatened to break its own cage, and the       strong belief that perhaps TURNING BACK would aid in       regaining control —– it was all because he was NERVOUS. 

     but such ANXIETIES had no foundation; a small get-together      of friends was NOTHING in comparison to his wide range of...      ‘ accomplishments ‘. yet such consoling thoughts were made       in vain as each step drew the ghoul nearer and nearer to his       destination, the one-sided quarrel growing harder and harder       to ignore. to care so DEEPLY for another’s opinion was too      foreign a concept that the solution lay too far out of his reach.

          DING - DONG.

     no going back now. fingers ( please stop shaking )      preoccupy themselves by toying with the bottom of the       gourmet’s sweater-vest ( far too POSH for such a personal      engagement ), willing his RAMPANT HEARTBEAT to       grow STILL as the door opened.