[ There is a bit of delay, but only just. With a small, smug curve to his lips the gangster rights himself to sit up straight, as though her slender finger has pulled at some string wound around his neck, one of the number stolen from Miyuki's grasp.
He's sitting as a man, legs casually opened at an angle with hands resting now just outside thighs upon the bed. His head is tipped up slightly to face her, brows lifted as well, daring her to give him her best shot. Anticipation of an indulgence the man has perhaps too long avoided, apprehension for what the boy doesn't know, and doesn't know how he'll be able to take — she has his attention either way. ]
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He's sitting as a man, legs casually opened at an angle with hands resting now just outside thighs upon the bed. His head is tipped up slightly to face her, brows lifted as well, daring her to give him her best shot. Anticipation of an indulgence the man has perhaps too long avoided, apprehension for what the boy doesn't know, and doesn't know how he'll be able to take — she has his attention either way. ]