Takatora's eyes are drawn to that motion, and he alternates between averting his gaze and being helplessly drawn back in by the face laid fully bare. Of course Yoshitsugu has been hiding beauty beneath, like a subversion of that common ghost story in which something beautiful is in fact concealing its true frightful nature to lure in the unsuspecting. It's entirely his friend's sense of humour.

A lifetime spent with Yoshitsugu, in which he's always done his best to uphold Yoshitsugu's privacy, make his fingers spasm in a half-aborted urge to whip out a hand towel and cover up the lower half of Yoshitsugu's face.

How bizarre that Takatora should feel so exposed by Yoshitsugu's exposure.

"Well what?" he asks, distracted, as he ultimately settles for attempting to use his bulk as a physical barrier between the other people inside here and Yoshitsugu's visage.