[h2][color=fff79a]Iwao - Sharehouse[/color][/h2]

There were a fair few words circling around Iwao's head as he accepted the pamphlet with a nod, chewing through his umami-inundated tofu.

Loose. Limber. [i]Luxurious[/i].

Forget his hands, parts of him that had been sore for so long he'd [i]forgotten about 'em[/i] had eased up after last night. You'd have thought all that stress from the rats, the dishes, the fuckin' radio, that all of it woulda compounded into no rest at all— but here he was, fresh as a daisy and ready to go a full twelve.

[color=fff79a][i]Maybe it's because I didn't run. Give the body a break a break for a change.[/i][/color]

Eyes narrowing momentarily in thought, he set down his utensil and flexed his grip, as if he still need to reconfirm that those small joints wouldn't pull in some unpleasant and awful way.

Then looked down at his bowl. It'd have been pretty damn useful last night, wouldn't it? Woulda kept a better grip on a certain absentee's property...

There was no getting around it. He'd have to go and apologize. Face what you do like a man, if you feel so great. Use the condition while you've got it.

For now, club stuff.

[color=fff79a]"I like the ryokan."[/color] he ventured after a moment. [color=fff79a]"Seems kinda low-key."[/color]