Morning At Pomefiore
Vil Schoenheit leans his back on the door frame, peering into the bedroom with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. He keeps his gaze trained on the dresser, littered with more products than a store's clearance sale.
"Enjoying the view?" Gotti smirks, acknowledging the other's presence for the first time. It seemed he was finally content with his colour palette of the day, ending his routine with applying a matte mauve lipstick and a loud 'pop' of his lips.
"Wondering when you'll stop rubbing those chemicals on your face." Vil stated, matter of factly. He wasn't one to criticise wearing make up (he wasn't a hypocrite, after all), but he'd seen the brands, and more importantly, the ingredients, used in Gotti's inventory. The thought of any of those chemicals going near his flawless, well forged skin made him shudder.
"Oh? Are you not wearing any as we speak?"
"My products don't try to destroy my skin." Vil retorts quickly, passionate about his skincare line that he himself created, curated, crafted delicately. No one should speak ill of them. "And don't get me started on your hair, I'm surprised your curler hasn't burnt off your scalp." Since the first day, Vil has only grown more shocked, every new fact he learned of Gotti's routines and choices leaving him horrified. It was downright mind blowing how Gotti continued to look that gorgeous and stunning.
"Nein, Vil, it's a form of expression you can never understand." The half lidded, sultry smug smile never once leaving Gotti's face. Vil supposes they'd come into agreement, he definitely could not understand why Gotti would destroy his smooth, supple skin, or his straight, shiny, flowing hair with the altercations he chose to apply. Though beautiful, none of it spoke "au naturale", as Rook would put it.
"You're attending class like that?" The exposed chest of Gotti's unbuttoned blouse and school jacket was aggravating to Vil, he had every right as housewarden to kick the other man out of his house. Living with Gotti was going to make him grey, or even worse, grow wrinkles. He absolutely could not have that.Gotti saunters in front of Vil, the only thing blocking him from leaving his room to start his day. He leans in terribly close, close enough for Vil to kiss him, if he so choose to. (Not that he'd want to kiss the man who's beauty was that artificial.) His breath is warm, and smells of mint.
"Would you rather I wear nothing at all?"
That was enough for Vil to straighten up, hands balling into fists and reminding himself to have a long, hot face steam and exfoliate when he returned from classes. He could practically feel his pores clogging up from speaking to Gotti.
Heading to class, Vil tried to ignore the gazes and stares of underclassmen on him and the man behind him, who was undeniably winking at and blowing kisses to turn these juniors red. Today was going to be a long day.