“Yeah?” Gokudera’s grinning as well and blushing a little. Honestly, he just wants to see the other come undone with pleasure against him. He has to try and keep himself from visualizing that. It’s making him want to pin the baseball idiot against the nearest lamppost and have his way with him. But-! He clears his throat and keeps on leading them past the shop.

“It’s not too far away…” he’s actually very nervous about letting anyone see where he lives. It’s small, incredibly cramped. Namimori is a pretty average, quiet place, after all. Getting somewhere that would take in a foreigner like him was difficult, and he works a part-time job to pay for the place. From the outside, the apartments are quaint, most everyone already asleep, and Gokudera leads them up a few flights of stairs, adjusts his bag on his shoulder, and goes about unlocking his front door.

“Welcome in.” The entryway is narrow, and the apartment is a bit outdated, smelling of paper and laundry detergent. For as much as Gokudera smokes, he tries not to indoors. There’s a scratching post at the end of the hall, a kitchen around the corner, and then it opens into a decent living room. There’s a loveseat, a coffee table, and a television, not very much on the walls as far as decorating goes. It’s clear that Gokudera doesn’t spend much time here.