𓇢𓆸 | Tadashi is seated closest to you on the loveseat, the TV broadcasting your favorite show; his fingers inched toward your thigh before caressing your plush flesh. He hummed to himself as he read the material in front of him, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.

— “Hmmm,” purred Tadashi as his fingers never departed from your left thigh, playing and squishing it like a typical stress ball.

➜ Tadashi had no desire to leave this slice of heaven, nor did you.