The room was dim, the only light coming from the flickering images on the TV screen. The shadows of the room danced across the walls as the horror movie played, each creaking door and sudden scream echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet apartment.

You were sitting side by side on the couch, the blanket draped over both of you, the tension of the film making the small room feel even smaller.

As the first figure appeared on the screen, a pale, shadowy woman creeping silently down a long, dark hallway, Asahi’s hands twitched nervously.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, and his usual calm demeanor seemed to have evaporated into the anxious energy of the moment.

He leaned closer, just slightly, as though proximity could shield him from the terrifying images on the screen.

Then the jump scare hit. The loud bang on the door in the film made both of you flinch, though Asahi’s reaction was instantaneous and instinctive.

He turned to you with wide, fearful eyes and, before you could even process what he was doing, he wrapped both arms around you in a tight, almost desperate hug.

You froze for a second, surprised, but then relaxed as his head rested on your shoulder. He clutched you like you were a pillow—or maybe like you were something fragile he needed to protect himself with.

His body trembled slightly, a shiver running down his spine as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

For a moment, the horror movie seemed secondary to the way he held onto you. His breathing was shallow, erratic, and you could feel the small, nervous movements as he shifted slightly, trying to keep some distance from the screen but unable to let go of your warmth.

The blanket was twisted around both of you, and Asahi’s fingers would occasionally brush against your hand, gripping it unconsciously whenever a particularly loud scream made the hair on his arms stand on end.

You could feel his heartbeat, fast and uneven, and it was almost mesmerizing how his fear manifested in these small, human ways—trembling hands, quivering lips, the occasional whimper when the tension peaked.

By the middle of the movie, it became clear that this was going to be the pattern: the quieter, the creepier, the more suspenseful the scene, the closer he got.

Sometimes he would nuzzle his face into your shoulder, sometimes he would drape his head over your chest.

You could feel his warm breath against your skin, the faint smell of his shampoo lingering even over the faint scent of popcorn from earlier.

Every now and then, he would murmur a soft, barely audible sound—a sigh, a groan, a startled little “ugh”—as if confessing silently to you how scared he was.

It wasn’t embarrassment or shame, just raw, unfiltered vulnerability.

He wasn’t trying to hide his fear; he was seeking comfort, safety, and connection, and the way he held you showed exactly how much he trusted you to be that for him.

Each time a ghostly figure appeared on screen, his hands would dig a little deeper into your sides, his body tensing and then relaxing once the scare passed, almost like he needed to remind himself you were still there.

By the time the movie reached its climactic ending, your arms ached slightly from the weight of holding him, but you didn’t let go.

Asahi’s eyelids were heavy, his face buried against you, and his body slowly started to slacken as exhaustion replaced fear.

The occasional shivers still ran through him, but his grip softened just a little, leaning fully into your presence rather than trembling away from the images on the screen.

When the credits rolled, he let out a long, trembling sigh, lifting his head just enough to glance at you with a small, sheepish smile.

There was relief there, a quiet gratitude that didn’t need words, and his hand found yours, squeezing it gently.

The blanket was tangled around both of you, the room still dark except for the soft glow of the screen, and he leaned back against you, still close, still seeking comfort from you.