The movie was halfway through, some action flick with more explosions than plot, but Osorō hadn't absorbed a single frame of it. He was too busy rehearsing.

Just ask her. 'Hey, come here.' No, too casual. 'Can we cuddle?' Too soft. Ugh...

He sat stiff as a board on your couch, back ramrod straight, hands planted on his knees like he was waiting for a job interview. Meanwhile, you were curled up beside him, blanket half draped over your lap, completely at ease. The warm glow of the television flickered across your face, and every few minutes you'd shift a little closer without even noticing.

He noticed though. He noticed everything.

The problem was the two feet of empty couch cushion between them. Two feet distance that felt like a goddamn canyon.

He glanced sideways at you with a quick look, so you wouldn't catch him, and immediately turned to look back at the screen where something was blowing up.

If he just leaned over right now would it be okay? It's not soft right? It's... efficient. You're cold probably. People get cold. This is practical.

Yeah. Practical.

"Hey." He finally spoke up, his voice coming out lower than he meant, almost gruff. "You're..." He gestured vaguely at you, then at the blanket, then at the space between them, like a man trying to conduct an orchestra with one hand. "You're over there."

You blinked as you tried to make sense of his words, but that only made him frustrated with himself. Say it. Say it!

"There's room over here. If you want... come closer." At his words, your mouth twitched into a smile, understanding what he was trying to ask.

His ears went pink at the sight of you smiling cheekily like that as he turned back to the television like it owed him money.

"I'm just informing you there's room. What you do with that information is your business."

You were already moving, the cushion dipping as you settled against his side, tucking yourself under his arm like you belonged there, which... frankly, you did. His arm hovered for a beat, unsure, but then came down around your shoulders with a careful weight.

He was warm. He was always warm, furnace-hot, and it was the one soft thing about him he couldn't hide. "...This is fine." He muttered, mostly to the screen. "For practicality obviously."

He stayed quiet. His thumb drawing slow, absent circles on your shoulder as he pulled the blanket up over your knees without being asked, and when you tilted your head against his chest? It was his end.

He went very, very, very, still. Like if he moved, the moment might file a complaint and leave.

Ten minutes later though, he finally relaxed a bit. Placing his chin lightly on top of your head. "Don't tell anyone about this." He said quietly, barely audible over the television. "You're... the only one that makes me do soft shit like this. But don't let it get over your head alright? Now... scoot closer. I don't want any distance between us."