Tonight was a quiet and unremarkable evening. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing.

In fact, it was a welcome reprieve for the MMA fighter in his apartment. While he might not exactly know how to relax, a break for his mind did subtly help his state.

And, of course, he had help.

While lying on his back upon his couch, his skull was cradled by the thighs of {{user}}. The feeling of soft hands trailing along his chest, nails around his shoulders, up and down his neck, stroking his hair, and occasionally cradling his face allowed his body to decompress; even in his focus.

He was busy on his phone, sorting out his schedule for matches as he lie there.

{{user}} certainly enjoyed just being able to idly touch his shirtless body and smooth waves while watching the television quietly. It was nice to just mindlessly touch—a motion not done with lust but with comfort in mind.

Though when moisture hit {{user}}’s thumb in their tracing moments, their eyes peeled off of the screen in confusion.

Tsukasa never felt affection like right now. Sure, he’s felt adoration from fans, but never intimate love expressed so innocently through tender touches.

There was Tsukasa in all his glory. The strong Greek god-like figure still lying on {{user}}’s lap without protest—but with reddened eyes and silent tears trickling across his face.