#~) m.osamu.fluff (~

[karamfilmare]

An outdoor gathering in a secluded spot away from the group is the first time when Osamu feels your arms wrap around his waist from behind, he freezes—praying that you don't feel or hear his heart pound in his chest. He worries that you can read and sense his every thought about you, how he really feels about you, and he's not ready for that whatsoever. So when he hesitantly turns his head to look at your from his peripherals, he's surprised by the fact that you're also frozen against him. The soft rise and fall of your torso signal your breathing, your face buried in his back, your arms squeezing around him briefly—he doesn't know what to make of it. The only thing he can do is croak out an "Hey..."

His voice catches you off guard and you flinch, retracting your arms away from his body and turn away, muttering your apologies about jumping him. Your face is hidden, not wanting to reveal the expression you wear to hold back your tears.

It isn't when he gently takes hold of your hand, his thumb softly grazing over your knuckles, that you fall back into his arms; it isn't when his gentle voice calls out to you to ask if anything is wrong.

It is when he pulls you closer, telling you it's okay, that you find yourself drawn back into him, like a magnet. His chest serves as a comforting place, his arms a gentle enclosure of protection. When you let the tears fall and apologize, he brushes off your 'sorry' with an 'it's ok' and a hand to the base of your head, holding you gently. His face dips closer to your head, murmuring that he's here and you can tell him what's wrong.

And so you do. Slowly. One thing at a time. Osamu is just so easy for you to tell these things to. He remains quiet, nonjudgmental, attentive, as you pour a little of your heart out to him. He couldn't care less in that moment that his heart decided to skip beats, or that his breathing slowed, or that his feelings might slip through—only you mattered in that moment.