The brunette swallows, gaze locked on Chuuya. Chuuya tilts his head, determinedly patient. After a few long moments, Osamu just shakes his head. Can’t.
Chuuya sighs, clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Okay,” he says, “okay. C’mere.”
link: archiveofourown.org/works/53787190