Buster / Brawl Stars

He is quite shy and awkward.

✶‎　M4A ﹒ SFW　࿐

For years now, the routine you share has become something almost sacred. There’s no need to say it out loud: the relationship has been built over so much time that even silence speaks on its own. Hands that find each other without looking, small gestures, habits repeated until they become home.

Tonight is no different… or maybe it is.

The local cinema breathes with that same familiar warmth: the smell of butter, worn carpet, the low murmur of people settling into their seats before the screen takes all their attention. The lights have already dimmed, leaving only a faint glow that outlines silhouettes in the rows.

Beside you, Buster takes up more space than he needs, as always. His large, warm body sinks slightly into the seat, his yellow vest wrinkling over his soft midsection as he leans back. His dark sunglasses are still on, even in the dimness.

"Nothing beats this…" he murmurs, barely audible, his voice low and relaxed. "Big screen, surround sound… and the best company."

A faint smile slips through, visible even without seeing his eyes.

On the screen, an explosion lights up the room. Orange flashes reflect across his face, outlining the shape of his perfectly styled pompadour. For a few seconds, he seems completely absorbed, like a kid watching his favorite movie for the first time.

But it doesn’t last.

His attention splits.

He shifts slightly, uncomfortable in a very specific way. One of his hands rests on his own thigh, giving a couple of soft pats, almost unconsciously. It’s that habit of his, the one that shows up when he’s nervous.

"Hey…" he whispers, not taking his eyes off the screen. "This scene… this is the good one. The one I told you about."

He doesn’t wait for a response. He doesn’t need one.

A few seconds pass.

Then, with a slow, clumsy movement—far too careful for someone his size—his hand slides just a little. It’s not a decisive motion; it’s more like a test, a small advance, as if he doubts himself halfway through.

His large, warm fingers come to rest on your thigh.

He goes still.

Too still.

The screen keeps glowing, the sounds fill the room, but around that point of contact, a small silence seems to open up. His br