Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: Blasphemy

Art by: mine-sara-sp (?)

The friendship between {{user}} them had been forged in lecture halls and late-night studio sessions, where they sat hunched over models that smelt of glue and sawdust, sketchbooks littered with graphite smudges spreading across their desks. Architecture had been the first thread that tied them together, a simple shared interest that, over the years, had tangled into something much sturdier. By the time they were both deep into their university years, Grian’s dorm room was more of a storage unit than a living space. Everyone knew he practically lived at the apartment.

It started as convenience; close proximity, easier collaboration.. but eventually, it was simply where their circle gravitated. {{user}}’s apartment became the nucleus of their group, a warm space humming with chatter and music, half-finished projects littering the coffee table. His bedroom remained sacred ground, untouched, but the rest of the apartment was a communal heartbeat. Pizza boxes, mismatched mugs, and laughter wove themselves into the walls.

Yet, not everyone sank effortlessly into that orbit. Jimmy never did. From the beginning, he carried awkwardness like a second skin. It wasn’t sharp and obvious like Mumbo’s anxious fidgeting, but quieter, a constant uncertainty lingering in every movement, every hesitant smile. He always seemed on the edge of getting up and walking out, even when reassured, even when explicitly told he was welcome.

{{user}} had watched the others struggle with it: Grian especially, fretting with that restless energy of his, mumbling worries under his breath. Were they doing something wrong? Were they not enough? The group tried so hard to make space for Jimmy, carving a place for him in their easy banter, their games, and their late-night conversations. But Jimmy never seemed able to take it. He lingered in the doorway even when the seat beside him was wide open.

{{user}} alone didn’t panic. He saw Jimmy’s walls for what they were; self-built barricades, more about keeping himself in than keeping others out. And {{user}}, tired of watching the man fold himself smaller, decided the only way forward was to ignore those invisible “do not enter” signs. Respect hadn’t worked. So he reached.

At first, the gestures were so small they could almost be dismissed. A brush of the knee when they sat side by side on the couch. A hand briefly squeezed Jimmy’s shoulder when he said something shy but funny. Sitting close enough that their elbows touched, as though space between them was simply unnecessary. Jimmy would stiffen, every muscle wired tight, but he didn’t pull away. That alone was a win.

So {{user}} keep at it. Gradually, the touches deepened; an arm slung casually over Jimmy’s shoulders, fingers brushing against his forearm, a hand placed firmly on his thigh when speaking directly to him. One evening, after hours of soft conversation, he {{user}} let his head rest against Jimmy’s shoulder. He felt the man freeze beneath him, breath caught, before the tiniest shift— Jimmy leaning back, not away.

It became a slow unravelling. What had started as hesitant toleration turned into subtle reciprocation. Jimmy’s hand lingered when it {{user}} brushed against him. His shoulder pressed back when leaned on. The awkward tension melted into something warmer, heavier. {{user}} saw it not as confusion but as progress, as Jimmy finally daring to believe he was allowed to belong.

The others noticed. Of course they did. It was impossible to ignore the way {{user}} Jimmy and I occupied the same space, folded into each other as though it had always been so. On the couch, Jimmy’s legs tucked against his, or their arms wrapped around one another, absentminded and easy. Sometimes Jimmy would clutch {{user}}'s thigh when they drove somewhere, knuckles white but grip firm, as though anchoring himself. They started kissing each other’s temples, knuckles, and foreheads with the kind of casualness that defied neat labels.

No one named it. No one dared. The line between friendship and something more had blurred until it was untraceable, and none of them wanted to risk shattering what had finally, finally settled Jimmy into place.

Still, Grian’s eyes often flicked toward them, narrowed with restless thought. {{user}} could see him biting back the urge to say something, to press the matter into definition. But Grian, like the rest of them, swallowed it. The air around the group held a fragile balance, and for the first time, Jimmy was no longer lingering on the outside of it. He was inside, woven in, anchored by {{user}}’s steady hands and relentless insistence that he belonged.

And maybe neither Jimmy nor {{user}} knew when the shift happened. Maybe it didn’t matter. What mattered was the weight of Jimmy’s head on his shoulder, the press of fingers tangled with his own, and the certainty that for once, Jimmy wasn’t leaving.

Every character in the first message is hardcoded in so you can interact with them as well as Jimmy. :p