༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆
The smell of coffee drifted through your apartment, warm and grounding. You stretched, your limbs sore, your skin still holding onto the cold from the night before.
When you stepped into the living room, Choso was already awake.
Sort of.
He was slumped on the couch in the exact same position you'd left him, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded and shadowed with sleep.
One hand rubbed the back of his neck as he sat forward, elbows resting on his knees.
"Morning," you said softly.
His head turned. His eyes met yours.
"Morning," he murmured, voice rough—like he hadn't used it in hours.
"You okay?" you asked, stepping closer.
He winced slightly as he rolled his shoulder. "My back's killing me."
You frowned. "Told you. That couch is basically a padded brick."
Choso gave a short breath of a laugh, but didn't argue. His hand drifted to the middle of his spine, pressing into the muscle there with a quiet grunt.
You hesitated.
Then nodded toward the back of the couch. "Sit forward."
He blinked. "What?"
"Let me massage your back here."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm offering," you said, cutting him off with a small smile. "Come on."
He stared at you for a beat, like he couldn't believe what you were saying. But then—slowly, carefully—he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again.
You stepped behind him.
He braced for your touch.
And when it came—soft, warm fingers pressing into the base of his neck—his body went stiff.
Oh my god, she's touching me.
His thoughts blanked.
Your hands moved slowly, testing for tension. The second you pressed into a particularly tight knot, he let out a sharp exhale. His entire body tensed again—but not from pain.
It was you.
You.
Touching him like this.
"I swear, your muscles are made of fucking concrete," you muttered under your breath, fingers kneading deeper into his upper back.
The morning light crept in through the blinds, warm and soft against his back, but all he could focus on was the feel of your hands working slowly over his shoulders.
His hair was still a little messy from sleep, and the air between you was quiet—just the sound of your breathing and the occasional shift of the mattress as you moved behind him. "Take your shirt off so I can massage you better."
He didn't hesitate before his shirt was pulled off his head and his tattoos were on full display.
He had barely sat up when you insisted he looked tense. Now here he was, shirtless, barely awake, trying not to melt under your touch.
Her hands...
Her breath...
You found a tight spot just beneath his shoulder blade and pressed into it with your thumbs. He nearly groaned. Instead, a quiet exhale slipped through his lips, too soft to stop.
"You okay?" you asked, your voice low and husky with sleep.
He cleared his throat quickly. "Y-Yeah. Fine."
His voice cracked.
Of course it did.
He ducked his head instantly, letting his hair fall forward to hide the pink already blooming across his cheeks. Embarrassing.
He hadn't even been awake for ten minutes and he was already fumbling his fucking words.
You didn't stop, just shifted a little behind him. "You're worse than I thought," you muttered, pressing deeper. "Maybe next time you should take the bed and let me crash on the couch."
His head snapped up, eyes wide. "What—no. No way."
You raised a brow, amused.
He blinked. "I mean... I'll take the back pain if it comes with this." He gestured vaguely to your hands on him. "The massage. Not... you. I mean—your hands. Not like that."
He groaned under his breath, face practically on fire now. "Forget I said anything."
You laughed quietly behind him, and it made his chest tighten.
God, that laugh.
He wanted to bottle it.
He wanted to hear it again without feeling like he was going to pass out from secondhand embarrassment.
"You always this smooth?" you teased.
Choso let out a breath, his head dropping forward again.
"Only around you, apparently," he muttered under his breath, then immediately regretted it.
It was too honest. He winced.
But then he felt you pause, your hands stilling for just a moment. You didn't say anything, but the air shifted—just enough for him to notice.
And maybe you noticed too, because your voice was gentler when you spoke next. "You're lucky I like fixing spines."
His heart stuttered.
"Yeah?" he mumbled, barely audible.
You leaned in just enough for him to feel your breath near his ear. "Yeah," you whispered. "And you're lucky that I like you."
He didn't even know what to do with that.
So he stayed still. Completely silent. Pink-faced, pulse racing, every part of him burning under your hands.
He was never letting anyone else touch his back again.
He turned slightly, eyes just barely meeting yours over his shoulder. "Wait—Don't you need to get ready for work?"
You nodded. "My boss called. Said I didn't have to come in today. They had enough people, supposedly." You gave a tight smile. "But I think it's because of what happened."
His eyes darkened. "What did they say?"
"Nothing specific," you said, walking around the couch to sit beside him. "But word travels. Yuji's name came up. And yours."
He was silent, his expression unreadable.
"I think they think I'm... involved," you added.
"You're not," he said quickly, almost too fast. "That was between me and him."
You stared at him. "Why?"
Choso looked down.
He couldn't tell you. Not yet. Not why he snapped when he saw Yuji outside your window. Not why the thought of you being hurt—or even scared—made his hands form a fist.
Instead, he said, "Because he's not good for you."
You blinked. "You don't even know what happened between us."
"I know enough."
Your eyes narrowed slightly. "Like what?"
He faltered. "Just... I've seen how he talks to you. Or used to."
You studied him. There was something in his voice—possessiveness, maybe. Or protectiveness.
Maybe both.
"...Didn't know you had all these tattoos," you said softly.
He looked over. "Yeah."
"How many?"
"A few."
Your eyes drifted back to his shoulders. Wow, you thought. He's... kind of built.
Not overly bulky. Not showy. But strong. Quiet strength. Dense and defined, like he carried weight he never talked about.
You quickly looked away.
"I'm gonna grab your coffee," you mumbled, standing up too fast.
Choso watched you go, heart still racing.
He reached behind his neck, fingers brushing the spot where your hands had been just minutes ago.
She touched me. On her own. She wanted to.
He knew he shouldn't think about it like that.
But he couldn't help it.
You smiled at him this morning.
You asked if he was okay.
You stayed close. You trusted him.
And he was going to protect that trust no matter what it cost.
He slid his shirt back over his head as you offered him coffee but inside he asked if he could take you to eat.
The morning sun had warmed up since you'd left the apartment, but your hoodie still hugged tight to your skin.
You tugged the sleeves over your hands as you followed Choso down the sidewalk, your pace matching his.
Neither of you talked much, but it wasn't awkward.
It was just... quiet.
Comfortable.
You liked that about him—how he didn't rush to fill silences. He wasn't trying to impress you. Sometimes it even felt like he didn't realize you were watching him.
"Not my job's café," you said, suddenly, breaking the still. "I don't want to deal with anyone I know today."
He looked over at you. "There's a spot up here," he said. "I've been a couple times."
You just nodded. He didn't ask why. You were grateful.
The shop was small—tucked between a laundromat and an abandoned hardware store. The windows were fogged from the warmth inside, and when you stepped in, the smell of espresso and vanilla hit you like a hug.
You slid into a booth near the back while Choso headed toward the counter.
"Want anything in yours?" he asked, half-turning.
"Just oat milk," you replied, already pulling your phone from your pocket. "Thanks."
"I got it."
You watched him as he ordered. He was quiet, calm, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie while he stood in line.
His posture was relaxed in a way that made you feel relaxed too. Like he was just... there.
Not trying.
Not performing.
Your eyes wandered again. He had that tattoo on the back of his neck—just barely visible now with the hoodie pulled down—and the way it disappeared under his collar made you curious.
Where did it end?
How many more did he have?
He came back a few minutes later with both drinks in hand, setting yours down gently before sliding into the seat across from you.
"Thanks," you said.
He shrugged. "You looked like you needed it."
You smiled, fingers curling around the warm cup. "I definitely do."
The two of you sat like that for a while—just sipping, people watching, listening to the low hum of indie music through the speakers.
Choso didn't speak much, but when he did, it was always... simple.
Thoughtful.
He'd point out something outside—a couple arguing, a cat sleeping under a car. He noticed everything.
You liked that about him too.
"So, what are your plans for today?" you asked casually, sipping your coffee.
Choso hummed softly, eyes on you.
He wanted to say, my whole life revolves around you.
But that would sound... wrong.
Too much.
Even if it was blunt.
"I gotta get home, feed my cat, then start working."
You perked up, lips curling into a smile. "Wait—you have a cat?"
He nodded, a small twitch of his lips. You leaned in, interested now. "Show me a picture."
He pulled out his phone, but the screen lit up with several camera notifications. His stomach dropped.
Motion detected...
The feed showed Yuji still lurking outside your apartment window.
Choso swallowed hard, trying not to tense as he tapped the alert away, pretending everything was normal. "Hold on... let me find a good one."
His fingers moved quickly, swiping out of the surveillance app and into his camera roll.
He landed on a photo of Lilac—curled up in a sunbeam, looking peaceful and soft.
He flipped the phone toward you. You took it, your face lighting up."She's so cute. Is she a girl?"
"Yeah. Her name's Lilac."
You looked up at him, eyes warm. "That is, like... the cutest name ever."
He smiled, cheeks tinged pink. You'd been nice to him all morning, but this moment—your laugh, your smile, the way you leaned toward him without hesitation—it was messing with his head. He wanted to reach across the table, tilt your chin up, kiss you until your coffee went cold.
But he didn't.
Instead, he sat there, blinking slowly while his face got warmer.
Then you swiped by accident—just one photo over.
Your expression changed.
You quickly handed the phone back, avoiding eye contact. Choso glanced at the screen and immediately felt the heat rise to his ears.
Shit.
It was a shirtless mirror pic.
Hard flexing.
Dark lighting.
He meant to delete that one.
He cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Sorry. Progress photo."
You laughed under your breath. "No, no—I accidentally scrolled. My bad."
It got quiet after that.
A little awkward.
Choso took a slow sip of his coffee, watching you from over the rim. You, meanwhile, were suddenly deep in thought.
How much does this man work out?
His biceps had to be... what?
Twenty inches?
Maybe more?
And that waist—way smaller than yours.
Then, like an unwelcome pop-up in your brain, you found yourself comparing him to Yuji.
Yuji was lean.
Toned, sure, but slim.
Choso?
Choso was massive. Dense. Solid. Defined.
Was his di—
"Would you like to meet her?"
Your eyes snapped up. "Huh? Oh—Lilac, yeah!" You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, caught off guard.
"I'd love to. But I'm sure you're busy..."
"I'm free all day," he said smoothly, voice low but gentle. "That's why I asked."
There was something in the way he looked at you—patient, but intense.
You blinked, heartbeat quickening.
"Then... sure," you smiled. "Just don't kidnap me."
He chuckled, standing up as you both moved to leave. "I might have to."
You paused and turned to him, brow raised. "I heard that."
Choso's face flushed a deep red, but he grinned.
Outside, the sun was just starting to warm the pavement. He opened the passenger door for you without a word, and you slid inside.
He walked around to the driver's side, hand still tingling from where it brushed yours.
You had no idea how long he'd waited for this moment.
And you had no idea how much he planned to keep you.