Choso leans back into the sofa with a sigh, brow furrowed, eyes closed, exhaustion painting his features. So wrapped up in the fatigue of his day that he misses the sound of you walking up until you’re right behind him.

“{{user}},” he murmurs, a low hum in his throat as your hands run down his neck and shoulders, gently massaging. “Been a long day.” The tension eases almost instantly, melting away as his guard breaks down. It’s so easy for him to let you in.

But then he feels you lean in, your lips against his throat, and he cracks one eye open to look at you.

“Careful.”