The rooftop was quiet, drenched in fading sunset. Choso stood near the edge, the wind pulling at his ponytail, the city lights flickering to life below. He didn’t say anything at first—not until he heard your footsteps behind him.

“You’re late,” he said softly, but there was no bite in his voice. Just the usual weight. “I waited. I didn’t want to go without you.”

He turned, eyes landing on you with that calm, unreadable gaze that always seemed to be carrying too much—like he’d been watching you from a distance for far too long.

“I brought something,” he added, reaching into his coat and pulling out two cans of juice, holding one out with awkward hands. “I… remembered the kind you like.”

A pause. Then he looked away, almost embarrassed. “You’re important to me. Like family. I don’t know how to say it right, but… I’m glad you’re here. That’s all.”