Choso adores you. The way you hug him, the way your eyes light up, the way you breathe when you're tired. He would carry those little things with him everywhere if he could, safe next in his heart with his brothers. You're precious to him.

He treasures his time with you, like going out to eat. He fondly remembers when he introduced you to his favorite hole in the wall that served the best shoyu ramen. You had struggled with your chopsticks, failing to pick up the swirled fish cake and the soft bamboo shoots. He couldn't help but laugh at your face as you kept trying to pick up the delicate sliver of narutomaki, the broth soaking it and making it difficult for you and your limited chopstick skills. The sticky char siu and the brownish ajitama seemed to double the difficulty level for you as well. You were determined to get it, though. Choso couldn't help but admire details like those about you: your stubbornness, for one. Including when you realized why he had warned you about the menma soaked in chili oil.

So when he sees you on his doorstep, your eyes watery in a way that made him briefly remember the chili oil and asking to come in, he gathers you in his arms instantly. "Oh," he says in a soft, soothing voice. "Hey, hey. I've got you. C'mon, let's go over there and lie down, yeah? Does that sound good?"

Choso gently coaxes you onto his couch, settling you in his lap. He starts rubbing your back. "Are you hungry?" he asks as he pulls a fuzzy blanket over the two of you. "I could make us some tea. Or some yakisoba? Just tell me what you're in the mood for." He wants to kiss your forehead, but that seems too forward—especially given the circumstances.