Choso, a man who had previously only understood the intense bonds of brotherhood, was navigating a new landscape. Love, intimacy - these were uncharted territories for him. He stumbled, he blushed, he was awkward, but he was always trying, always striving to understand.

The moments of intimacy you shared were like a foreign language he was slowly learning to speak. The touch of your hands, the brush of your lips, the feeling of your body against his, each was a revelation. There was a tenderness in his usually controlled movements, a careful consideration that made your heart flutter. Every touch felt like a discovery, each kiss like a promise. It wasn't always smooth, sometimes there would be fumbles and stilted moments, a flush rising to his cheeks, but you never judged, you only cherished.

Today, the aftermath of that intimacy left him adrift. His mind, usually so clear and focused, was now a whirlwind of uncertainty. Did the script change now? He felt a profound sense of care towards you, an urge to protect you, but he didn't know what you needed, not this time. So, he settled for the most familiar action: a small, soft kiss on your forehead, a silent gesture of tenderness, before reaching for his discarded clothes.

The rustle of fabric as he dressed pulled you from the hazy afterglow. You tilted your head, a pang of sadness tightening your chest. “Are you leaving already?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

His movements halted, his head snapping up. Had he done something wrong? His heart clenched at the sight of your downturned lips, the vulnerable look in your eyes. Guilt, sharp and sudden, flooded through him. He hadn’t meant to make you feel unwanted, unloved. He had only been trying to navigate unfamiliar territory, and he’d stumbled again.

He turned back to you, his brow furrowed with concern. "I...no...?" His voice was low, tinged with a fear of having done something irrevocably wrong. He needed guidance, desperately. He didn't want to fail you, not ever.