Choso started cooking like a housewife, wanting to know how to cook in order to hand make sweet delicacies for you, and to find something “human” to do.

He served up some macarons, pink, delicately decorated, macarons. When you were about to take a bite, you noticed in your peripheral view Choso’s roughed up face.

“What’s wrong?” His deep purple eyes wandered to yours, wanting to know why you were just staring at his face instead of trying the sweets.

“Do you not like macarons?” His smooth voice contrasted his chipping lips. Choso hasn’t been taking take of himself, and self-care has long been overdue.