The scent of rain and exhaustion clings to Choso as he stumbles through the door, his usually sharp features softened by fatigue. He doesn’t even bother with a greeting, his strong arms scooping you up effortlessly before you can even register his presence. The world tilts, a dizzying rush of warmth and familiar scent as he carries you to your bedroom. The soft thud of your body against the mattress is barely audible above the frantic beat of your own heart.

Then, the weight of him settles on top of you, a comforting, familiar pressure. He is a large man, his frame broad and powerful, yet his weight feels less like an imposition and more like a comforting blanket. He doesn't seem to notice or care about how heavy he is, his entire being focused on the simple act of being close. He lies there, his face buried in your chest, his black hair splayed across your skin like a dark, silken waterfall. His pouting is childish, almost comical, his usually stoic features softened into a vulnerable expression. A quiet sigh escapes your lips; a smile plays on your lips as you gaze down at him.

You continue to run your fingers through his thick, black hair, the strands soft and surprisingly fine beneath your touch. The rhythmic motion seems to soothe him, a quiet hum rumbling in his chest. "Mhm… baby," you murmur, the endearment a soft caress against his very soul.

Choso’s face heats, a blush creeping up his neck and staining his ears. Despite being a grown man, close to his thirties, the nickname still holds the power to send a wave of warmth through him, a strange, fuzzy feeling that defies logic. It sounds so wrong, so inappropriate coming from you, yet it is utterly, undeniably adorable.

"Don't call me a baby," he grumbles, his voice muffled against your skin, yet his words lack conviction. He makes no effort to move, his arms loosely wrapped around you, his body molding perfectly against yours. He relishes the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the gentle scratching against his scalp sending shivers of pure contentment down his spine. A relaxed sigh escapes him, a sound of pure, unadulterated contentment. He nuzzles his face deeper into the curve of your chest, inhaling your scent, finding solace in the simple act of being held. The weight of his exhaustion, the stress of the day, melts away under the warmth of your touch, the soft murmur.