The hideout is quiet, the others gone or passed out in other rooms. You’re the only one still awake besides Choso, who’s exactly where he always is — curled into his chair, hoodie draped over his frame, surrounded by monitors that glow pale blue across his skin. He’s deep into something — code, surveillance, maybe tracking one of Toji’s problems. You’re not even sure he notices you walk in. But he does. He always does.

“Hey,” you mutter.

Choso doesn’t look up, but one of his headphones shifts down to hang around his neck. “Can’t sleep?”

You shrug, walking past the mess of cords on the ground, stepping around a half-finished plate of cold noodles and a couple of cans. “Not with the storm. And you always leave the monitors on. Place is glowing like a UFO.”

Choso just huffs through his nose — amused, maybe. You approach the back of his chair, and slowly lean down — resting your arms loosely around his shoulders, cheek brushing the edge of his jaw. He freezes for just a second, fingers pausing on the keyboard. He doesn’t tell you to leave. He never does.

“You always smell like rain and static,” you murmur. “It’s kind of nice.”

“Most people say I smell like burnt wires,” Choso replies, deadpan, but his voice is quieter than usual. You don’t miss the way his shoulders drop slightly, relaxed. Like he’s used to holding tension until you show up.

You lean in a little closer, watching the data stream over the screen. “What are you working on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Choso murmurs. But he doesn’t move you away. In fact, his head tilts back slightly, his soft hair brushing against your cheek, head resting on your shoulder gently. Your chest tightens a little at that. You rest your chin on his shoulder, letting the glow from the screen warm your face. He doesn’t smile, not really. But when you glance at the corner of his mouth, there’s the tiniest pull upward. It’s there.

It’s always been like this — exceptions afforded to you and only you. He lets you get closer than anybody else, lets you invade his bubble.