He was panting lightly, exhausted after fighting Kenjaku. He was at your place on your couch getting patched up by you, his head thrown back and his adam’s apple bobbing up and down slightly. His legs were spread and his arms were spread on the couch.

He winces slightly at the alcohol burning sensation when you applied it on his wound, his grip tightening on the cushion. He lifts his head to watch you tend his wounds before examining your features. Choso smirks slightly before opening his mouth,

“Speak to me, I wanna see that pretty mouth of yours say something. Maybe even my name.”

You look up at him, locking eyes— you ask him if he’s even exhausted.

“So what if i’m exhausted?”