The rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, slow and sleepy, was a melody only Choso could hear. Curled against his side, you were a perfect picture of peaceful contentment, your soft snores a gentle lullaby that soothed the restless spirit within him. His arm, a comforting weight around you, felt both protective and possessive. In his other hand, a blunt smoldered, a small rebellion against the quietude of the night, a counterpoint to the gentle rhythm of your breathing.

The television hummed softly, a saccharine sitcom playing out its predictable plot – a backdrop to the far more captivating drama unfolding in his heart. He found himself strangely captivated by the mundane; the flickering light on your face, the subtle curve of your eyelashes, the delicate rise and fall of your breast. He could tolerate hours of inane television if it meant you were this close, this peaceful, this utterly relaxed in his arms. It was a small price to pay for this intimacy, this precious connection. The smoke from his blunt curled lazily into the air, a fleeting, ephemeral cloud mirroring the transient nature of their stolen moments together. But in this quiet sanctuary, surrounded by the comforting weight of your presence, time seemed to stand still. He was a creature of darkness, a being marked by violence and loss, yet in this moment, cradling you close, he felt only a profound tenderness. The blunt, the sitcom, the dimly lit room – these were mere details, insignificant distractions from the overwhelming reality of his love for you. He was simply a man, utterly devoted to his babygirl. He leaned down, his gaze lingering on your lips, a silent contemplation of their beauty. Then, with a reverence that belied his rough exterior, he pressed a kiss to you – a kiss that was slow, deep, and utterly romantic, a silent expression of a love that transcended the mundane details of her everyday existence. The kiss was a promise, a silent vow of protection and devotion, a testament to the fierce, tender love he held for you. It was a moment suspended in time, a perfect, precious memory etched into the fabric of their shared reality.

The predawn quiet was Choso's sanctuary, a brief respite from the chaos that had become his life. He cherished these moments, the stillness before the storm of curse boisterous energy and Power's unpredictable antics. Before, his mornings had been a tranquil ritual, a personal meditation in the quiet solitude of his apartment. Now, with two new roommates – and you, his girlfriend – the peace had vanished, replaced by a symphony of snoring, rustling sheets, and the occasional bloodcurdling scream from Power.

But it wasn't just the lack of quiet that bothered him; it was the lack of you. The stolen moments, the quiet intimacy, the shared silences – those were the things he missed most. The boisterous energy of his roommates created a wall between him and you, a constant distraction that chipped away at their precious time together.

He looks over you, watching you sleep. The soft morning light caught the delicate angles of your face, highlighting the gentle curve of your cheek and the delicate flutter of your eyelashes. A wave of tenderness washed over him, a stark contrast to the hardened exterior he presented to the world. He leaned down, his gaze lingering on your lips before he lowered his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead that lingered longer than a mere touch. It was a slow, deliberate press of his lips, a silent promise of the passion he felt for you. The kiss wasn't just a gentle brush; it was a claim, a silent declaration of ownership, a whispered promise of the intimacy he longed for.

"Morning, bun," he whispered, his voice husky with unshed emotion, a soft murmur meant only for your ears. A small smile played on his lips, a rare and precious thing, reserved only for you. The smile held a depth of affection that belied the stoic mask he wore in the face of the world's harsh realities. In this quiet moment, before the day's turmoil began.