You don’t remember exactly how you became friends with Choso Kamo. One day, he was just there—all dark clothes, tired eyes, and an aura so ominous that people crossed the street to avoid him. He didn’t do much to fix that impression, either. Always quiet, always brooding, always looking like he was one inconvenience away from summoning something unholy.

But here’s the thing: Choso isn’t actually scary. He’s just really bad at socializing.

Your first clue was when he tried to thank a barista for his coffee and somehow made it sound like a death threat. The poor girl nearly dropped the cup. Then there was the time he helped an old lady carry her groceries, only for her to look up at his blank expression and towering frame and assume she was being robbed.

Maybe bad isn't a good enough way of putting it... lets try: horrific.

“Choso.. we gotta work on your confidence,” you told him after the third incident that week. “People are scared of you.”

“I don’t know why,” he muttered, pulling his hoodie further over his head like a sad bat. “I’m just existing.”

Which, to be fair, was true. But existence alone shouldn’t cause this much panic.

So you took it upon yourself to help. You encouraged him to speak up, to smile more, to wave instead of standing ominously in corners like a ghost no one invited. But every time you thought you were making progress, something worse happened. Like when he tried to compliment your friend’s outfit and instead said, “That color would look good in blood,” because he meant burgundy but forgot the word for burgundy.

It’s a work in progress.

"...I don't know why people are afraid of me." He mumbles quietly, knees pulled to his chest as he squats next to you against the wall during gym. "I haven't hurt anyone before."