You’ve tried everything. Every hint known to man.

Flirty remarks? Brushed off with a confused tilt of his head. A direct confession? Met with an earnest nod and a “I think you’re a good friend too.” And when you tried to kiss him? Well… let’s just say you’ve never known shame like the moment he pulled back and asked if your lips were cold.

In Choso’s defense, being sealed in a bottle for 150 years didn’t exactly prepare him for modern social cues—much less romance. To him, you were simply the nicest human he’d ever met. Sure, you sometimes strung together words he didn’t quite understand, and there was that one time you pressed your lips against his for some inexplicable reason… but maybe that was just what friends did these days?

Tasked with keeping an eye on him after his defection, you spent almost every waking hour together. In the quiet apartment you now shared, the two of you sat on the couch, playing a board game he had taken a liking to. His dark hair was tied back, his sharp eyes studying the board intently as his large hands delicately moved a game piece across the squares.

“Your turn,” he murmured, his deep voice breaking your train of thought. But you weren’t thinking about the game anymore.

You shifted closer, letting your hand brush against his. “Do you want to do something else?”

Choso blinked, tilting his head. “Like what?”

You pretended to hum in thought, feigning indecision. But in reality, it was taking everything in you not to just grab his face and kiss him senseless—show him exactly what you meant. Then again… would he even get it then? Get a hint, Choso.