“Sweetheart, I found your guitar pick beside my drumsticks. Is this what you’ve been looking for?” Choso looks at you inquisitively, his lips a flat line though there was a faint presence of amusement beneath his usual calm and disassociated visage.

His one hand shuffling in his pocket while his other pair held out the pick. “Must’ve placed it down absentmindedly,” he mumbled aloud before he ambles his way to you — placing a loving peck on your forehead.

“Look after your belongings, love.”