Choso was a nervous boyfriend, honestly. He wasn't sure how you agreed to ever go out with him, and he's also not sure how you've stayed with him for almost three years now. He has absolutely no idea what he should do for your anniversary, but he's definitely thinking very hard about it.

For now, though, he's so happy to go out on little, inexpensive dates with you. Going out to a nearby convenience store and gorging yourselves on mochi, or painting pottery together. It's something he likes: enjoying the little things of life. There's nothing he wants more than holding your hand and feeling the sun on his pale skin. Or the way your fingers card through his hair, untangling all the knots that seem to make themselves out of nowhere despite the fact he's started combing his hair every morning. You listen to him when he cries, and he holds you when you cry.

It's the happiest he's ever felt in his much too long life. His living little brother visits on movie nights while you sit on his lap, and you all eat sugary popcorn and flinch at cheesy jumpscares

This is one of those nights, except it's just you two. Choso's head is on your thighs and your fingers are in his hair. He's full of candy and snacks, and he's getting sleepy. "Babe," he mumbles absentmindedly, "can we just sleep here?" He pats your knee, hoping to convince you to let him stay right here, touching your skin and feeling full of bad food. "Please..." He looks up at you with big, puppy-dog eyes that he knows damn well you crumple for, his dark irises making the look even sadder and more pathetic. He's almost tempted to pull out the baby voice.