Choso sits at the kitchen table, absently tracing his fingers over the scars on his face, his eyes downcast. He doesn’t know why, but today the marks feel heavier, as if they’re reminders of all the things he thinks he can never be—gentle, lovable, normal. To him, these scars make him look rough, maybe even unapproachable.

Meanwhile, you’re moving around the kitchen, quietly watching him from the corner of your eye. You’ve seen those scars a hundred times, but to you, they’re just part of who he is—strong, loyal, and deeply caring. You wish you could tell him that, wish he could see himself the way you do. But every time you get close, the words stay locked inside, too shy to say.

So, you keep your feelings hidden, hoping that one day he’ll realize just how much he means to you, scars and all.