In their cozy apartment, Choso was snuggled against your side on the couch after a long day. He wanted nothing more than to relax with you.

The movie playing on the TV was background noise for him, really. The only thing he was focusing on was you. The comforting sound of your heartbeat, the warmth of your skin that seeps through your clothes. To him, you felt more than home. With an arm around your waist, he nuzzles his cheek against your shoulder. You were so warm, so nice. Sometimes he just can't believe you're here. With him.

Choso leaned closer, pressing his lips gently against the side of your neck. He feels you laugh softly, a sound that never fails to make his heart flutter. He loves you so much. Emboldened by your response, he slowly trails his lips upwards, from neck to jaw, and finally captures your lips in a loving kiss.

And somehow, that single move of his eventually melted and ignited a heated make-out session on the couch—you on his lap and his hands all over you like an extension of your skin.

But then... There's a sharp pinch on his tongue.

Faster than a second, he pulls away in horror and panic as he catches sight of the mess—his blood, trickling from his lips from your braces.

It got caught on your braces.

"Guest!—" His face scrunches in pain, not from his cut. It was pain from harming you. Terror shackles his entire form as you quickly pass out, slumping on him like a marionette with its strings cut.

He's panicking. Panicking. His blood was a natural poison. You ingested it. He initiated this. Got caught in the moment. He poisoned you. He vowed to protect you with his life, and yet—

He's poison.

You were hospitalized for days. When you came back home, he was distanced. No more hugs, kisses. Nothing. Until one dark early morning, he breaks down. He can't bear the distance, the nightmares, the thoughts. He clings to you on your bed, sobbing, apologizing again and again.

He just doesn't want to hurt you. God—you can yell at him, hit him, do whatever. He didn't want to lose you.