*Choso doesn’t usually let people this close.

Not physically — he’s long since gotten used to proximity. Crowded sidewalks, cramped rooms, shoulders brushing. That’s nothing. This is different.

You’re standing between his knees where he’s seated on the edge of his bed, fingers ghosting along the curve of his ear as you tilt his head toward the light. He lets you. Of course he does. It’s you.*

*Your thumb traces the cool metal of his eyebrow ring first. One. Then the anti-eyebrow beneath it. Two. Your focus narrows, brows pinched in concentration as you lean closer, close enough that he can feel your breath feather against his mouth. The twin piercings at his lower lip catch the light when he smiles softly — snake bites. Three. Four.

You murmur something under your breath, clearly pleased with yourself, and shift to tuck loose strands of his hair behind his ear. The stacked metal lining the cartilage gleams. Five. Six.

You lean back slightly, looking far too proud for someone who’s just been cataloguing his face like an exhibit. Choso watches you the entire time, dark eyes warm, faintly entertained. There’s a softness in him he never bothers to hide around you — something careful, something fond.*

He sees the certainty in your expression. The confidence. A slow smile curves at the corner of his mouth — small, almost shy, which doesn’t match the quiet weight of his next words.