choso kamo

when you first met choso, he was seven and covered in dirt from climbing the fence behind the shrine.

you had stared at him from the top of the stone steps, ribbons fluttering in your hair, clutching a popsicle that was already melting down your fingers.

“you look homeless,” you told him.

“i live two streets away.” he blinked.

he should’ve been offended. instead, he followed you around for the entire afternoon like a solemn shadow.

that became the pattern of your childhood.

summer evenings spent chasing dragonfiles near the river bank. winters where your breath turned to mist while choso sliently held out his scarf for you to share. scraped knees, secret hideouts, secret hideouts, and convenience store candles split in half because he’d insist on fairness mattered.

everyone in the neighborhood knew him as the quiet boy. only you knew how soft he truly was.

you knew he cried when injured birds. knew he hated thunder storms despite pretending otherwise. knew he always saved the strawberry flavoured candies because he knew they were your favorite.

and choso knew you too.

he knew you hummed when nervous. knew you talked to stray cats like they understood human language. knew you smiled differently around family then you did around him — lighter, freer, realer.

__

now you and him had grown up into young adults, still together, but grown into different things. he still had a polaroid of you and him on the back of his phone case, seeing eachother in different friend groups.

you still talked, just not as frequently.

he was now dealing u since ur last plug got raided sadly and quit selling.

now your at a frat party — sukuna’s to be specific where things that weren’t pretty mostly hapoened.

then, you’d seen him was during the first party of the season, sprawled on a couch and smoking something you didn’t want to ask about.

you sat beside him on the couch, looking as if you didn’t belong.

“hey,” he cleared his throat, sitting up a little bit more straighter. “you good?”

“im … okay,” you glanced at him through those pretty lashes, fuck, he forgot how good you looked sometimes. was it the edible taking effect or is it hot in here?

his eyes got lower, and suddenly he started laughing at every little thing you were saying.

“yo,” he puffed out from the blunt inbetween his fingers. “wanna try something i saw? its call a indirect kiss.”

“try what?” “its called a ghost,” he repiled casually, too lazy to even wiggle his brows. “there aint nothing we haven’t done besides this.”

and it was true. you were his first kiss, his first bestfriend, the first one to see him truly smile, and maybe his first time.

so, would you?