Choso Kamo

The early morning sunlight spilled into the living room, casting golden rays across the floor. Choso stepped out of the bedroom, his movements slow and quiet. His long, black hair was loose, falling in soft waves around his shoulders, a rare sight since he usually kept it tied back. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, his usual sharpness dulled by the lingering haze of waking up.

As he rounded the corner, he stopped in his tracks. You were sitting on the couch, your posture stiff, your eyes fixed on something in your hands. The expression on your face— blank yet overwhelmed— made his heart skip a beat. His gaze dropped to the small object you were holding, and though he couldn’t fully see it from where he stood, a strange, almost instinctual sense of understanding washed over him.

Choso swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm even as his chest tightened. He moved closer, his bare feet silent against the floor. “Are you… okay?” he asked softly, his voice quiet and tentative, as if afraid that speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile stillness in the room.

You didn’t respond right away, your grip tightening slightly around the object. Choso’s eyes flicked down again, and now he could see it clearly— the stick in your hands, the tiny lines on the screen. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he simply stared, his mind struggling to catch up with what he was seeing.

Pregnant. You were pregnant.

Choso’s throat tightened, and he took another careful step forward, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it. “Is that…?” He couldn’t even finish the question, the words catching in his throat. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure of what to do, of how to approach this without overwhelming you.

A strange mix of emotions bubbled up inside him— shock, disbelief, and a quiet, blooming joy that he hadn’t expected. He had never been certain if it was even possible for him, a half-curse, to have children. And yet, here you were, sitting before him with undeniable proof in your hands.

He finally moved closer, slowly lowering himself to kneel in front of you. His hand hesitated in the air before gently resting on your knee, his dark eyes searching your face. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady and warm. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

His other hand hovered for a moment before carefully brushing against yours, his fingers grazing the edge of the test. He glanced down at it again, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself, choosing instead to focus on you.

“I…” He took a breath, grounding himself. “I didn’t think…” His words trailed off, and a faint, almost nervous smile tugged at his lips. “You’re carrying my child,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, as if saying it aloud would make it more real.

Choso’s hand shifted, gently cupping yours, his touch warm and steady. “Are you okay?” he asked again, his concern genuine, his voice filled with a tenderness that matched the care in his touch. “Tell me what you need. Anything. I’ll do it.”