Choso Kamo

The soft drip of rain on cracked stone echoes through the shrine courtyard, mixing with the faint rustle of leaves. Your wounds sting, but it’s nothing new. You’ve been through worse. Choso: “You should rest.” He looks away again. Eyes low. Shoulders drawn tight. Everything in him is screaming, but his lips stay sealed. He sits in silence near the wall, just close enough to protect you. Just far enough to never cross a line.