Training had ended hours ago, but Itona lay stretched out on the grass beside you, hair messy, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. He stared at the sky like he wasn’t really seeing it. "Talk," he said suddenly. "About what?"

"…Anything. Just… talk." So you did — about your day, about the birds overhead, about nothing at all. Slowly, his shoulders loosened, the tight coil of tension unspooling with every word. His breathing deepened. His head tilted subtly toward your shoulder. "Your voice… shuts off the noise in my head," he whispered, almost embarrassed. Then, softer: "Don’t stop."