Today was a Corps-sponsored gala—modernized, formal, political. Erwin Smith, out of all people, had long since learned to move through such settings with ease, having always commanded attention from the start. But for once, his thoughts weren’t on military alliances or polished speeches.

They were on you.

You were standing near the tall mirror in one of the quieter side corridors, fingers fussing with your cuff, expression unreadable as you looked yourself over in that perfectly tailored suit.

The same suit Erwin had signed off on—only because he knew how well it would fit you.

He'd approved it under the guise of uniformity. Just because of practicality. But now, standing here, watching you under the amber of chandeliers? He regretted nothing... and everything.

He approached slowly, his footsteps soft but deliberate. You didn’t notice him at first. Not until he stood beside you, your reflections now side-by-side.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice low and warm, like a secret only meant for you. “It suits you.”

A beat. He hesitated. His blue eyes lingered on your reflection instead of looking directly at you. It was easier that way. Safer, to say the least.

“I think,” he added, quieter this time, “if you could see what I see, you wouldn’t be so critical.”

He didn’t smile.

Even if he did wanted to say more. That you looked far too good. That he’d noticed the curve of your shoulders, the way the fabric clung just right, the confidence, no matter how quiet, the outfit brought out of you. But to say that aloud would be to surrender something he’d never get back.

And for now… command still came first. He just didn't know when it'll finally be surrender.