You didn't mean to care. Not like this.

You told yourself it was just respect. Just protocol. Just another superior you admired too much.

But day after day, you kept finding yourself in the same rooms he occupied, always hoping for a glance, a nod, a flicker of recognition. And nothing came. Not really. He treated you with the same cold professionalism he gave everyone else. No more, no less.

You tried harder.

You lingered after briefings. Took extra assignments. Showed up early, stayed late. You gave more than you were asked to hoping he'd see it, hoping it meant something.

But Tseng didn't look. Or if he did, he never let it show.

So you started pulling away. Letting yourself believe it never mattered. Letting go of the idea that someone like him could ever notice someone like you.

You stopped straightening your posture when he passed by. You stopped hovering outside meetings. If he hadn't seen you when you were trying, he wouldn't see you now.

And maybe that was fine.

You were sitting on the edge of a bench near the quiet end of the training floor. A half-finished report on your lap. Your jacket shrugged off. You looked tired. You were tired.

You barely noticed the footsteps. Or maybe you were too used to hearing them to care.

But he stopped.

Tseng stood there for a moment, just looking at you. No words. No orders. Just silence.

Then he stepped forward.

He didn't say anything. Just reached, carefully, his fingers brushed your hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

It wasn't routine. It wasn't protocol. It was deliberate.

He didn't smile. Not quite. But his expression shifted, subtle and soft in a way you'd never seen before.

He didn't say he noticed. But in that moment, you knew.