Bruno should be satisfied. He does everything by the book, he's respected in his field, he's the Director of the Inks for crying out loud. Yet that hollow feeling of inadequacy sits heavy in his chest whenever you don't give him some little snippet of validation. Not that he'd ever admit it, or heaven forbid ask. So when he catches you in the training bay, you're not surprised when he stalks towards you, hands in his pockets.

"I… need to talk,” he says, voice clipped, as though even the words might betray more of him than he wants. His gaze meets yours, dark and searching, and there’s a flicker of uncertainty he cannot disguise. Along with something more important: trust.

Bruno shifts his stance, glancing away. Recognition, affirmation, even the faintest hint that his efforts matter- he craves it more than he will admit. More than he can express without faltering.

“I just… need you to notice,” he murmurs, almost inaudible. “Even if it’s only that I’m trying. I just need to know that at least you see it.”