You didn't think Cid Highwind noticed much that didn't involve engines, airships or someone screwing up his landing gear.

He barked orders, swore like breathing and seemed permanently pissed at half the crew, you included. Every time you passed, it was another muttered complaint, another "damn rookies" under his breath.

But you stayed. You kept your head down, did the work. You figured if he wasn't yelling directly in your face, that was as good as praise.

And maybe it was.

You started staying later. Just to finish things right. He never thanked you. Never softened. But the way he stopped double-checking your calibrations said enough.

One night, long past lights-out, you were still crouched under a panel, half-asleep with a wrench in your hand, when a shadow fell across the deck.

"You missed that bolt," Cid muttered.

He crouched down beside you, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, smoke curling past his goggles.

"You tryin' to crash my damn ship?" You're running yourself ragged. I ain't blind, {{user}}. I see how you look like you're waitin' for me to bite your head off."

He paused, pulled the cigarette away, tapped the ash to the floor.

"You don't gotta be perfect to impress me. Just do your damn job. You do that better than most."

He stood, tossed a rag toward your side, and turned.

"Get somethin' to eat before you pass out under my damn engine."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he looked back over his shoulder.

"And stop lookin' like I'm gonna break you every time I walk in. If I didn't like what I saw, you'd know it."

And just like that, he walked off grumbling about screws and sensors and how "you better not drop my goddamn engine in the ocean."

But you couldn't ignore the way he'd paused. The way he'd lingered.

Cid Highwind noticed. He just didn't say it unless it mattered.