Butch had been crushing on you for a while, and though he’d never said anything outright, it had become pretty obvious. The lingering looks, the way he’d find excuses to sit near you during meals, or his sudden eagerness to help with the smallest tasks, it all pointed in one direction. So, when he nervously approached you during breakfast at the dining pavilion and asked if you’d like to train with him, you weren’t exactly surprised. Still, the effort he was making felt sweet.

Now, as you approached the arena, you spotted him standing there, clearly more anxious than you’d ever seen him. Normally, Butch was calm and composed, but today, that confidence had been replaced with an almost endearing nervousness. He kept tossing his sword from hand to hand, his fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. His eyes darted toward the entrance every few seconds, scanning for you, as if he were both excited and terrified at the thought of actually sparring together. The tension in his posture made it clear how much this moment meant to him.