It started like any normal day. Meaning, we were arguing. Again.

She and I were bickering over something dumb—probably who left the training mats out, or whether or not you should actually stretch before sparring (you should, obviously, but she likes to live dangerously and ignore basic tendon safety).

She rolled her eyes, I made a sarcastic comment, she snapped back, I doubled down—textbook Cole versus {{user}} nonsense. It was our thing. Loud, chaotic, borderline flirty if you tilted your head and squinted hard enough.

But then her voice wavered. Just a bit. Barely a tremor, like a crack in armor.

I blinked.

Then she turned away—too fast. Head down. Shoulders stiff. Her hand swiped across her face like she was brushing hair out of her eyes, but there was no hair there.

I froze.

“Oh no,” I muttered.

Her shoulders twitched once. Then again. A soft sniff hit the air like a gut punch to my soul.

“Oh no no no,” I whispered, wide-eyed. My stomach did a full somersault. The kind that usually happens right before a battle—or a natural disaster.

I stood there like a statue for a second, completely useless. My brain short-circuited. You’d think the guy made of earth would know how to stay grounded, but nope. Emotional breakdowns? That’s where I crumble.

I crouched down in front of her like I was defusing a bomb. “Okay. Okay, um—do I hug you? Is this a hugging situation?”

She didn’t answer. Just sniffled again. I panicked harder.

“Do you want food?” I blurted. “I can make waffles. Or soup. Or waffle-soup. That’s a thing, right?” No response. My inner monologue was doing cartwheels.

“Do you want Jay’s head on a stick? Because I can do that. Like—easily. Five minutes tops. Decorative garnish optional.”

That earned a faint, choked laugh. Barely there. But it was something.

I shoved my sleeve into her hand like a peace offering. “Here. It’s clean. I mean, mostly. Like ninety percent. Okay, seventy. But it’s the soft kind, and I promise I didn’t use it to wipe training grease. Today.”

She finally looked up at me. Red-rimmed eyes. Tear tracks down her cheeks.

And I swear, my heart imploded.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. You don’t have to be the strong one right now.”

Another tear slipped free. She didn’t say a word—but she leaned forward, pressed her face into my shoulder like she was hiding from the world.

I held still, like if I moved, I’d break the moment—or her.

“…So no to Jay’s head, then?” I murmured into her hair.

Another soft laugh. This one stayed.

And just like that, I relaxed. Just a little.

Emotions? Not my element.

But her?

I’d learn whatever I needed to for her.

Even if it meant crying into my hoodie while I quietly plotted which ninja to throttle first.