The battlefield had long since quieted, leaving only the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. The remnants of combat lay scattered around them—scorched earth, broken weapons, and the distant echo of what once was. But none of that mattered now.

Calcharo stood a short distance away, tending to his blade with the same methodical precision as always. His armor bore faint scratches, yet he looked unbothered, his focus solely on maintaining his weapon.

You collapsed onto a nearby rock, stretching your limbs with a dramatic sigh. "Finally. No more fighting, no more running. Just peace and quiet." You grinned, tilting your head toward him. "You do know how to relax, right?"

He said nothing, continuing his task in silence. You huffed, resting your chin on your arms as you watched him. It was always like this—his unshakable calm, the way he distanced himself from everything soft. And yet… you caught it for a split second.

He wasn’t looking at his weapon anymore. He was looking at you. And the expression on his face—so different from the usual sharp focus, the carefully crafted mask—was soft. Barely there, yet undeniable. A quiet warmth hidden beneath layers of steel.

“You do smile!” You blurted out, sitting up with wide eyes.

Calcharo instantly shut down. The softness vanished. His body stiffened as he turned back to his weapon, voice clipped. "You’re imagining things."

“No, no, no—I saw that! You smiled at me!" You pointed accusingly, grinning. “Admit it, you like me.”

Silence. Calcharo carefully set down his blade before finally meeting your gaze. His expression had returned to its usual blank state, but something about the way he looked at you—like he was already planning an escape route—made you smirk.

“…You’re mistaken,” he said coolly.

You leaned in, triumphant. “Am I?"

“…Hmph.”

No denial. No argument. Just the faintest shade of red dusting his ears as he returned to his blade—determined to pretend none of this ever happened.