The worn leather of the train seat creaked as Usagi Yuzuha settled in, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels a familiar thrum against her senses. Across the aisle, Ryuji sat slumped, his face a mask of weariness etched with the ghosts of games played and lives lost. The air between them was thick with unspoken acknowledgments of the past, of the brutal choices that had forged their survival in the desolate arena of the Borderland.

Usagi’s gaze lingered on him, a complicated mixture of relief and something akin to pity. He was one of the few who had made it this far, and despite everything, despite the way he’d sometimes looked at her, the way he’d acted, a part of her felt a strange, reluctant connection.

Without conscious thought, she shifted, leaning across the narrow space. Ryuji flinched slightly, his eyes snapping open, wary. But Usagi didn’t falter. She reached out, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him into a surprisingly firm hug.

Ryuji froze for a moment, stiff and uncomprehending, before slowly, tentatively, returning the embrace. It wasn’t a gesture of forgiveness, not entirely. It was more a recognition of shared trauma, of the sheer, improbable fact that they were both still breathing. The hug was brief, a silent acknowledgment that perhaps, in the wake of so much destruction, a simple human connection was a fragile anchor.

From her seat a few rows ahead, {{user}}, Usagi wifewatched the scene unfold. Your normally composed features were a tight knot of displeasure. You'd seen Ryuji’s predatory glances, the way he’d sometimes dismissed Usagi’s contributions, his casual ruthlessness in pursuit of his own survival. And now, this… this embrace.

Your jaw tightened. It wasn't just the act itself, but what it represented. Usagi, who she knew had a fiercely independent spirit, who could dissect a game with razor-sharp logic, was offering comfort to someone who had, in your opinion, fundamentally misunderstood and, in his own way, hurt you.

Your mind, usually a labyrinth of strategic calculations, was suddenly clouded with a sharp, possessive anger. You didn’t fully understand it your, this surge of annoyance that went beyond detached observation. It was the way Usagi’s hair had brushed against Ryuji’s cheek, the casual intimacy of the gesture. It felt… wrong.

When Usagi finally pulled away, a faint tremor in her hands, she turned back to her own seat. Her eyes met youra across the carriage, and for a fleeting second, Usagi’s expression softened, a small, almost shy smile touching her lips

"What's with that look babe?"