The training room was empty now. You sat on the mat, arms wrapped tightly around your knees, trying to quiet the storm inside your head. The faint sting on your wrist felt heavier today, and the memory of your sleeve slipping up during practice wouldn’t leave you alone. That moment of exposure, short but terrifying, had your stomach in knots. Did anyone notice?

You pulled your sleeves down further, gripping the fabric tightly. The air felt heavy, but the silence brought no comfort—only your own thoughts, loud and unrelenting.

The sound of footsteps startled you. You looked up, your heart sinking when you saw Ojiro standing in the doorway. He didn’t say anything at first, just watching you.

Without a word, he stepped closer. There was no judgment in his expression, only a quiet concern that made your chest tighten. He stopped a few feet away, crouching down to your level. For a moment, he simply observed you, his golden eyes soft and steady, as if he were trying to piece together the right thing to say.

Finally, he sat down beside you, his tail curling around his legs, resting close to your hand. The gesture felt oddly grounding, like he was offering his presence without intruding. You looked away, unable to meet his gaze, your fingers digging into your sleeves.

“I noticed earlier,” he said, his voice low. He didn’t elaborate, leaving the words to settle in the quiet space between you.

Your chest tightened, shame creeping up your neck. You tugged your sleeves even tighter, the fabric bunching under your grip.

“It’s not nothing,” he added after a moment, his tone firm, as though he could hear the excuse forming on your lips before you spoke it.

The quiet stretched, but it didn’t feel oppressive. He wasn’t pushing or prying, just waiting. His tail shifted slightly, brushing the edge of the mat beside you—not touching you, but close enough to remind you that he was there.

“I’m not here to judge you,” he said softly, sincerity in his voice, “I just want to understand. If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”