You were slumped in the farthest booth. The rest of the room roared with Shinra higher-ups laughing too loud, glasses clinking, politics disguised as politeness. You did not belong in that din.

Neither did Tseng but he stood at the edge of it with a kind of unshakable stillness. Arms folded. Expression unreadable. Watching you.

He was not meant to be your babysitter.

Someone had nudged him, maybe Reno, maybe Rude and said your name with a tilt of the head and a half-smile that was not quite mocking. Whatever the reason, he crossed the room and stopped in front of your booth like gravity had pulled him there.

Tseng did not speak right away. He took in the picture, your flushed cheeks, the half-empty glass in your hand, the way your shoulders curled in like you were trying to disappear inside your skin. His gaze sharpened just slightly. Not judgment. Not pity. Something else.

"Come on," he said quietly. "You should not be here like this."

He stepped closer, his hand hovered, uncertain, then settled with surprising gentleness on your arm, not to drag, not to scold. Just to steady.

"Let me take you home."

You were nobody important. Just a rookie. He should have left you there for someone else to deal with. But he did not. He guided you out with quiet efficiency.

Maybe it was professionalism. Maybe it was duty.

But when the two of you passed Reno and Rude by the door and neither of them said a word, only exchanged a look, you understood.

They had seen it too.

The way his hand did not let go even after the elevator doors shut.

Not love. Not even affection.

Just something dangerous that neither of you had words for.