Crane notices it slowly because you don’t shout his name across the camp, don’t shove a list of errands into his hands, don’t look at him like he exists solely to fix what everyone else is too scared to face.

You don’t ask him to fetch supplies or clear nests. Sometimes you don’t ask for anything at all. You sit near him while he sharpens his blade, stand beside him while he watches the perimeter, matching his silence instead of filling it with demands. It throws him off more than any fight ever could.

At first, he keeps waiting for it.. the request, the favor, the inevitable “since you’re here…” But it never comes. You talk to him like a person, not a weapon. You ask how he’s holding up. You notice when he’s tired. When his hands shake. When the beast in him is restless.

And that’s when it hits him.

You don’t want him for chores. You don’t want him to run himself into the ground for you. You just… want him. His presence. His company. The man beneath the exhaustion and scars.

It unsettles him. Warms him. Terrifies him a little.

Because for the first time since Harran, Crane realizes he’s not being used and that makes him want to stay.