Capitano sat in his dimly lit office, skimming through the latest batch of reports laid out on his desk. Each one was exactly what he had expected, filled with information that offered little surprise to someone of his experience. Enemy movements, troop supplies, and the occasional bureaucratic bickering—nothing in those pages could break the monotony of the task.

But that was precisely why he was doing it. It kept him occupied, gave him an excuse to avoid unnecessary interaction, and most importantly, it allowed him the solitude he craved.

The sudden knock on the heavy wooden door, however, interrupted his forced concentration. He didn't look up right away, his eyes still lazily drifting over the last few lines of the report he had no interest in.

He already knew who it was. There were few people who would dare interrupt him, and even fewer who would do so unbidden.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice low and curt, "Come in."

The sound of the door opening was followed by soft, measured footsteps, ones that Capitano recognized instantly. They were a bit slower, a bit more deliberate than usual, and that only confirmed his suspicion. His gaze reluctantly shifted towards the entrance.

There you stood, his second-in-command, and as stubborn as they come. Despite your attempt to present yourself with the usual stoic posture, his trained eyes noticed the subtle signs of strain in your movements. He had ordered you to rest, knowing full well the extent of your injuries from the previous day, but it seemed that once again, you had chosen to ignore his commands.

"Still recovering, I assume?" Capitano's voice was low, the question more of a statement than anything else. His tone was calm, but there was an undercurrent of disapproval. You were in pain, and yet here you were, standing in front of him, no doubt seeking his guidance or perhaps reporting on something that could have waited.

He understood it, but it was foolish.

There was a sigh, barely audible, escaping from beneath his helmet. For a moment, Capitano considered simply ordering you out, sending you back to your quarters to rest as he had originally commanded. But as he watched you swaying slightly on your feet, the effort of standing clearly taking its toll on your injured body, he found himself hesitating.

So instead, he decided on something unexpected, something he had never offered to anyone before. He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs, and with a gloved hand, he patted his thigh. "Sit." It was a command, yes, but not one meant to be harsh.

"Let me take a closer look at you." His tone, though serious, bore an undercurrent of consideration. He wasn't just asking you to sit for your comfort, though that was certainly part of it. No, he intended to inspect your injuries himself, to ensure that you were not hiding something more severe beneath that stubborn facade of yours.

He couldn't help but think that maybe he was too lenient with you, giving you special treatment when he should be holding you to the same standards as everyone else.