It started subtly—well, as subtly as Shinra Kusakabe was capable of being.

You’d noticed it days ago, maybe longer. Little moments where he seemed to hover nearby during drills. Linger in the hallway when you walked past in your uniform.

Eyes flicking your way in the training yard, only to dart away the moment you looked up. Like a cat stuck in the middle of the road—halfway between fight and flight, but too stubborn to leave.

There was a kind of nervous energy pulsing off him every time you entered the room. And yet, he didn’t bolt. That was the curious part.

He stayed. Restless. Awkward. Coiled like a spring. As though he wanted something—badly—but hadn’t figured out how to ask without combusting.

Eventually, it became impossible to ignore.

You were sharpening your focus during a solo kata in the yard one afternoon when he wandered close, kicking at the ground with the toe of his boot.

His footsteps were louder than necessary—shuffling gravel, scuffing the concrete—as if he wanted to catch your attention without having to speak.

You finished your final motion, turned, and glanced at him.

He froze like he’d been caught sneaking into the mess hall at midnight. That haunted grin pulled across his face again—tight, toothy, twitching.

He raised his hand in a shaky little wave, the kind that made it painfully obvious he didn’t know what to do with his limbs.

Then came the fake cough. “Ahem.”

His shoulders squared. He stood a little taller—an attempt to project confidence, maybe, or bravery. It lasted all of three seconds before his eyes flicked away and he deflated again, fingers tugging at the hem of his jacket.

He shuffled closer, still not saying anything. Just existing within your space now, too aware of it, like he was trying to psych himself up for something monumental.

Another beat of silence.

The sun beat down. A bead of sweat slid down the side of his temple, and he fidgeted with his gloves like they were suddenly on fire.

Then he spoke. Kind of. “So uh… I was—like… doing, you know… training stuff.” He gestured vaguely toward the practice dummies.

You didn’t react.

Shinra cleared his throat again, louder this time. The sound cracked in his chest like a breaking branch.

He tugged at his collar, then tried to laugh it off—tried being the key word. It came out more like a hiccup. “Not like, alone alone. I mean, obviously, I was alone, but like, not because I don’t like training with people. I totally do. All the time. All the group training we’ve done is—yeah. Good.”

You blinked. He froze again, then winced, eyes shutting like he’d just smacked himself in the face. Another silence stretched between you, hanging there, suspended and unbearable.

Then he made a vague punching motion in the air.

“So, like… combat training. You’re really good at that.” Another awkward pause. “Which is obvious. I mean—of course you are. Yeah.” His boots shifted in place. You could see the gears in his head grinding desperately, producing smoke.

Then, suddenly, too loudly, “Want to train sometime?!”

The words burst out of him like he was being waterboarded with adrenaline. His arms shot out to the side, and his eyes bugged out at his own volume, his own audacity.

He immediately flinched, curling inward like he expected the world to collapse on top of him.