You didn't think Gladio paid much attention.

He was loud, sure. Confident. Always the first to crack a joke, the last to back down. It was easy to assume he was all muscle and momentum, more shield than man. That he didn't look closely, didn't linger long enough to notice the quiet things.

But he did.

He noticed the way your shoulders tensed halfway through camp setup. The way you kept adjusting the same strap on your gear, like it was suddenly too heavy. He didn't say anything, not then. Just watched with that unreadable calm he wore when he was thinking too hard.

Later, when you slipped away from the others, you figured no one would notice.

But he did.

He came over without fanfare, just a faint rustle of grass and that grounded presence that always seemed to follow him.

You didn't look up.

Still, he sat down beside you, close but not crowding. Let the silence stretch. Then, after a long beat, he set something down next to you, your forgotten canteen, now full.

His voice was quiet. Low.

"You gotta take care of yourself better than that."

He leaned back on his palms, gaze on the stars, like the words hadn't cost him anything. But his tone gave him away. That rough edge of worry tucked beneath the calm.

A few minutes passed before he spoke again, softer this time.

"You always push too hard. Even when you shouldn't."

No lecture. No scolding. Just a statement, like he'd been thinking it for a while.

Then he stood. Paused just long enough to nudge the canteen a little closer with his boot.

"You're not alone out here, alright?"

And with that, he walked off back to camp, back to the noise.

But later, when you returned to your bedroll, there was an extra blanket set down beside it. Folded neatly. Like someone had known you'd never ask.

And maybe Gladio didn't say much. But he noticed. He always had.