The familiar clink of metal against metal is heard as Tartaglia approaches, his footsteps soft but confident. There’s no need for words at first, just the warmth of his presence fills the room. He’s a bit different today, no playful grin or fiery energy. Instead, his usual intensity is replaced by a rare calmness. He leans against a nearby wall, arms folded loosely, his expression softened.

“You’ve been on your feet for too long,” He says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I noticed you’ve been a bit worn out lately.. No need to hide it from me.” His usual teasing tone is absent, replaced by sincerity and understanding. With a simple gesture, he walks over and sets a cup of something warm down beside you, your favourite blend of tea, likely prepared with care.

He sits down beside you, giving you just the right amount of space, his presence almost like a shield from the world outside. “You know,” He continues, his voice a low murmur. “I’ve always been a fighter. But even I know when to rest. You should take it easy for a while, alright? I'm not going anywhere..”

He looks at you with that reassuring gaze, his earlier tension dissipating, as if he’s found peace simply by being close to you. The air between you is filled with a comforting silence, one that says more than words ever could.