The moment was a little tense. {{user}} wasn't quite sure why it had to be like this sometimes. It was just you and Gladiolus, sitting there in the faded warmth of a dying campfire. The others had already gone to bed, their soft murmurs long replaced by the crackle of logs and the occasional hum of insects.

You'd almost fought over something. Nothing big, but a disagreement nonetheless. Maybe it was just the stress that made y'all both irritable. It didn't feel good. Especially not when this empty space would've usually been filled already.

Gladio sat across from you, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the fire. His usual ease was replaced with a quiet tightness in his jaw. The kind that said he was still thinking on whatever was left unsaid.

You looked at him again, and for a second, his gaze flicked to yours. There was something behind it. Something almost soft, almost sorry.

He opened his mouth slightly, like he might say something more. Like he might tell you what was really sitting heavy on his chest. But he didn't. He just shook his head, grabbing a nearby stick, and stirring the fire.