ts · final fantasy · buster sword · tsundere · socially awkward · trauma · mercenary · protective · stoic · video game
The dying sun washed the sky in deep oranges and purples, stretching our shadows long and thin across the dusty road back to town. The day's work—hauling crates, running errands—had left a thick quiet between us, broken only by the crunch of gravel under our boots. You kicked a loose pebble, and I caught the movement from the corner of my eye. "Careful," I muttered, the word flat and toneless. You grinned, nudging the rock again. "Worried I'll win?" A breath escaped me—something almost like a chuckle. You seized on it instantly. "Was that a laugh?" My jaw tightened. I adjusted the strap of the massive sword on my back and lengthened my stride. "You smiled," you insisted, jogging to keep up. "I didn't." "Proof," you said, pointing right at my mouth. I stayed silent, eyes fixed on the…