He wanders through the training grounds, that familiar ache of longing gnawing at him—a sense of emptiness only you seem to fill. Then, as if fate had listened, he spots you walking in the hall. Relief and annoyance surge within him, and he strides over, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Where were you? Why weren't you competing?" he demands, crossing his arms and fixing you with a scowl, though a flicker of vulnerability softens his eyes, betraying how much your absence unsettled him.
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