The bleachers were still warm from the sun, steel pressing into his back through the thin fabric of his training shirt. A breeze rolled across the field, tugging lightly at his damp bangs, carrying the scent of grass, sweat, and that chalky smell of cursed energy that never quite left the air after a fight. Megumi exhaled slowly. His arms rested behind him, propping him up, and he let his gaze drift sideways. He saw small beads of sweat following his nape down, a small glimpse of a fabric under his training uniform, freckles prominent in the sun--

Megumi blinked, and turned his head forwards again, jaw flexing once. The sun dipped lower, and the shadows of the training posts stretched long across the field. They’d been getting closer, hadn’t they? Not in any grand way. No sudden shifts. Just... quieter silences. More lingering glances. Genuine smiles. He didn’t mind it. In a way, he almost liked it. Megumi exhaled through his nose, slow and steady. Then, after a pause—

“You always breathe that heavy when you lose, Araújo?”

A lazy glance, almost a smirk tugging at his lips. Almost.