The sound of clashing blades had long faded, replaced by the low hum of running water and the faint hiss of steam curling from the industrial showers of the First Division’s private training quarters. Evening practice had ended, but as usual, Gen Narumi and {{user}} stayed late—two silhouettes under the fluorescent lights, drenched in sweat and quiet intensity.
“You’ve gotten faster,” Narumi said, voice low as he peeled off his damp shirt. It clung to his back like a second skin, plastered there from sparring. “Almost knocked my sword out of my hand back there.”
{{user}} glanced over, pulling his own shirt off, letting it fall to the bench with a wet thud. “You’re slipping, Captain.”
A grin curved on Narumi’s lips. “Don’t make me remind you who ranked first in combat drills, Vice-Captain.”
“Oh, I remember,” {{user}} said with a slight smirk, eyes lingering for just a second longer than necessary as they stepped into the empty shower stalls.
The water turned on with a squeak and a rush, washing away the residue of battle, but not the heat that hung between them.
The water hit the tile in rhythmic pulses, echoing off the stone walls of the Division 1 shower room. Steam curled thick between them now, turning the space into a clouded haven far removed from the battlefield.
Narumi leaned forward under the spray, head bowed, water soaking his hair until it clung to his forehead. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?” he said, voice low—more to himself than to {{user}}. “From scrawny kids with wooden swords to this…”
“Now we’re scrawny adults with kaiju-slaying weapons,” {{user}} muttered beside him, rolling his neck to stretch it out.
Narumi laughed under his breath. Then he looked sideways, really looked. And something inside him twisted—tight and familiar. {{user}} stood there like a vision made flesh. Hair wet, skin glistening, steam swirling around him like a cloak. And that look in his eyes—steady, brave, his.
Still his.
He stepped in closer—too close for anything professional, but far too natural for it to feel wrong.
And then, almost under his breath: “You’re still my beautiful angel.”