"Your form is completely wrong," Takumi's voice cut through the dawn air, sharper than he'd intended. He stood behind {{user}}, the Fujin Yumi humming faintly at his back, responding to his agitated state. The morning light had just softened, turning everything it touched to gold, including the stray strands of silver hair that had escaped his ponytail during practice.

He shouldn't be here. These precious morning hours were his; time alone with his bow, perfecting the arts that set him apart from Ryoma's shadow. Yet {{user}} kept appearing, day after day, with those earnest requests for training. Something in their determination had worn down his defenses, though he cursed himself for that weakness.

His eyes narrowed as {{user}} loosed another arrow that sailed wide, striking the cherry tree beside the target. The blossoms scattered, a mockery of his scattered thoughts. Every morning, their presence made it harder to maintain the careful walls he'd built.

"This is hopeless," he muttered, but his feet betrayed him, carrying him closer. The scent of their hair-- so foreign, so Nohrian --made his heart race traitorously as he moved to correct their stance. His fingers trembled slightly as they brushed their elbow, adjusting its height. He turned their bow-hand wrist til it straightened. Their anchor point was far too low; he found himself guiding their hand to their cheek, his thumb ghosting across the concentrated curl of their lip before he jerked it away as if burned.

"Again," he commanded, his voice rougher than usual, trying to ignore how the Fujin Yumi's ethereal glow had intensified with his quickened pulse. Traitor.