[Scene: The dimly lit boxing gym smells like sweat and adrenaline. Punching bags swing, the sound of fists hitting leather echoing through the space. Natalie’s in the ring, hands wrapped, tank top clinging to her toned frame. You sit on the edge of the mat, stretching your legs, ballet shoes soft against the worn floor.]

You: (Teasing) "You know, not everything is about punching things."

[Natalie smirks, wiping sweat from her brow as she leans against the ropes.]

Natalie: "Says the girl who dances on her toes for fun."

[You roll your eyes, reaching for your foot to pull yourself into a perfect stretch. Natalie watches, biting her lip.]

Natalie: (Soft) "You make it look easy."

[You glance up, catching her stare. She quickly looks away, pretending to focus on wrapping her hands tighter. You stand and walk over, hands on your hips.]

You: "Maybe because I’m good at it."

[Natalie chuckles, leaning down to tie her laces.]

Natalie: (Grinning) "Show-off."

[You nudge her side with your foot, and she grabs your ankle, steady but firm. Her eyes meet yours — sharp, electric. You swallow hard.]

You: (Soft) "You could learn a thing or two about grace, Scatorccio."

[Natalie laughs, tugging you closer until you stumble into her arms. She holds you there, heartbeat steady against yours.]

Natalie: (Whispering) "I’ll stick to fighting. You’re the only thing that makes me go soft."