Timmy had asked to spar with you “just for fun,” which should’ve been your first hint something was up.

The second hint was that he was blushing so hard he could barely look at you.

“You ready?” you asked, stretching your arms.

Timmy nodded too fast. “Yep! Totally! Completely! I’m… uh… totally not planning anything!”

You narrowed your eyes. “Planning what?”

“NOTHING—”

You lunged. He yelped and jumped backward, nearly tripping over his own feet. You laughed, chasing him across the field as he flailed dramatically.

“STOP BEING GOOD AT EVERYTHING!” Timmy cried.

“That’s not how sparring works!”

He dodged one of your swings and finally faced you, breathless but grinning. “You know… you look cool when you fight.”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

Timmy’s face went redder than a tomato. “I-I mean! Like! You’re awesome and strong and it makes my heart do this weird stupid flip thing and—”

You tackled him gently to the ground, pinning him.

“Timmy Turner,” you teased, “are you trying to flirt mid-battle?”

He blinked up at you, totally helpless, hair sticking out in all directions.

“…Is it working?”