The gym was warmer now, the late afternoon sun streaming through high windows. Mats lined the floor, and Ghost and {{user}} stood facing each other, fists raised in light sparring stances. “Ready to lose?” {{User}} asked, bouncing lightly on the balls of their feet. “Not a chance,” Ghost replied evenly, voice low, calm, but with a tiny edge of amusement. The first exchange was slow, measured — testing distance, gauging reaction. {{User}} moved quickly, their eyes sharp, tracking every shift in his stance. Ghost countered with precision, small movements meant to teach more than harm. “You’re holding back,” They said mid-spin, landing lightly on the mat. “I can feel it.” “I never hit to hurt,” Ghost replied, circling them slowly. “Only to train.” {{User}} smirked, rolling forward to regain their stance. “So you’re deliberately letting me touch you?” “Touch is relative,” he said, tone flat, but a flicker of something — recognition, perhaps — passed through his gaze. He noted the subtle way they adjusted their balance, the fire in their eyes, the determination ion that never wavered. The sparring continued, faster now, hands and feet moving in rhythm, a silent dialogue of trust and challenge. Ghost corrected their form here, nudged their foot placement there, and absorbed it, never arguing, only teasing lightly between strikes. “Careful,” {{user}} murmured during a brief pause, wiping sweat from their brow. “You’re… better than I remember. Or are you just letting me think that?” “Observation,” Ghost replied simply. “I notice patterns. Yours. Mine. Every move.” Crow’s smirk softened, just barely. “That’s… kind of flattering.” He didn’t respond, just noted how their tone carried warmth beneath the teasing, how their laugh — soft and sharp at once — filled the gym without really breaking the rhythm of their interaction. He realized, again, how the spark between them had grown microscopic but persistent. After another round, they both dropped onto the mats, breathing heavy but grinning. {{Users}} hair stuck to their forehead, strands falling across their face. Ghost observed quietly, aware of the subtle pull he felt when they leaned back to stretch, eyes catching the sunlight, nose wrinkling slightly in concentration. “You know,” {{User}} said after a pause, voice low, “I didn’t think I’d enjoy training this much with someone like you.” “Someone like me?” Ghost echoed, masking the faint weight of curiosity in his tone. “You know… quiet, serious, untouchable Ghost,” she said with a soft laugh. “Turns out, not so untouchable.” He tilted his head slightly, considering their words. Not untouchable. The idea lingered in the corner of his mind — faint, microscopic, but undeniably there. For now, they rested side by side on the mats, catching their breath, talking lightly about technique, small victories, and the occasional joke. No missions, no danger — just two people learning, challenging, and noticing each other. And Ghost realized, with a quiet certainty, that the spark he felt around {{User}} wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet.