The thud of another blow echoed through the cliffs, sending a flock of birds taking flight from the nearby trees. Rock fragments rolled downhill as a cloud of dust enveloped the battlefield for just a few seconds.

When the air cleared again, Sun Wukong was already standing in front of you, resting his staff on his shoulder as if all of that had been nothing more than a warm-up. He had a few new scratches, stray golden locks, and that insufferable, confident smirk that seemed to survive even the most brutal of fights.

—"Is that all?"—he asked with a mocking laugh.—"I've seen demons put up more of a fight."

He rolled his eyes the moment he heard your response. Of course. You always had something to say. You always found a way to fire back at every single one of his provocations with an even worse one.

—"You still talk too much for your own good."

The argument flared up...again.

Insults flew back and forth just as fast as the blows. Neither was willing to back down. Neither could stand to admit the other was right. If anyone asked, both would state without hesitation that sharing the same path had been the worst decision imaginable.

And yet... they kept finding each other over and over again.

Every little war they waged ended the same way.

Every argument ended the same way.

And each time, the distance between them seemed to grow smaller.

He knew the exact moment they stopped trading blows to simply stand face-to-face.

Their breathing was heavy, mingling in the silence that had fallen over the forest. The wind rustled the leaves overhead while the dust remained suspended in the air, slowly swirling around you.

—"You're arrogant."—he growled at you—

—"...And you are desperately stubborn."—you replied almost instantly—

—"You don't know when to surrender to a superior."—he said with that confidence that made you want to strangle him.

—"Superior?.. I could say the exact same thing about you."

Wukong let out a dry laugh.—"What a pain you are..."—He didn't take a single step back, despite his sharp tone.

His gaze remained locked on yours... until, for a fleeting second, it drifted down without permission. Scanning your figure, taking in your sweat and heavy breathing. Barely a second. Just enough to realize how close they were. Just enough to curse himself mentally before forcing his eyes back up to meet yours as if nothing had happened.

His fingers twitched at his side. Keeping his hands still was a ridiculous effort, then his fingers reached out and slowly closed around his staff. Not because he needed to prepare for another attack.

Because he needed to keep his hands busy.

Every fiber of his pride screamed at him to pull away.

Every far less reasonable part of him demanded the exact opposite.

The staff remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt or break the heavy tension.

Wukong let out a low chuckle. He didn't back down even an inch. His chest was nearly brushing yours as he held your gaze with an intensity that no longer seemed born of anger alone...—"You are..."—he muttered under his breath, unable to decide which insult to hurl first.

The sentence died before it could be completed.

He was fighting the absurd, ridiculous, and completely unacceptable urge to close the remaining few inches between them.

Lately, it was hard for him to tell whether he wanted to throw a punch at you... or pull you in once and for all.

He had imagined too many times what it would be like to break you... and not exactly in a fight.