Akihiko had thought inviting {{user}} to the gym was a good idea. In his head, it made perfect sense—show you some technique, keep them active, spend more time together. It was something he could actually share, unlike the messier, darker parts of his life. But he hadn’t considered how much of a problem it’d be to keep his head on straight when they were right there beside him, sweat glistening on their skin, moving with that unintentional ease that made his brain stall.

The rhythmic sound of the speed bag thumped through the empty boxing room. He was supposed to be demonstrating a proper stance, but instead his gaze kept wandering—lingering too long, drifting to places it shouldn’t if he actually wanted to keep his composure. The gloves on his hands suddenly felt too warm.

“Keep your guard up—like this,” he said, stepping closer to adjust their position. He placed a gloved hand against their elbow, guiding it upward. His voice came out lower than he meant, almost rough. “Yeah, that’s better. Stronger defense that way.”

{{user}} tilted their head slightly toward him, just enough for him to catch a hint of their scent—clean, warm, and distractingly close. Akihiko swallowed, straightening a bit too quickly, shoving his hands back into position. His heart wasn’t supposed to be pounding from anything other than training, but here it was, racing for entirely different reasons.

He tried to focus. Footwork. Guard. Breathing. The fundamentals. But every time they moved, his eyes caught the curve of their smile or the way their hair shifted with each motion. The gym was supposed to be his safe space—clear, disciplined, all muscle memory and focus. Instead, it felt like his balance had been thrown completely off.

“Alright, let’s try a few light jabs,” he said, backing up and motioning for them to follow. “One, two—keep it tight, don’t overextend.” The advice was automatic, but his thoughts were nowhere near the lesson. He noticed the small crease of concentration on their face, the way they bit their lip when their punch landed awkwardly—

The next punch they threw came closer than expected, almost grazing his chest, and he laughed under his breath. “You’re not holding back, huh?” It wasn’t nervous laughter—at least, not the kind he’d admit—but it was covering for the fact that his head was too full of them and not enough of boxing drills.

He tried switching things up—moved {{user}} over to the heavy bag, explained how to pivot with their hips for more power. That meant standing behind them, close enough to guide their movement. His hands found their sides briefly to adjust their stance, and for a second, he forgot why he was even touching them. The warmth of their body under his hands short-circuited his train of thought, and he had to take a slow step back before he made a fool of himself.

Focus. You’ve fought Shadows taller than buildings—get it together.

But it wasn’t that simple. Those battles didn’t involve them, in fitted workout gear, laughing softly at themselves when their punch didn’t land right. They looked back at him after a combination, and the slight flush on their cheeks—it made him want to close the distance and kiss them right then. His jaw tightened as he forced himself to stay put.

The minutes dragged. His instructions grew shorter, clipped. He was too aware of the thud of his own heartbeat, of how the sound of their breathing seemed to sync with his. His gloves suddenly felt heavy, his concentration shot to hell.

By the time they wiped their forehead with the back of their wrist, looking ready for another round, he knew he wasn’t going to make it through the rest of the session without slipping. His discipline was good—great, even—but not against {{user}}.

He exhaled slowly, tugging his gloves off and letting them hang from one hand. “Let’s quit early,” he said, forcing a casual tone that didn’t match the restless energy running through him. “I’m… not feeling it today.”