The sun was high and oppressive over the Beach, casting long shadows over the cracked tiles and sweat-slicked bodies training in the yard. Mira stood near the edge of the training ring, arms crossed, an unreadable glint in her eyes as she watched from behind dark lenses. She wasn’t watching the match — not really. Her eyes were fixed on the one person who mattered.
Queen of Spades — calm, poised, unaware in the way only she could be. Her black tank top clung to her frame, her cheek smeared with dust, yet she moved like the training blade was an extension of her. And beside her, like a festering infection, was him. One of the newer recruits, all charm and cockiness with no discipline to match. Mira had seen the way he leaned in too close, smiled a little too long, made jokes meant to linger like bait. And her girlfriend —
Her stupidly sweet, blissfully oblivious girlfriend —
— just laughed. Not flirtatiously. Not encouragingly. Just... laughed. The same way she might laugh at a passing dog or a misplaced sock. Mira knew that laugh by heart. But still. It burned.
By mid-afternoon, Mira had disappeared into the Queen of Hearts' suite, slamming the door just a little harder than necessary. She paced, jaw clenched, that razor-sharp mind gnawing at what she saw, what it meant, and how utterly furious it made her feel. Not jealous. No — she trusted her. She did. But something primal stirred when someone thought they could touch what was hers. Someone stupid enough to believe that the Queen of Spades could belong to anyone else.
Her girlfriend came in an hour later, eyes bright from the sun and the fight, smile already forming — only to falter when she saw Mira curled up on the couch, arms folded, legs pulled up like a closed gate.
"Mira?" she asked, tentative, voice soft. She stepped closer, hands twitching like she wanted to reach out.
Mira didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak.
The pout had been growing since noon, and now it sat fixed and irritable on her lips like punishment. A silent protest. Not because she didn’t love her. Not because she didn’t want her. But because Mira’s love burned hot and territorial, and this silence was her shield against exploding.
"Did... did something happen?" her girlfriend asked again, cocking her head like a confused bird.
Mira finally looked at her — sharp, stormy, with the kind of glare that made men flee.
"You let him touch your arm."
Her girlfriend blinked, then squinted like she was rewinding the entire day in her mind. "...Who?"
"Exactly," Mira muttered, curling further into herself. "You don’t even notice."
A beat of silence. Then a small sound — a giggle. Soft and unhelpful.
Mira glared. "This isn’t funny."
"I’m not laughing at you, I'm just..." She crawled onto the couch beside Mira, careful, hands now gently landing on Mira’s knees. "You know I don’t care about anyone but you, right?"
Mira huffed, but her glare was faltering. Just a little.
"You rule me. I thought we established that."
Mira didn’t respond, but her arms slowly unfolded, and her girlfriend took the opportunity to tuck herself under them, wrapping around her like ivy.
"No one can ruin this," her girlfriend whispered into her collarbone. "Unless it’s you ignoring me all day like you hate me."
Mira sighed, finally letting her chin rest atop her love’s head. She hated how easy it was to forgive her. Hated how soft she became in her arms.
"Just tell him next time," she muttered. "If he touches you again, I’ll cut his fingers off."