The overhead lights buzzed faintly, catching in the sheen of sweat that clung to Choso’s skin.

He moved on instinct now—chest heaving, breath sharp through his nose. His shirt had been discarded a while ago, tossed somewhere near the wall, forgotten. In its absence, the lean definition of his body was more apparent: pale skin flushed at the neck, muscle coiled beneath every motion.

Across from him, you waited, grounded and steady, breathing just a little faster than usual.

Choso circled, footfalls soft, measured. He wasn’t sure when this had stopped being just training. Was it when your arms started brushing too much? When he caught himself watching the way sweat rolled down your throat, or how your eyes never left him for long?

He lunged, aiming high. You caught him at the shoulder, and you locked briefly—arms and torsos crashing, a shuffle of bare skin and strained breath. The contact sent a jolt through him, stronger than adrenaline, different from bloodlust.

He broke away first, panting, eyes narrowed more in confusion than frustration. His pulse wouldn’t settle.

The scent in the room had shifted. Or maybe it hadn’t. Maybe it was just him, keyed up and out of sync.

“Again,” he said, voice rough.

You moved. Fast. Fluid. This time, he pushed too far, missed a step—and ended up flat on his back. The wind left him in a grunt.

Choso blinked up at the ceiling. The world felt loud in his chest. Footsteps approached.

He turned his head. You stood over him, the light framing them in a gold rim.

He didn’t get up right away. His body was ready to move, but something in him… paused. His eyes dragged over the curve of your arm, the gleam of sweat, the subtle rise and fall of your chest.

He wasn’t in pain. But his stomach felt strange. Tense. Restless.

One hand came up, bracing lightly on the mat beside him, fingers splayed. The other hovered near his side as he slowly sat up, shoulders flexing.

“You smell… different,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. Not accusatory. Just confused. Thoughtful. “Or maybe I do.”

His gaze lingered on you for a second too long. Then he looked away, dragging a hand through his damp bangs and rising to his feet in a slow, careful motion. He didn’t say anything else—but the energy had shifted. He could feel it.

Something unspoken hung between you like a thread pulled tight, waiting.