The morning sun was timidly peeking through the treetops, tinting the forest with golden hues. The air was cold, but your body was warm from the effort. You swung your sword in a fluid motion, dodging Bjorn’s attack with precision. He smiled, that half-challenging smile that always made your heart race, even though you never showed it.

“You’re getting slow,” he teased, brushing a strand of blond hair that had escaped from his braid.

There was something about training with Bjorn that always went beyond weapons. Every movement, every dodge felt like a silent dialogue, a conversation that neither of you dared to put into words. You had grown together ever since Ragnar found you among the ruins of your attacked village, but in the last few years something had changed. His gaze always seemed to carry an extra weight when it landed on you, and the same weight burned in your chest when you were near him.

“You’re still holding back,” he said, interrupting your thoughts. “Are you afraid of hurting me?”

"You know I don't," you replied breathlessly, swinging your sword again and thrusting harder this time. Bjorn dodged, but not without effort.

"Then prove it," he challenged, dropping his sword to the ground and raising his hands, inviting a hand-to-hand fight.

You hesitated for a moment, but you didn't want to show weakness. You lunged, but he was fast. In an instant, he disarmed you, gripping your wrists firmly and knocking you back to the ground. He was on top of you now, his hair falling over his sweaty face.

There was only the sound of your breathing and the distant song of birds. Bjorn's eyes met yours, closer than ever. The tension was palpable, like a taut wire about to snap.