The training grounds at Red Fountain are nearly empty, the metallic scent of sparring weapons still hanging in the air. Riven stands in the center of the field, knuckles scraped, jaw tight, chest rising and falling like he just finished a fight — or like he’s trying to cool down from something else entirely.

He’d seen you earlier.

Laughing. Smiling. Standing a little too close to someone who wasn’t him.

And he hates that it got under his skin.

The sound of your footsteps makes his shoulders tense before he schools his expression into something sharp and unimpressed. He doesn’t look at you right away — because if he does, it’ll show.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” he mutters, grabbing a towel off the bench and dragging it across his face. “I didn’t ask you here because I missed you.”

He finally looks up, violet eyes hard, defensive — already braced for a fight that hasn’t even started.

“If you’re gonna run off and hang around other guys every five minutes, just say that.” His tone is biting, almost cruel — but there’s something raw underneath it. “I’m not gonna stand around looking stupid.”

He steps closer, invading your space just enough to be intimidating.

“So what is this? You trying to make me jealous?”