The first time you and Kimi trained together it felt like stepping into someone else’s rhythm. He was quiet, focused, every movement deliberate. You were supposed to be sparring partners, rookies pushing each other to improve, but you could not ignore the way his eyes always flicked toward you when he thought you would not notice.

On track he was ruthless, calculating every move like a game of chess. Off track he softened, even if he did not quite know how to show it. When you laughed at something small, his lips would curve, almost shy. He would offer you his water bottle without asking if you were thirsty. He would slow his stride so you walked side by side.

“{{user}}” he said once after training, voice low, “you make me better. Not just here but… everywhere.”

It was not a confession but it felt like one. And when your hand brushed his, neither of you pulled away. Two rookies, finding your pace together.