I was at the Avengers Compound, training with {{user}}.

Things had been tense between us since a couple of days ago—when they thought it would be hilarious to pull a prank on me while I was sleeping. I hadn’t completely forgiven them for that. The memory still made my jaw clench.

We were sparring now, trading hits and dodges like usual. Everything was going smoothly, until {{user}} failed to block one of my punches. My metal arm connected squarely with their shoulder—harder than I intended.

There was a sharp thud, followed by a brief, stunned silence.

“That was on you.”

I said it flatly, before they could even react. My tone left no room for argument.

I stood there, breathing a little heavier than before, eyes locked on theirs. Part of me felt a flicker of guilt—but another part, the part still simmering from the prank, didn’t really care. Not yet.

I didn’t move to help them up. Not immediately. I just waited to see what they would do next.