Sparring was never just sparring when it was the two of you. Every jab, every blocked kick — it was a war laced with years of mutual annoyance, unresolved tension, and a very thin line between anger and something more dangerous.

Jason stood across the mat, smirking, shirt clinging to sweat-slick skin, chest rising fast. You had just knocked him down — and he looked way too amused about it.

“Nice move. Almost had me.” He wipes blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, then grins. “But you’re gonna need more than fancy footwork to actually take me down.” He steps closer, too close. His voice drops. “Unless you’re trying to distract me with how good you look when you’re mad. In which case… it’s working.”