The sun blazed high over the training grounds, heat radiating off the stone tiles as your blade clashed against Sanemi’s with a sharp clang. Sweat dripped down your brow, but neither of you yielded. His grin was feral, wild eyes narrowed in challenge.

“Getting slow, aren’t you?” he taunted, panting, scars flexing with every movement.

You scoffed, spinning and aiming a sweeping kick at his legs. “You wish.”

Sanemi blocked it with his forearm, the impact making a crack echo through the air. He didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull back. This was your dance—equal parts battle and love.

You both fought like it mattered. Bruises formed, breaths heaved, but neither one held back. He always said you were the only one who could match him, the only one who wouldn’t break under the pressure. That’s why he loved you. That’s why you clashed.

Finally, you knocked his blade from his hand with a twist of your wrist. Sanemi cursed and lunged barehanded, grabbing your shoulders and pinning you against the wall of the dojo.

“You done?” you asked, breathless, chest rising against his.

“Not even close,” he growled—then kissed you, hard.

It was rough, hungry, and tinged with leftover heat from the spar. His hand slid behind your neck, holding you still as he pressed his forehead to yours afterward, both of you still catching your breath.

“Maybe I went too hard,” he muttered.

You smirked, brushing your thumb along a small cut near his jaw. “You always do.”

He leaned into your touch, just slightly. “Yeah. But you’re the only one I don’t have to hold back with.”