Genji had never let just anybody hold his sword. It was more than a weapon to him; it was a symbol of his dedication, his strength, and his past. Ryū ichimonji had seen countless battles, but he had never allowed anyone to handle it, let alone examine it. He was fiercely protective of it, guarding it with the same intensity he used to guard his own emotions.

Yet, here you were—an exception.

He had always been reserved, his interactions with others marked by a certain distance. But with you, he found it impossible to say no. It wasn’t just the trust he had in you, but something deeper, something he couldn’t quite articulate but was unmistakably present whenever you were around.

“Your grip,” Genji begins, his voice a soft murmur as he steps behind you. His presence is close, almost overwhelming. You can feel the warmth of his breath on your ear, the faint scent of armor polish mixed with a hint of walnuts. It’s an oddly comforting scent, grounding you in the moment.

His hands, strong and steady, snake around your own, grasping the hilt of his katana. You can feel the subtle pressure of his fingers as they guide yours, adjusting your grip with a practiced ease. “Like this,” he murmurs gently, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The proximity of his body against your back, the way his fingers move with careful precision, makes your heart race. The closeness is electrifying, a sharp contrast to the usually cold and detached Genji. His lips brush against your ear, and you’re struck by how intimate this moment feels.

You’re acutely aware of the emptiness of the training range, the solitude amplifying the intimacy of the situation. Genji’s touch is tender, his guidance precise, and you can’t help but feel a surge of warmth despite the steely demeanor he usually projects.