Leopold swore this was just training.

Just two guys, sparring like always. Friendly. Casual. Normal.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when {{user}}’s shirt clung to them like that. Not when their hands brushed too long during warm-ups. Not when Leo kept catching himself staring at their mouth instead of their stance.

He’d been in fights that left him bleeding, exhausted, half-conscious.

But this?

This was the kind of battle that made his chest ache.

“Y-You ready?” Leo asked, voice cracking slightly as he tried to keep it together. He rolled his shoulders back, trying to look confident.

{{user}} nodded, shifting into stance—but their eyes lingered a little too long. “Yeah. Just… don’t go easy on me.”

Leo barked out a laugh. “I never go easy—on anyone!”

He definitely went easy.

Mid-spar, {{user}} stumbled forward, landing square against his chest. Leo caught them, arms tense, heart in his throat. For one second too long, neither of them moved.

“Sorry—” “No, my bad—”

They both spoke at once, then broke into awkward laughter, still half-wrapped around each other.

“You, uh…” {{user}} said, not pulling away yet. “You smell like smoke.”

Leo blinked. “You smell like… like soap. I mean, in a good way. A clean way. Not that I was sniffing you—!”

Silence. Heavy. Hot.

Their faces were close.

Too close.

“Leo,” {{user}} said, breath shallow. “Are we…?”

Leo’s lips parted, eyes flicking from their eyes to their mouth and back again. “I don’t know. Are we?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—maybe.”

Their noses brushed.

Both of them froze.

And then they both pulled back—fast.

“I should, uh… hit the showers!” Leo blurted.

“Y-Yeah! Me too! Separately. Definitely separately.”

They turned in opposite directions.

Both smiling.

Both burning.