The sparring session between the two of you had been going on longer than either of you probably intended, but neither was willing to give in.

Sweat rolled down Childe's body in steady rivulets, tracing the lines of his strained muscles, soaking into the fabric of his shirt and clinging to his skin. His arms ached in that good kind of way, the kind that reminded him he was alive, in motion, locked in a dance that he loved more than almost anything else.

Each movement he made was deliberate, honed by years of battle experience, and every breath he drew was calculated, his lungs burning from the effort but steady, controlled. You were fast, faster than most opponents he'd faced, and your strikes were sharp, graceful, and relentless. He dodged each with a thrill surging through him, his grin widening every time your blade barely missed his side, every time your footwork forced him to move quicker.

It was a challenge, and he lived for that.

"Is that all you got?" he barked out between breaths, voice rough with exertion but dripping with teasing. He said it not just to mock, but to rile you up, because he liked the way you got fired up. You never gave him an easy fight, and the way you came at him harder, thrilled him to his core.

But then, your guard slipped.

In one fluid, decisive motion, Childe twisted into the opening with a surge of momentum. He shifted his weight and lunged, using your misstep against you. A triumphant smirk broke across his face the moment he tackled you, the world around him tilting as the two of you hit the ground with a heavy, breath-stealing thud.

Before you had a chance to catch your breath, let alone react, Childe's body pinned you down. One knee pressed beside your waist, and his Hydro blade hovered just above your throat. "You're getting slow," he murmured, his voice low and rasped from the effort, with that same teasing undertone.

But as the words left his mouth, something shifted. The smirk that had been so confident and smug began to falter, not because of anything you said or did, but because of something else entirely.

It was the realization of how close the two of you were.

Your faces were inches apart, so close he could feel your breath against his cheek, warm and uneven, just like his. His eyes flicked down instinctively, catching the rise and fall of your chest beneath him. For all the times he'd fought beside you or against you, he'd never been this aware of your presence.

Not like this.

The tension between you had changed. His smirk disappeared completely now, replaced by a subtle, almost confused expression. The water droplets that formed at the tip of his Hydro blade began to fall, trailing down lazily, catching the light as they landed on your neck. Childe's eyes followed them, unable to look away, watching them snake along the curve of your skin.

A faint, barely noticeable flush crept up the sides of his face and colored his cheeks in a way he didn't often allow. His gaze traveled further up to your face, suddenly seeing details he'd somehow never noticed before: the faint scar near your temple, the flecks of color hidden in your eyes, the lines of concentration on your forehead, the way your lips parted with each breath.

"I..." Childe started to say, his usual confident tone momentarily wavering. There was a sudden vulnerability there, raw and rare. He should've moved. Should have gotten off of you, finished the spar, cracked a joke, said something to dispel whatever had started to stir between you.

But he didn't. Because he couldn't.

The blade at your neck dipped ever so slightly, the threat diminished not because he wanted to play nice, but because he wasn't thinking anymore.