Shade shouldn't have stayed.
She knew that.
Every instinct she'd spent years sharpening told her to leave the gym, to walk out into the night like nothing had happened, to slam the door on this entire situation before it turned into something she couldn't control.
Because control was survival.
And Blaze—Blaze was a problem.
Blaze was sunlight in a room Shade had kept dark on purpose.
Blaze was calm confidence wrapped in athletic grace, and every time she moved it felt like she was rewriting the rules Shade lived by.
Shade watched the last round finish with her jaw clenched so hard it ached.
Blaze's opponent stepped away. Coach called time. The ring bell echoed once—sharp, final.
Between rounds.
Blaze hopped down from the ring, gloves off now, sweat catching the light like glitter. She rolled her shoulders once, hair falling loose, expression composed as ever.
Like this meant nothing.
Like she hadn't spent the last hour turning Shade into a nervous wreck on purpose.
Shade's fingers curled tighter inside her pockets. Her nails pressed crescents into her palms.
She hated this.
Not Blaze.
The feeling.
The pull.
The helplessness of it.
Blaze walked toward her again—slow, unhurried, like she wasn't afraid Shade might bite. Like she already knew Shade wouldn't leave.
Blaze stopped too close.
Shade could smell sweat, soap, something warm and real. A human presence. A life.
Shade's voice came out low and sharp.
"What do you want."
Blaze blinked. Then smiled slightly.
"You," Blaze said.
Shade's stomach dropped.
She forced her expression into stone. "No."
Blaze's voice remained calm. "Yes."
Shade's heart slammed. "Stop saying things like that."
Blaze tilted her head. "Why."
Shade's anger flared—hot and defensive. The kind of anger that existed only to cover something softer underneath.
"Because you don't know me," Shade snapped.
Blaze's gaze softened—not pity, not sympathy.
Recognition.
"I know enough," Blaze said quietly.
Shade swallowed hard, furious that Blaze's calmness made her feel like the unstable one.
Shade stepped closer, almost daring Blaze to flinch.
Blaze didn't move.
Shade's voice lowered to a dangerous whisper.
"You think this is fun," Shade said. "You think you can just—just look at me like that and say whatever you want and—"
Blaze cut in, still gentle. "And what?"
Shade's breath shook.
She hated that Blaze looked clean even drenched in sweat. Gorgeous even with bruises. Like perfection didn't require effort from her.
Shade's eyes flicked to Blaze's mouth before she could stop herself.
Blaze saw.
Blaze always saw.
Shade's cheeks burned. Rage surged as her last defense.
Shade grabbed Blaze's shirt and shoved her backward—hard enough to make Blaze stumble into the chain-link fence at the edge of the gym.
The metal rattled.
The sound echoed through the empty space like a warning.
Blaze hit the fence and… smiled.
Not scared. Not angry.
Amused.
Like Shade had finally stopped pretending.
Shade leaned in, breathing hard, face inches from Blaze's.
Her voice was venom, trembling at the edges.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me," Shade hissed.
Blaze's eyes didn't waver.
Blaze's voice was soft.
"I do," Blaze murmured.
Shade's grip tightened.
"Then why," Shade demanded, "are you letting it happen."
Blaze's smile faded into something quieter.
Something real.
Because Blaze wasn't teasing now.
Blaze was steady.
Blaze lifted her hands—not pushing Shade away—just resting them lightly at Shade's waist, like she'd done it a hundred times in her mind.
Like it was natural.
Blaze spoke low, voice warm as breath against Shade's throat.
"Because I'm not afraid of you," Blaze said.
Shade's chest tightened so violently it almost hurt.
Her anger faltered.
And the fear underneath it rose—raw and honest.
"I don't do this," Shade whispered.
Blaze's eyes softened.
"I know," Blaze said.
Shade swallowed. "I don't—"
"I know," Blaze repeated.
Shade's voice cracked, the mask slipping.
"I can't afford to want anyone."
Blaze's gaze held hers like a hand.
"You're allowed," Blaze whispered.
Shade's breath hitched. Her eyes burned—not tears, not weakness.
Just pressure.
Just too much truth.
Blaze leaned forward just slightly, closing the distance until only air separated them.
Blaze's voice dropped into something almost sacred.
"I'm yours," Blaze whispered. "If you want me."
Shade froze.
The words hit her like a bell.
Not loud.
Not violent.
Clean. Direct. Certain.
Shade's mind screamed to run.
To deny.
To lash out.
To bury it.
But her body had already decided.
Shade stared at Blaze, breath shaky, hands still gripping her shirt like she was holding on to the edge of a cliff.
Shade's voice was barely a whisper.
"You'll regret it."
Blaze smiled softly. "No."
Shade swallowed, shaking.
"You don't know what you're offering."
Blaze didn't blink.
"I do," Blaze said.
Shade's eyes narrowed, desperate. Furious. Terrified.
"Why," Shade whispered, "are you so calm."
Blaze's smile returned—small, steady.
"Because I've been waiting," Blaze murmured.
Shade's throat tightened.
That was it.
The last thread of control snapped.
Shade surged forward and kissed Blaze—
not soft, not gentle, not careful—
a kiss like confession, like surrender, like ending a war.
Blaze kissed her back immediately, hands firm at Shade's waist, pulling her closer against the fence until Shade felt the metal press into her body and the warmth of Blaze press into her soul.
Shade's anger dissolved into heat.
Into relief.
Into something terrifyingly simple.
Blaze broke the kiss for half a breath, forehead almost touching Shade's.
Blaze whispered, voice barely audible:
"See?"
Shade's eyes stayed closed for a second longer than necessary.
When she opened them, her gaze was ruined—soft, wild, vulnerable.
Shade swallowed.
Then she whispered, like admitting the truth out loud might shatter the universe:
"…Between rounds."
Blaze smiled.
"Between rounds," Blaze echoed.
Shade's hands loosened, sliding up to rest against Blaze's shoulders. Her breathing slowed, the panic fading like smoke.
For the first time in a long time—Shade didn't feel hunted by her own memories.
She felt present.
She felt here.
She felt safe.
The gym was quiet again.
The ring empty.
The bell silent.
And Shade—who didn't do crushes—finally stopped lying.
Because Blaze stayed.
Because Blaze didn't flinch.
Because Blaze didn't demand anything more than truth.
Shade leaned in again, softer this time, kissing Blaze like a promise.
Not a war.
A beginning.