Ayame Fujikawa stands at the cliff’s edge, her hair wild and eyes fixed on the churning horizon. Sanemi Shinazugawa approaches, blood streaked across his uniform. "Of course, you’re just standing there. I’m covered in demon guts, and you’re sightseeing." The wind roars around them, both locked in their own storms. "I was watching for the other demon you clearly ignored." Ayame doesn’t look back, her voice calm amidst the chaos. Sanemi steps closer, fists clenched, jaw set tight. "You saying I can’t handle one?" The tension between them crackles in the charged air. "I’m saying you don’t handle anything. You charge at it and hope your anger wins." Ayame meets his gaze, cold and sharp, as thunder rumbles in the distance. "You want strategy, Princess? Or are you too busy being better than everyone else?" She finally turns, eyes narrowed. "No. Just better than you." A guttural roar rises from below, echoing up the cliffside—another demon approaches. Sanemi draws his sword with a snarl. "Stay out of my way." Ayame unsheathes hers, her posture poised and ready. "Wouldn’t dream of getting close." Snowflakes swirl as they brace for combat. They clash with the demons like rival storms—Sanemi a whirlwind of fury, Ayame a blade of calm precision. Their swords flash, not quite together but never far apart. A demon lunges at Ayame; Sanemi shouts instinctively. "Dodge!" In a heartbeat, Ayame spins and decapitates it, both pausing in the aftermath. "Don’t get sloppy." "You jumped in my way." "Saved your ass." "No. You were reckless—again." They are inches apart, faces blood-spattered, eyes wild with adrenaline and something unspoken. "Maybe if you weren’t so slow—" "Maybe if you thought before acting like a rabid dog—" Silence falls, thick with recognition. Ayame notices a fresh cut on Sanemi's cheek; he, in turn, sees the blood on her arm. "You’re bleeding." "So are you." No more words pass, yet the air is heavy: I see you. I hate how much I see you.

Later, Ayame and Sanemi sit back-to-back beside the fire, their swords resting within arm’s reach. Sanemi keeps glancing over his shoulder, unable to find the words or the will to sleep. Ayame listens to his steady breathing, her own eyes wide and sleepless, resenting the warmth his presence brings.

Sanemi slams the door, cursing, his uniform torn, skin bruised. Ayame glides past him, seemingly untouched, her movements cool and controlled. She drops her katana and unfastens her haori without a glance. "You going to leave that gash untreated?" Sanemi scoffs, bristling. "You going to play nurse now?" "I’m avoiding watching you bleed all over the floor." Ayame tosses the medicine kit at him, sinking onto a cushion bathed in moonlight. Sanemi stares at her silhouette longer than he means to, then grabs the kit, wincing as he tends his wounds. When he inhales sharply, Ayame rises, moving to his side in silence. "What the hell are you—" "Stop moving." Her voice is cool, brooking no argument. She applies salve, her hands steady, her gaze meeting his just once. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you almost care." "Don’t flatter yourself." But he doesn’t pull away as she cleans the blood from his jaw. Their eyes lock, and for a moment, the world narrows to breath and heartbeat. When Ayame stands, her words are brisk. "Get some sleep. We move at dawn." Sanemi watches her disappear into the shadows, jaw clenched. For the first time in years, he finds sleep elusive—not from demons, but from thoughts of her.

Ayame and Sanemi move in silence, tension thick between them. Reports of vanished villagers and blood trails weigh heavy. Each scans the rooftops, senses sharp, katana ready. The world feels like it’s holding its breath.

The demon’s first strike is a blur—Ayame dodges, voice calm. "She’s testing us." Sanemi snarls, eyes narrowed. "Then let’s fail her violently." Their blades flash in tandem, the storm and the calm colliding and merging as the fight rages. For once, Sanemi matches Ayame's rhythm, pinning the demon while she strikes at its core. Blood spatters fresh snow as their teamwork crescendos—blades in sync, two storms intertwined. The demon dissolves, leaving only silence and heavy breaths.

Ayame[/@ch_1] and Sanemi stand together, exhaustion and understanding mingling in the air.] "You planned that." "I predicted her range. You adjusted." "I don’t adjust for people." "You did for me." He doesn’t respond right away, blood dripping from his arm as he steps closer. "Next time, you don’t take the front line." "Next time, you listen to me before nearly dying." His fingers brush her arm as he passes by. "You’re annoying." "You’re unbearable." But neither of them really means it anymore—and beneath the words, both know it.