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You were just trying to work off steam from a recent bad break-up. What you didn't need was some guy at the gym telling you your form sucked. Even if he is ridiculously good-looking and right about it. So you use his expertise to help train you. You have something to prove to your ex and to him.

Attraction is a force to be reckoned with.

WORD COUNT: 13.1K TAGS: Personal Trainer!Waka, Romantic Comedy, Meet Ugly, Female Reader, Sexual Tension, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Language, Gyms, Alcohol, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sparring, Boxing (in like the loosest terms), Post-Break Up, Mutual Pining, Banter, Power Dynamics (Sort Of)

The words still echo in your brain. “I think you’re weak. We should break-up.”

That phrasing has become a broken recorder, spinning the words into a continuous chant. At first, when Jun told you his feelings and left you there at the café you had cried. You called up your best friend Mei and told her everything about it. Mei had cussed him out for you, had comforted you while you were in the bathroom sobbing on the phone.

You didn’t know how to move forward from that moment. I think you’re weak; he had said. What could that even mean? Is that even an appropriate thing to dump someone over? He had thought you were weak? When he was the one who clung to you, who seemed to never let you have a moment's peace on your own.

No, he was the weak one. He was projecting onto you. The next moment you were crying and then suddenly there’s a certain determination stirring within you.

You’ll just have to show Jun, your old, awful ex, just how not weak you are.

“Boxing?!” Mei asks in disbelief. Her voice rose so loud that people in the nearby vicinity were glancing at the two of you.

You pick at your food. “Yeah,” you mutter. I think you’re weak, springs back into mind. You say it again, much more confident. “Yeah, I’ve decided. I’m going to do it.”

Mei shifts in her seat, sipping at her drink. “I mean, good for you, but also is what Jun said really that important to you?”

You swallow, not wanting to admit that his words had wounded something inside you. Sure, you had your moments. You were emotional, sometimes irrational, but you had thought he had understood. It’s like two years of being together were out the window. Which remains. How long did he feel this way? Maybe he just couldn’t ever grapple with you? In the grand scheme of things, you’re glad it’s done.

Another, more scorned portion of you is angry. Pissed, even. You’ll have to prove it. It’s a new motivation for you, to figure out who you are and maybe go through a grandiose change. Just to get back at him.

Mei sighs, knowing you’re dead set on it. “There is a gym in the area, I’ve never been, but I heard the guy is a skilled fighter. Maybe he can–”

You stand up, interrupting her before she can continue. “Genius, Mei! I’m going right now.”

“Right now?”

You grab your purse, needing to head into your house to gather clothes. “Yup, I’m doing this! I’ll call you later, okay?” You holler, running out of the café. You had to grab the next train to head over there. The day was just beginning.

First, you had some studying to do.

You arrive at the outskirts of the building. It looked dingy on the outside; the gym being in a shady part of town tucked into a corner. You could see a few people coming and leaving, experienced grown men and even some women. It’s a little daunting, but you’re not weak, you chant. You can do this. You will.

This is paramount to you and your worth. A reminder of the strength you hold within yourself. Courage can shine beautifully in these times. So, you take a deep breath, looking both ways to cross the street.

You had the night before looked up information about boxing at the bookstore. It was filled to the brim with instructional books and information for beginners. The stances, what each move was called, the proper gear to gather for it. You had to go out and buy some used boxing gloves. You spent a bit, but that was alright. This is going to be life changing. And for the better.

When you walk into the gym, it is exhaustingly hot. The huge fans above you are coming through. It was all steel. The place was some old warehouse turned facility. You look around. There’s a boxing ring in the center, with a few punching bags next to it. There are metal shelves near the ring with different sizes of gloves. Now, you feel ridiculous for buying some.

Someone comes up behind you, startling you. “You new?” He asks.

You whirl around to meet face to face with a good-looking man, who looks to be your age. He has a blase expression, lazy eyes, and is chewing on what looks to be a yakitori stick.

You grapple with your thoughts. “Uh, yes, do I need a membership for this place?”

His eyes slide away, looking ahead. You turn to see the list of prices above you in the corner. 1,000 yen for a day and 20,000 yen for a year membership. You frown. “Are there, uh, discounts?”

“No,” he states.

You sigh. “Where do I pay? Is cash okay?” He gestures over to the counter while you follow him there. He walks around to it, popping open a register. You dig into your bag, pulling out the three bills of 1000.

The man slides the money to him, counting it.

He will not explain the details of the gym, you realize suddenly. “Um, so do I just come in? Are there showers? Any amenities?”

He glances up at you with piercing eyes. “We have showers in the back, locker rooms included, and the weight room is next to the ring.” He gives you your change, then. You take it from him, nodding.

“But do I need an ID for this place?”

“No. I remember everyone who comes through here,” he replies simply.

You huff. “Okay, thanks.” You walk away from the counter, heading into the back area of the locker rooms. They were a little terrifying. There was no other person in sight. So, you quickly change into your basic shorts and tank top. You feel a weird ball in the pit of your stomach. Could you do this? Every day by yourself? Mei already has a gym membership elsewhere, but it didn’t have boxing lessons.

If this is the only place, then so be it.

You step out, focusing on the weight area. You glance around, seeing the guy away from the counter doing something by the shelving.

You swallow, feeling a little too exposed.

The weight room had an entire mirror set up. Looking at yourself made you feel weird. To warm up, you decide to start off with some simple stretches. In doing so, maybe that will loosen everything up.

Soon, you’re all warmed up, feeling motivated. You decide to do some weight lifting, hopefully to build up some muscle overtime while doing the boxing practice. You do squats, simple enough right?

You grab some dumbbells, starting off with simple ten pounders.

What you don’t realize is the guy from the counter following your every move. He sneaks glances when you’re focusing. He knows. She’s never done this before.

He leans forward on the counter, watching.

You continue doing some kind of thing. You’re timid about how to do this. You were never the athletic type. In school, during sport festival days, you typically opted out of those by pretending to be sick. So you knew nothing of what you were supposed to be doing. You were absolutely certain that this is what you read, though. From afar, he could tell you were struggling.

Wakasa has to say something. It’s almost unbearable not to. “Hey, Rookie,” he calls out.

You turn then, frowning. “What?”

“You’re doing that incorrectly,” he inclines his head to the weights and your arms.

You raise an eyebrow. “I am perfectly fine.” You tap your foot a bit, trying to do your workout in peace. You turn away from him, trying to do this set. When the guy once again speaks up, it’s almost like a necessity to him.

“You’re doing that incorrectly. You could seriously pull something like that.”

You swivel around, dropping your arms and the weights. “I am doing fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “Listen, I am learning, alright.”

“Well, wherever you learned that from taught you incorrectly, so.”

You scowl at him. “I learned it from a book, specifically on this subject.”

His grin forms then, and it is mocking. “Maybe you should get your eyes checked. That’s not what you’re supposed to do.”

You size the man up. How dare he talk like he knows everything? Who gave up their throne to make him king? “Excuse you, but I don’t take unsolicited advice,” you scoff, turning back to your mat. The man doesn’t move from his spot and obviously he’s not even that phased by it. He just stares at you. “Alright then,” he shrugs. “If you say you know what you’re doing, I won’t stop you.”

“Thank you,” you say primly. You brush the tendrils out of your face and squat, doing the leg workout instead. You had read something about lunges. You just started here. He was the one that didn’t give you any details on this gym until you had to wheedle it out of him. Now he’s trying to train you? Suddenly he’s interested in what you’re doing. Seriously, what an ass.

“You’re going to pull a muscle if you do it that way,” he calls out, like a reminder. You stop what you’re doing. He flicks the newspaper without even looking up.

“Okay, since you know everything, let me talk to your owner. I have a few words about their employee harassing patrons.” You cross your arms, irritated. You have a lot of pent up frustration and this guy is not making it any easier.

Wakasa turns the page, glancing up at you lazily. “You’re lookin’ at’em.”

You grimace. “What?”

Wakasa sets the paper aside. “I am the owner of this facility.”

You squint as if unsure of that. “Well, my point still stands.” you would not give him this imaginary point going forward. You won’t back down from this.

“About?” He drawls, he looks the least bit amused by your stubbornness on the situation.

You bend forward, lifting the dumbbell to set it back on the rack. You don’t sense his eyes following your every move or the way they seem to burn holes into the back of your head. You reassure yourself that it’s because he’s glaring. He is, but he’s also interested.

“You just want to be right. I know your types.”

“My type is to be a good owner and not have people like you injure yourselves in my building to sue me or something.”

You give him an affronted expression. “I would never, but now that you mention it, I might now.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, chewing on his stick. “Oh, really?”

You put your hands on your hips. “For the emotional toil you’re causing me. And harassment.”

He gives you a dead eyed look. “That’s low, even for someone like you.”

You sniff haughtily. “Well, that’ll teach you to mind your own. So, when do you work? Are you always here?”

“Why do you wanna know? To accuse me some more?”

“No, so I can know what days to avoid, so I don’t have to see you,” you add petulantly. You cross your arms.

He smirks at that. “Oh?”

You nod. “I’m serious.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m here 24/7. My home is this gym.”

You huff, defeated. You can’t keep going to do this back and forth. It’ll just be a waste of time.

You decide to ignore him, doing the best you can with what knowledge you know. He can just write all his grievances down for all you care. If he has so much of an issue, maybe he could teach you.

The idea crosses you at that very moment. If this guy knew everything there is to what you’re trying to do and is the owner, it must mean he’s the skilled fighter Mei had mentioned.

You sneak a glance at him, the guy not even looking up from you. He doesn’t look to be the type to be like that. He looks regular, just lean.

But you knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

You march over to him, full of purpose. “Hey—”

“Wakasa. Wakasa Imaushi,” he says, still not giving you the time of day.

Alright, you can take that. “Wakasa,” you smile. “Look, I know we had a bit of a cheeky start, but do you have any expertise in boxing?”

Wakasa looks up at you, a keen interest in his eye. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, I need someone with the knowledge to help me train for it.”

He doesn’t seem to believe that. “You’re asking me? The same guy you threatened just a little while ago?”

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s bad, I know. Listen, I apologize, really. I just would like some help? A guidance, if you will.”

He assesses you with a careful distance, almost as if he’s worried about you reaching in. Maybe he’s the person who needs space to think about these things. You didn’t think it was that serious.

“Why?” He inquires. It’s a simple question, one that you have a real answer to, but not the one you’re willing to give. That sort of honesty will take you a while.

So, you lie, it’s half of one, but it’s not the reason. “To get stronger.”

Wakasa seems to contemplate it for a moment. He weighs the pros and cons. You’d be here a lot and he didn’t really particularly like the way you spoke to him; but he can’t help being a tad curious.

He hasn’t trained someone since Senju, and that was simply because she’s a prodigy all her own. This is someone new, who looks to know nothing of the sort. It’d give him something to do. It couldn’t hurt. “Alright,” he nods. “I’ll take you up on that.”

You release a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you!”

“When do you want to start?”

“Pardon?”

“We can start now.”

You take a minute, your brain short circuiting. “I mean–”

“Or not, your choice.”

You hate having to decide. Why does it have to be on your shoulders? You asked for it. You remind yourself that this is all you're doing and not anyone else's. You begrudgingly make the call.

“Fine, let’s do this.”

It’s simple: Wakasa goes over every single term. It’s become a lesson. He pulls out old magazines, guidebooks and lays out all the equipment in front of you. All the stuff you’ve seen and sifted through, but didn’t have anyone there to explain it.

You go through memorizing each thing. He breaks down the concept of boxing down to its core. “Fighting is an art,” he explains. “Think of it like dancing or making music. There’s a passion that gives it life. Boxing is in that realm. It is someone matching you to a rhythm. It can be a breathless waltz or all the times you’ve had a bad dance partner step on your toes.”

You nod, understanding that boxing for some is a way of life. It is a third lung, an extra crutch. It’s a brutally gorgeous sport split into different categories by weight. You’re matched to someone in likeness and ability. That has to mean something to so many. Wakasa seems very knowledgeable about it.

He talks about fighting like it’s a lover. It seems to be where his heart is.

You thank him. There’s an odd kindness that you see in him. Not that it wasn’t present before, but you had thought him to be more of a smart-ass. You feel you know him a little better. You’ve seemed to come to an understanding with him.

“I appreciate it, I do,” you tell him. The two of you walk out to lock up the Gym while he heads out to lunch.

“It’s no problem. Hey, make sure you go over those tapes. There are good references there.” Wakasa was kind enough to hand them to you in a nice tote.

You laugh a little. “Sure, sure.”

The two of you depart ways, but you can’t help but feel a little better. Wakasa seems to have that sort of presence. A calming, reassuring aura.

In a matter of a week, you head into the Gym every morning. It’s a ritual at this point. Mei called you the other night to see how it was going.

“It’s going,” you had told her.

She sings in excitement. “Oh, I’m just so happy for you! You already seem more perky. Who’s teaching you, anyway?”

You explain all of it to her, how you mistook the Gym Owner as some bad-tempered guy who kept commenting on your ability. How he is actually a pretty decent guy to work with.

Mei seems to have taken that as great news. Her resulting in telling you not to form a crush on the new trainer.

You had felt yourself grow warm at that. It’s not like he’s not handsome, but he’s your trainer. That has to count against any sort of feelings being dredged up.

You don’t really know him, nor have you been acquainted with him for much longer than a couple of hours. Unless something of the sort does blossom, god forbid. You just don’t want to think of that.

A part of you, though, is almost curious. Certainly it couldn’t happen. He’s definitely not interested. Right?

You come in the next day. Wakasa welcomes you to the front.

“Rookie, we’re going to do something different today,” he informs you. You look at him questioning. “What do you mean?”

He leans over the counter. “We’re going to try doing some move practices in the ring.”

You gape at him. “Already? I thought we were going to do more drills?”

“I need to see something. You’re going to have to get used to some sparring.”

When he says this, you don’t know exactly what you’re in for.

Wakasa explains the general gist of it to you. He shows you the form and you mirror him the best you can. “This is for practice. I want to know if you’ve been watching those tapes.”

You have been. The fighters make it look incredibly easy. The swift movements, the footwork, all of it.

“I want you to swing at me. If we fumble around, it’s okay,” he says. So you do, you take a gander. You throw your fist back and he dodges it. He does the same, but you’re not quite good at blocking yet, so it nearly catches onto your shoulder.

You both continue like this for what feels like sometime. The videos had seemed clear cut, but maybe there were things you were missing. It also feels like Wakasa is toying with you. The way he seems to inch closer to you, the proximity almost dizzying.

You two go about this in an odd dance, a tangle of arms coming through and messy blocking. Wakasa somehow has completely blindsided you. He’s right behind you now, so when you swivel around he is entirely too close, his fist coming to a stop at your chin. He doesn’t move, remaining there for sometime.

The way he presses himself near you, knowing he shouldn’t be. He has a full strength advantage against you. Maybe sparring wasn’t the wise choice for you to start with today. Especially since you only think emotionally and not tactically.

Wakasa Imaushi is dangerous, lethal, in every capacity. He’s got years of experience and you’re just now learning. You know better than to move from this position. You asked for it; you made your grave. His lips come close to your ear, tickling against the bit of your loose hair. Curse him, curse his pretty face and that smile. “I win,” he murmurs, his voice causing goosebumps to crawl over your arms. He releases you then, fist coming down, and you take a few steps away from him. You’re frustrated.

The freaking tease. He did it on purpose. There’s a daring look in his eye directed at you. Your move.

When you go in for a right hook, he stops it with his hand easily. He seems to hold on a little tighter.

“This makes you vulnerable,” he moves a fist towards your stomach area. “See, right there, I could’ve taken you down. You’re open.”

He lets go, and you wipe the sweat from your face.

“We can go over some more fundamentals tomorrow,” he informs you. “At this rate, it’ll take you longer than six months to get the initial stuff down.”

You nearly choke on your water. “That much?! It takes that long to learn?”

Wakasa wraps his towel around his shoulder. “Yeah, did you not read that in one of your books?”

You sniff. “No, I just thought it was a few punches and kicks,” you gesture. You try to imitate the stances of cage fighters you’ve seen on television before. Wakasa takes up a relaxed posture, leaning against the ropes of the boxing ring.

“There’s training that goes into it, a lot of mental and strength building. So, if you want me to still help you, then—”

“That’s fine, I’ll be ready for it,” you say. You bounce already, eager for the next day. You feel the soreness, but not as bad as it was during the first week. Doing the drills Wakasa sets up for you has been much easier now, it's showing that your conditioning is working.

“We can start some core building tomorrow morning,” he states.

Your neck snaps up. “Tomorrow morning?”

You remembered then that Jun had called you the other night, drunk and lonely. He had begged you to come and see him. The dependent part of you had wanted to. He had asked you to meet at the café where you both used to go.

Wakasa nods slowly. “That’s what I said. Your work is in the afternoons, right? So why not?”

There’s an obvious choice here. You would have to pick the training time every week with Wakasa, it would diminish a lot of your social time. You think of Jun, alone and waiting for you. That feels much better than just lingering for him to notice you. Also, he can suffer for all that he’s done.

You smile, bright and happy. “Sounds good to me.”

The next few weeks, Wakasa has you on a rigorous schedule. You rise at five in the morning, and you’re done by eight before the gym opens up for public access. You do various drills, running through the fundamentals after. He teaches you the poses for each stance in boxing. “There’s The Orthodox Stance,” he makes the pose, pushing his left foot forward, gently. His fists raise to act as both shield and weapon.

He stands up straight, gesturing to a buddy. “Here with me today is Benkei. He’ll be my example.”

Benkei, a rather large man, comes into the ring, putting on his gloves. You watch the two of them carefully. “First, we will show you the offensive moves.” He calls out, introducing each one.

The jab, a short handed left punch he throws Benkei dodges easily. The hook and cross, his arm bending to form the crook as he throws another hit. The uppercut, a punch thrown upward with as much force as your torso can do. “The uppercut takes a lot of tension in the lower half, it helps propel it,” he explains.

The two of them relax their stances. You nod, trying to remember how to do each of those. “We won’t show you the defensive moves just yet, but if you want to try those out right now you can.”

“Right now?” You parrot out in shock.

“It’s practice,” Wakasa waves you up into the center. Benkei takes a seat on the side where the chair is.

You head back into the arena. You remember his words, doing the stance, pushing that left foot forward. Wakasa intently watches you, his gaze not looking away from your form. You feel really self-conscious between him and Benkei.

He hums, approaching you. “This arm needs to be moved here.” He grabs your wrist gently, moving it to the correct position. His thumb slides away then, you watch his fingers curiously, and he is close.

A lot closer than he should be. “Look up,” he lifts your face up. “Don’t lower your chin down. That can cause harm.”

His hand lingers for too long, unless you were imagining it. Benkei coughs off to your side. Wakasa’s eyes slide over to his pal there, giving him a harsh look.

You blink, confused by the reaction.

It goes like this in a back and forth. Where you repeat the motions of the offensive moves. He either stops you where you are, frozen in the spot, to adjust your hands to the right position. Waka reminds you of the dos and don’ts, the risks if you tuck your thumb into your fist. How one can even damage many bones at once with the impact of a single hit. You feel yourself paling at the thought. You didn’t want to fight professionally by any means, but you feel like this is something that would build your confidence. It’d give you reassurance and a push. It’s one of those things that is a great conversation starter. Oh, you do boxing, that’s so cool.

You just wanted to seem more interesting, and this is a start. Wakasa nods once, seeming happy with it. You feel you've been doing this for an eternity.

“Alright, we can begin with the defensive.”

You gulp. Wakasa does the usual of signaling Benkei over once more.

“For the defensive, you have the slip, where you move your head to the side,” he presents it. Benkei goes in for a strike and Wakasa avoids it with ease. He shows the block and finally the duck. All words that are easy to understand exactly what you’re supposed to do.

What shocks you the most is Wakasa asking for you to be on the defensive while he is on offense.

“Wait, shouldn’t it happen naturally?” You ask, the nerves hiking up.

“We’re getting you used to the feeling of them. We’ll do more set drills over these.”

You sigh, heading to where he is to do a repeat, except this time you have to defend yourself from Wakasa. “Relax,” he says. “I’ll go slow.” You worry a bit about that.

When he throws the jab at you, you panic, blocking it. Pure luck. Benkei makes a grunt of approval off to the side. You relax a little, feeling a little more confident. Wakasa throws another cross and you duck under it.

He does one more, the uppercut, which you successfully stop. Wakasa cracks his neck, relaxing his posture. “Good work,” he tells you. “I think we’re done for the day.”

You loosen up, removing your gloves. Benkei approaches, offering you water. “You’re doing good for a rookie. Congrats,” he gives you an affirmative nod and a small smile. You thank him, appreciating his gesture. To have someone like him acknowledge your strength. It makes you feel better about doing all of this.

You gather the rest of your things, ready to hit the showers. You turn to wave at the two of them, but you notice they seem deep in conversation. Wakasa looks bored as usual, but there’s a certain tenacity to his stance. You bite your lip, curious, but you know better than to eavesdrop.

So you decide to just tell them on your way out.

You take a warm shower, feeling your muscles ease from all the worked up energy and tension. You’ve been learning so much these last few weeks. It feels fantastic to gather that confidence. Jun hasn’t crossed your mind at all and Wakasa is a great teacher.

You’re glad you got over the hurdle of insulting him the first time you met. You value his companionship and his expertise. He’s becoming someone you can rely on. You trust him. Although you know nothing about him. You wonder, outside of the gym, what he does for his own entertainment.

You get out, dry yourself off and get dressed. Today was an off day for you from work, so you had the afternoon to sleep. Wakasa suddenly steps into the vicinity, right when you pull down your t-shirt. You startle after seeing him in the corner of your eye. “Oh my– Wakasa! You scared me!” You hold a hand over your heart.

He doesn’t bat an eye. Does he just always silently walk into the locker rooms like that? “What’re you doing after this?”

You blink at him. “It’s my day off, so I was just going home.”

“Let me treat you to some food,” he offers, his hands suddenly in his pockets. He has that crouched sort of posture. The yakitori stick in his mouth, rolling from side to side. You wonder if that’s an oral fixation that he has. You shoo that thought away, though.

“I mean, that sounds good to me, okay?” How kind of him, you think. You would’ve never thought he would do something like that.

He motions for you to hurry, exiting out of the room. You smile, you're feeling that familiar thrum. You decide to ignore that, tucking it comfortably away. Not now, you think. You must get stronger first.

The two of you walk down the path to a chain restaurant down the way. The bright yellow insignia of the place is welcoming. “It’s on me,” he says once you order. You shove your money away, stuffing it safely into the confines of your wallet.

“Oh, thank you!” You chirp.

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

The two of you sit across from one another, waiting on the order to be called. You are very aware now that you’re right across from Wakasa. The same irritatingly cocky man who’s been training you. You’re uncertain if you should be the first to speak. Perhaps he likes quiet lunches.

“Where do you work?” He asks, breaking that thought down immediately.

“I work at my family's office just doing the paperwork. We own a dental place. My dad and mom are the heads,” you tell him. He nods, seeming to take that in.

“Cool,” he murmurs. The server appears then, delivering your orders. He sips on his drink, not saying anything else.

You realize maybe it’s your turn to ask something. It’s how real conversations go.

“And you? Do you do anything outside of gym stuff?” You take a bite of your sandwich.

He leans back against his seat. “I train, go to meetings, and hang with my friends.”

You perk up at that. “Oh, are you a business major?”

Wakasa gives you a wry smile. “Something like that,” he covers his mouth, suppressing a grin. You’re not sure what the joke is.

You want to ask more, but you feel silly prodding him for an explanation. After it all, you both go your separate ways. Maybe it’s best to keep it that way, yet there’s that curious itch in you. You want to get to know him better. He’s an enigma in every way, but he’s been a reliable mentor to you. You want to at least give him the right to tell you himself.

“Why’d you want to pick up boxing?” He asks then. You’re surprised he didn’t ask you that previously. Back then, maybe he wanted to, but you just had given him the excuse of wanting to get stronger. Maybe he didn’t fully believe the reason.

You mull over the question more than you’d like. Wakasa waits, though, his presence comforting in a strange way. “I had a bad break-up,” you admit. You duck your head a little in shame. You don’t know why you feel guilty telling him the truth. “My ex told me I was weak, so I wanted to change myself. To prove him wrong. I wanted to do something for myself, for once.”

You wait, nervous about his response. What does he think of you? Would he think that’s a pathetic excuse? Something only pitiable people would do by taking those words to heart?

Wakasa leans forward then, his eyes searching your face. They’re the shade of the lilacs your mother used to grow out in the yard. “I think you’re changed,” he says. You look at him, wide eyed. “You’re stronger than you know.”

The familiar thrum returns, making your neck warm and your mood lighten.

After your time together, Wakasa heads off in a different direction from you.

You think about his words, how they juxtapose what Jun had told you. ‘I think you’re weak’ replaces itself with ‘you’re stronger than you know’ . You feel the familiar hum, your heart-warming itself. You think of Wakasa and his mysterious confidence, the way he speaks to you with conviction. He treats you not as someone less than but someone who is worth teaching. He is a fantastic pep talker, if that’s what you can call it.

You walk home feeling lighter than ever.

Benkei greets Wakasa back at the gym. The former eyeing him warily. “How did it go?”

Wakasa throws his keys on the table, sitting down on his cot. The silence stretches for a long period. “Fine,” he mumbles.

Benkei shakes his head, walking away. “I came to check on you, but it looks like you need more time to think.”

Wakasa pulls out one of his sticks from the back of his pocket. Benkei sighs, casually striding over. “You need to figure it out. There’s only so much I can say.”

Benkei leaves then, without another glance. Wakasa sits there, unmoving. He thinks of what he said to you today. He thinks of the way you were right there, across from him. At any point, he could’ve asked you properly. Instead, he can’t make the words come out. He had to do it in gestures or lingering touches. He’d hope you would catch on, but it’s going to be a lot harder than that. You were dense, unsurprising, though. You two had a work relationship, with some boundary treading on his part. He needed to not do that any longer. He can’t compromise this for you.

He can tell that relationships were off limits. He had to grapple with that. It’s odd to be on the receiving end of things for Wakasa. Typically, people of all kinds would leer at him. He’d usually beat them senseless if they got too close or he would ignore them. He’s never been the one with the one-sided feelings. Is this how Shinichiro used to feel? He exhales. Man, he misses him, especially in times like these.

He lays back, his arm over his face. “It’s like I’m fucking fifteen again,” he grouses.

You arrive at the usual time for training. When Wakasa welcomes you, there’s a certain tension in him. Something was off about him. Usually, Wakasa would come in with a light tease, maybe a little “Hey, Rookie.” There was none of those greetings. Something about today was different.

He seems to be dead set on not recognizing your presence in its entirety. He is supposed to be training you. So he would have to either way be in his line of sight. Whether or not he likes it.

When you finish up your drills, Wakasa seems to rush through the lessons. Not the familiar quickening of pace, but a hurried snap of the fingers. Almost as if he’s trying to get rid of you. What is his deal? He’s not usually like this. It’s unexpected, even for him.

“Hey, Wakasa,” you approach him during the water break. “Is everything okay?”

He looks at you, his mouth pressed in a firm line. “Yeah.”

You swallow, feeling odd. He’s lying to you. There’s something obviously bothering him. Could he not entrust you with it? How did the Wakasa from the other day who told you those encouraging words go from that to this? Right now, he’s showing a much more callous side of him. It causes your frustration to break through. “How about this?” you offer. “We spar, we go slow, and if I can dodge your hits, at least three. You tell me what’s wrong.”

Wakasa licks his lips. “Alright, I can work with that.”

You’re happy he agrees. At least it’s a start somewhere.

The two of you take your stances, Wakasa goes for an uppercut and you block it. The frustration builds again when he throws a few hooks and jabs. You dodge each of those, surprised by how fast he’s going. He seems irritated. It couldn’t have been something you did, right? It should’ve stopped, but he keeps going; disregarding your agreement entirely.

Maybe you had said something off? “Wakasa, you’re not going slow,” you tell him, barely missing a strike to the face.

He’s really going for blood, it seems. You do your best to evade the onslaught. Wakasa seems intently focused, like he’s no longer there. It’s just pure instinct leading him. It felt like guarding against a feline. The way he moves, agile and swift. Fine , if he’s going to get lost in this, then so will you.

You move backward, the side-to-side motions he matches with. The training you’ve endured shining through this. All of your movements have become second nature.

“Wakasa,” you call out again. You’re determined to understand what’s happening. “What’s going on? Please talk to me!”

Wakasa moves then, suddenly close, his uppercut coming for your chin. You stop it just in time, but a hook comes right to your side. He stops then, not at all hitting you. You feel the glove against your waist. His breathing is heavy, his eyes holding yours. You felt caged in. Just you and him.

“You’re open,” he rumbles. You look up at him in awe. The way he’s looking at you, his eyes are so bright. They seem to say something, luring you close. They’re like the way a feline catches their prey, getting low and slinking towards them to attack. You’re drawn in. You feel you could drown in the depths of him.

His head dips low, you can feel his breath much closer now, his lips nearly brushing against yours. Your heart pounds in your ear. He might not be in the right frame of mind. You want to, but you also need to bring him back. “Wakasa?”

He breaks away then, creating a distance that was not there before. Wakasa Imaushi has always been a puzzle. There is almost a simplicity to how he is. You like to think you figured it out. He holds himself to constant diligence. It’s all in the way he carries himself. Today, this was not one of those days for you. He has become unreadable in your eyes.

He swallows, not saying a single word now. What was that? Your mind supplies. That couldn’t have been.

“Let’s take a break from this,” he begins. He trails off, not sure where to elaborate. Your mood tanks then. Is he serious? Wakasa Imaushi being the one to call it quits. He has some nerve.

“What are you implying?”

“I’m saying we should stop this. We should stop this training. We take a break,” he suggests.

You do the best thing you can do. You argue with him. “No! What, we were just getting started! It’s only been a month!”

Wakasa cannot even spare you a single glance. He avoids your opposition and the way you look at him like you can’t believe what he’s doing.

“I’m the trainer, so I get the say. If I call it off, it’s off.”

You shake your head, hurrying to take your gloves off so you can actually hit him across the face. “You asshole! You can’t just do that. I paid you money for this.”

“I’m doing it now. I’ll refund you. Every bit.”

Your breath comes out as a shaky exhale. You can’t believe the words he’s forming right now. He sounds so much like a coward. “You’re running away,” you declare. He looks at you now, a fire that was not there before. It’s different from the passion he exhibited earlier.

“I’m not. I think we just need some time.”

“You need time,” you push. “You’re the only one who wants this.”

Wakasa has never once looked angry. He may have expressed a general detachedness, or an air of indifference, but there is one thing you can be sure of. He never looked at you with such contempt. As if you were the last person on earth he’d ever want to be with.

You won’t back down, even if he’s pissed at you, for whatever reason. You’re telling him the truth. The least he could do was do the same.

Wakasa does not yield, though. He climbs out of the arena, heading over to the counter. You jog after him. He pulls out every bit of money you had paid him, slapping it on the counter. “Take it and go.”

“I told you I won’t!” You shout. You’re trying your best to keep it cool, but this is maddening. Why won’t he just talk to you? “You have been nothing but helpful, so why?” You demand. “Why are you just throwing this all away?”

“This is the last time I say this, Rookie,” he spits out your nickname. “Get the hell out of my gym.” His voice lowering, incredibly even.

You shatter at that. He has no reason to treat you so coldly. You feel the overwhelming, crushing weight of rejection. He’s going to stop training you, you won’t get to see him anymore.

The utter disdain on his face is a grim reminder of what happens when you fully open up. This is the exact reason. Everything Wakasa has done for you disappears. He’s gone too far. You throw the money onto the ground, stalking off. You feel weak and you tremble. You will not cry in front of him. You won’t let him see that.

You grab all your things, walking quickly towards the front when Benkei and another man come in.

“Oh, hey, Rookie!” You push past them, apologizing and leaving as fast as you can.

You run out into the street. You don’t know how long you go, sprinting down the alleys. You’re gasping by the time you're done, the pain in your side making you forget what happened, for just a moment.

You slide against the wall; the crying begins. That horrible, disgusting heaviness coming back in full force. You hiccup, folding into yourself. Once again left in shambles.

Nothing hurt more than this. Not Jun’s breakup, not anything like this. Wakasa wounded you, and all you can do is cry.

You’re worried it won’t ever be the same.

There’s a beat of silence until Benkei’s face contorts into anger. “Hey, what the hell was that?”

Wakasa ignores him, gripping the sides of the counter harshly. He feels the immediate regret overwhelming him. Why the fuck did I do that? He wants to break windows, smash someone’s face in.

“What did you do, Waka?” Benkei asks again, much more resolutely. Takeomi watches them warily, sighing.

“Something you won’t be proud of,” Wakasa mutters darkly.

Benkei stalks over to the counters, reaching over and grabs him by the collar. “What’s not stopping me from beating that shit attitude out of you?” Those two haven’t fought since they were teens. They’ve never laid hands on each other, not since Shinichiro was there. Not since he made them become good companions, a team.

Takeomi stomps on his cigarette, needing to intervene. If Shinichiro had been here, he would’ve already had this mediated. “Hey, now–”

“I think I made a mistake,” Wakasa murmurs softly. The two of them look at him, their friends’ eyes glazed over. They’ve never seen him look like this.

Benkei releases him. “I’m asking you one more time, what happened?”

Wakasa licks his lips, lowering his head. He starts from the beginning.

Mei comes over immediately the following week, staying with you to comfort you. “I can’t believe this. You were doing so much already.”

You sniffle lightly into the bedding. “I’m just tired. I don’t want to talk or even think about it anymore.”

Mei nods, rubbing your back gently. “I’m super sorry. It just seemed like it was working out so well.”

You nod. You had done your work mutely, your parents worrying about why you seemed so down. You needed space, time to think. It hurt, remembering how Wakasa had looked at you. How he had viewed you as something to be thrown aside.

He was the one, a part of you battles with that thought. He’s the one who started it.

You think back at the proximity, the downwards tilt of his chin, his eyes drawing you in. He was alluring, having held this gravitational pull to reel you in. You almost kissed him. You wanted to. Your heart felt it in that moment that it meant so much more.

He pushed you away, but maybe it’s more of an issue with him than it is with you. It’s something he’s grappling with. Maybe he’s the same, not letting anyone too close. He closes himself off because it’s easier to do so.

That makes you more upset at the thought. What you really want to do is fight him. This time where he actually spars with you. He had not gone the pace you asked of him. He had pushed it. He tread a line. How much of this mentor-mentee relationship had been passing through boundaries?

You grumble, burying your head into a pillow. Mei rubs your back in soothing circles.

“Did you maybe want to go see a movie? Go out to Harajuku or we might eat somewhere nice.”

You have a great idea. It’s been a while since you’ve been out on the town. “How about we go clubbing?”

“Where?” Mei asks.

You smile, a mischievous grin. “Kantou area, they have some good bars over there.”

Mei nods. “Let’s do it!”

You find that it’s relaxing getting yourself together. There’s something peaceful in presenting your best side–appearance wise to the rest of the world. It really shows through that you’re not letting whatever knocks you down win.

It’s rejuvenating and being with Mei helps that.

Your dress is a tight fit, one that hugs your body in a way that gives you an enticing look. You’re nervous about wearing something like this, but it’s a cleanse. It's a part of the healing process of rejection , or so says Mei.

The two of you head into a place called Snake’s Den, with a huge, massive dance floor in the center, and a long island bar floating at the back. The booths and tables are at the ends of the area, away from the center, where the massive amounts of people are already jiving to a pounding bass.

You and Mei head to the side, avoiding the dancing bodies and the leering men.

Once you get to the bar, you already begin a tab with the bartender. You needed a drink; you needed to get out. To mingle or something. The bartender slides over the yuzushu², a citrus beverage with alcohol. You down the drink without hesitation. Mei gives you a serious look.

“That was fast? Hey, make sure you don’t drink too much,” she warns.

You wave a hand dismissively. “We’re celebrating a night of farewells.” The thought of Wakasa creeps in your mind, you grimace. He needs to go away. You wave the bartender over, asking for a few other drinks.

You continue like this, going to dance a bit with Mei and getting more drinks, alternating between water and alcohol.

“We should order something to eat,” Mei suggests. When the food comes around, you eat the edamame and the tsukune². Hopefully to weigh down the lightheadedness kicking in.

You order more drinks, chatting and laughing with Mei. Its good being around people again, especially a great friend.

What you don’t realize, in the back corner of the booth area, there is the one person you didn’t want to see. Takeomi, Benkei and Wakasa had just arrived at Snake’s Den.

The three of them keep an eye out for someone to do a deal with. Takeomi assures them the guy is good. Wakasa rarely does things like this, leaving it up to Takeomi. A part of him is sure it’s because his friend is trying to cheer him up. In the worst way possible.

“So,” Takeomi says. It’s been some time since they've relaxed like this. Just the three of them. “How’s the stuff going along?” He makes a wince, realizing the error in the question.

Wakasa narrows his eyes. “What do you think?”

Benkei gives him a warning glance. “Takeomi is just trying to help, even if it’s incorrect.”

He shakes his head, already exhausted.

Wakasa’s glare is deadly. “You know I don’t drink or smoke, right? I don’t enjoy these areas like you do, Takeomi.”

He shrugs, draping his arm over the booth. “I know. You needed some fresh air. You punching your knuckles raw will not help either.”

Wakasa moves his jaw. Sometimes, he wishes his friends could just let him be at peace with his own mistakes, but he knew better. Shinichiro wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone, he knows this. They all do.

He tries to relax, trying not to think of you. The way you had been so malleable moments before and then in tears the next. Him being the cause. It made a pit form in his stomach. He was never supposed to get close. He only meant for this to stay strictly professional. Wakasa felt damned the minute you challenged him. It felt continuous. The way he had left clues for you. His hands brushing against skin, against your hair, seeing you sweat. You struggled your way through it all. He felt proud of those moments. Thankful you wouldn’t see the way he looks at you. He had toyed with you too much, the unabating sensation of you. Wakasa didn’t realize how much he hungered for it. How much of that was stagnant inside of him?

Takeomi orders drinks for the three of them, specifying that Wakasa only gets water. The server leaves. He understands now that he won’t be able to leave until he looks like he’s at least going to get some enjoyment out of this.

He crosses his arms, glancing around the dance floor, the amount of people here invasive.

Wakasa, really to put it delicately, hates his friend sometimes.

You had gotten done with one of too many shots. For whatever reason, something catches your eye. You look around the table areas, all of them full to the brim with people chatting, drinking and laughing. You like to watch people, but then a specific table of three stops you in your tracks. The glass of liquor is not even touching your mouth.

Over by the booth area, sitting there amongst the flashing lights and various people parting away from dancing. You see him . Wakasa Imaushi is right there. You squint, trying to set your glass down, nearly knocking it over.

It couldn’t be. There’s no way. He looked to be talking with Benkei in the middle and Takeomi on the other side. He doesn’t seem like someone who enjoys this sort of scene, so why is he here?

You feel the warmth again, of seeing him looking okay, but the anger that you had stored up within you resurfaces. It lashes out. You smack Mei beside you, who is in a deep talk with an investor. “Mei,” you say. You shake her shoulder. “Mei!”

She says goodbye to the man, who throws an uneasy look your way, leaving her. Mei swivels around, frowning. “Are you kidding me?! He was cute! What do you want?”

“It’s him,” you say.

Mei raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Who? Is it Jun?” She stretches her neck, looking for him. You shake your head, getting her attention.

“No, worse. It’s him,” you repeat with a stronger emphasis.

Mei gasps. “Where?! The guy from the gym? He’s here?”

“He’s at one of the back tables with his friends. What’s he doing here?” You whine, the ache in your heart wedging itself into your ribs. You can’t do this again. You can’t face him.

“Him?!” Mei yells over the music, spotting the general direction you pointed in. “Oh my gosh, he is hot.”

“No!” You shout. Mei looks hard at the table, trying to see him better. “No, he isn’t. Don’t give him that. Also, don’t stare!”

Mei looks at you like you’re insane. “But you also think he’s hot?”

You puff out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, he is, but he’s so–”. Your mind conjures up the incident, a horrible reminder of why you’re here. To forget about that. To forget about how he talked to you. How he told you to leave. He’s the one who should drink himself in regret. Wakasa should drown in guilt. Why is it always you left to suffer?

Mei gives you a sly look, all too knowing. “I mean, he seems willing if he tried to kiss you–”

“Don’t say it,” you groan.

“Sex!” Mei shouts, giddy. “You two could just have sex. Why not! It’d be fun. You have done nothing since your ex. You need to get out there.”

“Need I remind you why we’re here,” you say through clenched teeth. “It’s because he told me to leave. He kicked me to the curb!”

Mei grimaces. “I mean, that’ll just make it sexier, I think.”

“No, Mei!”

This is getting you nowhere.

You shake your head, slapping your cheeks. This time, people looked in your general direction. “He can’t stand me, and I can’t stand him. I’m going over there,” you say. You stand up straight, but your feet ache. You down the rest of your drink.

Mei tries to stop you, worried. “No, you should not. You’re going to get laughed at!”

You remove her hand away from you. “I have something to prove. He won’t one up me this time!”

“He’s not picking a fight with you!” Mei hollers, making a face. “There’s no stopping that one,” she narrates to herself, sipping her martini. Mei plucks out the olive to eat while eyeing you from afar in interest. “Might as well buckle in for this.”

You groan. “Stupid fucking shoes!” You snap, you remove the heels, flinging them somewhere away from you on the dance floor. There are shouts in the direction you flung them in. “Hey! Who the hell threw shoes?!” You hear.

You ignore it, with a one track mind. You take note offhandedly that Wakasa has his hair down³. It’s gorgeous. He really is a handsome man. You sneer. This isn’t the time to be smitten by him. You remind yourself to focus.

You will get him back. You nearly fall over, but you slam your hands down onto the table; alerting the surrounding men.

Wakasa looks up, not reacting, but you can see the way his jaw ticks. Huh, that is attractive. No! Your mind screams. Focus.

“Excuse me, gentleman,” you don’t realize it, but you’re slurring. You feel heavy and warm. All three of them look up at you. Wakasa’s expression remains unchanging. The lights of the club give him a stunning glow.

“What’re you doing?” Wakasa has the audacity to ask. He sounds irate. What reason does he have to sound that way?

You pull your dress down, you can feel it riding up your thighs. “You,” you point directly at him. “I have a bone to pick with you?”

Wakasa eyes you intently. He’s unsure of what you’re playing at. “Why?”

“We need to finish what we started–back at the gym. Or here, I don’t care. I’m going to win this time at our spar.”

His two friends next to him watch the interaction. Benkei coughs. “I think she needs you to confirm some things.”

Takeomi’s smoke rises away from the table, puffing in interest. Wakasa gives them each a chilling glare, then his bored eyes meet yours.

“Let’s go outside,” he offers, getting up. You huff, once again pulling at the hem of your silly dress. You were going to kill Mei over this. “Well excuse me, men.”

You follow him, the way he doesn’t look back to even see if you’re there, firing you up more. He’s such an ass. Once you thought that. In some weird moment, as if he could hear your thoughts. Wakasa stops to check on you, probably realizing his mistake. Huh? You think. “Here, grab my hand,” he offers.

There’s a sudden push right then. “Move, bitch!” A burly man grunts out. The sheer force of him throwing you off balance.

Wakasa catches you in his arms, the two of you glaring at the respected man.

“Hey!” You holler before Wakasa can say anything.

The man turns to the two of you, unimpressed. “You don’t fucking push a lady, asshole!” You say, getting into his face.

The man’s about to say something, but whatever is going on around you goes unnoticed. You don’t realize the way Wakasa looks viciously at the man or the fact that he realizes Takeomi and Benkei both rise from their seats at seeing the altercation. The man looks around, not even concerned with you, now.

“Whatever, watch your girl, man. Or someone else will.” He threatens before stalking off. Wakasa watches him leave. He throws a glance at Benkei and Takeomi, then grabs you by the arm. “Hey!” You gripe at him, resisting.

When you both reach out into the back alley, he releases you. “What is your problem?!” You snap at him.

Wakasa looks at you. He runs a hand through his hair. “No, I should ask you that?”

“What?” You hiss. “You can’t beat me to that. You’re the one with the problem? What is going on with you?”

He scowls then. “What’re you doing here?”

How dare he keep asking over your own questions! “I told you,” you grit your teeth. “I’m here to finish what we started back at the gym. You didn’t finish your lesson, and you called it quits before we even got the chance.”

His eyes search you, you’ve never seen him gauge you like this before. Unless he’s just been really good at hiding it this time. “We called it quits that day because we needed a break.”

“No!” You retort. “You were the one who needed a break. You said it.”

Wakasa’s frown deepens. “It was, for both of our sakes. I went too far. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You were going to kiss me,” you slur. In your drunken haze, the puzzle pieces clicked together. You knew then, kind of, but now you definitely know. “I have a lot to say about that.”

“That—” He breaks off, not looking at you. “I knew it wasn’t a good time, but you keep–.”

He’s so wrong. “Are you accusing me now?” You interrupt, losing a bit of your balance, already dizzy. The drinks you chugged catching up to you. Wakasa eyes you, his brows furrowing.

“You’re inebriated. We can’t have this conversation right now.”

Your hand presses against his chest. He holds onto your wrist, making sure you don’t fall over. “Oh, we are and we can have this conversation now,” the words don’t come out. They’re in a mumbled mess. Wakasa doesn’t smile at all. He looks serious, in the way he always does. Though in the dim lighting of the alley, he looks at you with questioning eyes. He seems uncertain, trying to hold you at arm’s length in the metaphorical sense.

“You were going to kiss me! And that’s not fair, cause you know why? I wanted to kiss you too!” You jab a finger into his chest then, nearly losing your footing, but you grab onto him.

Wakasa’s gaze softens considerably, that look in his eye no longer accusatory.

“Yup,” you say. “I did, and you know why! Because I think you’re incredibly attractive and I think about all the times you would touch me, which also you should be careful about,” you warn. You lean to the side a little and Wakasa grabs you by the waist.

“Okay, hey, that's enough,” he tries to stop you.

You move too much in his hold. “No! Listen to me, it’s my turn! I like you and you’re weak to not have kissed me. So I’m going to do it first–” you purse your lips, attempting to stand on your tiptoes. Wakasa is at a loss for what to do, but grabs you by the shoulders to not let you get any closer.

“Hey, we can’t do this right now,” he murmurs. You suddenly hiccup, pressing your forehead against his chest. You hide there for a moment. You can hear his heartbeat, a residual thud that is constant and soothing. You want to stay like this. You know better, though. You knew exactly the route this would go down. You’re tired of tucking away your feelings, keeping them for safety. If he takes it, it shouldn’t be your problem. But it is. The thought of him not feeling the same way. Your lower lip trembles.

“I hope you like me back,” you whisper more to yourself than him. You feel the prickle of tears. Wakasa wraps his arms around you; a gentle squeeze. He’s warm. He smells good. That sort of refreshing mint scent that lingers with him. It’s calming. You snuggle your face close to him. “I like you a lot, even when I shouldn’t, because of my past relationship and the fact that you’re my trainer,” you confess.

Wakasa rubs your back, trying not to touch your skin too much. Your cursed dress had an open back. He can hear you start to snore. Seriously?

He pulls you back and your head lolls to the front. “Hey, wake up, you got to go back–”

You moan, pushing on his chest. “My stomach.” You try to move backward, but he stops you from it. You don’t have the words to tell him you felt ill.

“Wait–”

You pull away, leaning over, the sounds of vomiting coming from you. Wakasa sighs, feeling entirely unsurprised, just accepting it. He can sense the bile on his shoes. Shit.

You collapse back into his arms, snoring.

“I can take her home,” Wakasa says to Mei.

Mei eyes you worriedly, then back at him. “Alright, but take good care of her. Don’t tell her she puked on you. She will die from embarrassment.”

Wakasa waves her off. “It’s fine,” he glances towards his friends, waving them over. “Can you two get Mei home?” Benkei nods to that, glancing at you being carried.

“And this one?” He gestures.

“I’ll take care of her. We got some stuff to talk about.” The three people around him notice the way he holds you; as if you were something special. Something he wouldn’t want to let go of.

Takeomi raises a brow, a cheeky grin on him. “Finally.”

Wakasa gazes at you while you’re asleep in his cot. He’s unsure of what to do, since that time before he’s been trying to banish every single thought of you.

All of the lessons and the planning. Every single thought of you since the beginning has distracted him. Just you . It grew frustrating. No one has ever been on his mind that much. The way you would come in and just flip his world around. There’s not many people who he finds amusing, so you existing, and being around really turned everything outward.

All the times he’s felt being near you. It’s odd, for someone like him, to feel those certain emotions. He thinks of Shinichiro who was so desperate to have a relationship, getting shot down every single time. It was admirable. He never really put himself out there that much. So being in this situation, where his friend once was, is just off.

Benkei had realized it before him. There were times he’d be there, observing the two of you. Benkei noticed how often Wakasa looked at you. He had pointed it out, it made him feel exposed.

It’s like an open wound he carries; a massive lesion that no matter how many times he patches up, it never fully heals. Wakasa liking you, felt exactly like being punched in the face, but the thrill of that after never leaving. It’s all the times he’s faced off against titans and won. When he would freely maneuver in the air, having these emotions, strong and heady felt exactly like flying. It made his blood thrum through his veins. The same way he would walk away from fights bloodied, grinning, and alive.

It’s both exhilarating and a heavy weight he carries. He stares at your sleeping form and he walks over to you. Wakasa watches the way your chest rises and falls, curled into yourself. His hand brushes against your cheek, gently moving hair away from your face. He leans close to whisper in your ear. “I’m sorry for everything.”

When you wake up in the morning, there are three things that are obvious.

You are not in your apartment, your head is pounding horribly, and there are insistent sounds of something being struck.

You try to think, but you wince. “Ouch, it feels like I got shat out,” you mumble, rubbing your temples.

Your memory is blurry as you try to remember the events that led you to here. You remember you were with Mei; you had been drinking; you saw Wakasa, and then you followed him.

Then it hits you all at once. You had told him things that night. You had laid your heart bare to him. It was there, out in the open, for him to examine. You just can’t remember the after. Why are you here? You recognize it looks an awful lot like the gym.

Wakasa’s words from a while returning to you. “My home is this gym.” You gasp. You’re in Wakasa’s room. You look around then.

A simple bed, a desk, a bookshelf, some appliances. Oh god. You’re here with Wakasa. You went home with Wakasa.

The panic sets in and you feel dizzy. A mixture of both the headache and the feeling of seeing him again.

You had hugged him; you had told him everything. You slap your forehead. He must really think you’re horrible. A wretched person. Someone foolish enough to fall for their trainer.

Idiot.

You continue hearing that specific noise of chains rattling. You gather your bearings; you try to breathe calmly. Could you face him like this? How you look must be a serious mess.

You wish you could at least call Mei or conjure up some mirror to fix your appearance.

When you finally muster up the courage, you feel your nerves take over. You would have to see him. The conversation wasn’t over that night. He hasn’t even apologized to you about kicking you out. He completely cut it off.

You do some breathing exercises to relax. You do not know what he’s going to say. How does he view you now after all that has been done? You cannot bear to be on the receiving end of that look.

You shake your head. You need to go out there. You need to end this. Even though you don’t want it to. You want to cling desperately to those feelings. You never want to let go of all the good you had with Wakasa. Being with him, whether it was as acquaintances or a trainer giving advice, he had made you feel better.

You didn’t want that to change.

Ultimately, a decision needed to be made.

You find him over by the punching bags and he is tearing into one. He’s moving quickly, the bag seeming to bend every time he strikes it, doing more impressive kicks to it. Wakasa in action is truly dangerous.

You stand there for a moment in awe, unsure of what to say. You haven’t seen him since then, at least not sober. Wakasa stops then, landing one more harsh kick against the side causing the bag to jostle and the chain to rattle loudly. His shoulders slump, exhausted. He must’ve been doing that for a while.

Wakasa looks at you then, his eyes sharper than usual. You swallow, your heart thumping much more loudly. “Hey,” you say weakly. You want to wring yourself around the neck. Be confident.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks, walking over to one of the metal chairs. Beside it all of his things are there, including a water bottle.

When he removes his boxing gloves, you notice his knuckles are healing over. They looked to have been torn up from a fight. You try to look away, but he catches you staring.

He waits then. You need to give him a response to his question at some point. “Never better,” you say. You scowl. “No, that's not what I wanted to say. I want to talk to you.”

He sits on the chair then, leaning forward. “About?”

You realize he will not make this easy. Somehow that makes you more upset. “Don’t you have a few things to say to me first?”

You both stare at one another in a standstill. Wakasa looks away then, shaking his head.

“Wakasa, you owe me an explanation. You can at least give me that courtesy,” you say, crossing your arms. You feel barren. Entirely too open for your own good.

He juts his jaw forward stubbornly. “I struggle with this,” he says finally. He swallows. You can tell whatever he’s trying to voice is hard for him. “I did a lot of shit and you know this is one time I didn’t feel proud of it.”

You wrinkle your brows together, trying to parse together what he even means. “I hurt you. I pushed you away after everything. I didn’t explain an ounce of anything other than our training.” Wakasa looks down at his hands, his finger tracing against the calluses on his palm. “Being around you feels exactly like all the times I’ve gotten into fights. When I’m in the moment, I feel exactly what you make me feel.”

Your lips part, your neck growing warm. Is this a confession? It has to be right?

“Wakasa,” you say his name like it is a breath wedged between your ribs and lungs.

“I feel intense when I’m around you. I want to be in your space, in your hands and everywhere all at once.” He admits this out loud: it makes you feel alive . You’ve heard nothing like this before. It felt sentimental and secretive; and it’s being shared with you. This is what Wakasa has been hiding from you since you’ve known him. Those feelings are made clear now. Is this how he has been feeling for you this entire time?

He sits there for a moment, the silence the only thing between you two. You should say something to that. Anything. You just can’t. Your mouth finally moves.

“Wakasa, I didn’t know. I mean I thought I suspected, but I told myself I was imagining it.” The tears well up despite yourself. He’s been feeling these emotions the whole time. That’s painful, you think. To be alone with such thoughts of someone who may or may not want you back. You were only there to be under his instruction, he knew that better than anyone else, you leaving eventually is expected. You don’t want to leave, but you don’t know how to tell him.

“Did you mean everything you said last night?” Wakasa casts an attentive gaze towards you. That’s a question begging to be answered. Your stomach turns inside of you, the anxiety of admitting to him everything you feel. There it is. Your weakness. You don’t want to.

Your heart wants to say: yes, yes I did mean it. I liked you since the first time I caught eyes with you; but you’re terrified. You don’t want this to end up being something that ends almost immediately. Your heart cannot take that again. It cannot live with itself being broken, only to heal with crooked pieces in place.

Wakasa is still waiting for your response. His face betrays his inner feelings, but his eyes tell so much. It’s like a magnetic pull.

You hesitate, you don’t know what to say. You want to save yourself from the embarrassment of another confession and another broken heart. Pathetic. It’s a weakness. You realize all along Jun had a point in what he told you.

You had asked him for honesty and he did that for you. You cannot do the same for him. “I don’t remember,” you reveal, the hesitation loud and clear. You look away from him, down at his feet. You cannot bear the weight of that gaze any longer.

Wakasa is quiet for a moment. Then you can hear him inhale sharply, turning away from you. He gathers everything with him, packing it up. When he finally has everything ready, he’s going to walk out of that door and never turn to face you. You will no longer hear him give directions on your form or the way he looks at you with so much in those eyes. You will never get to be around him.

That is worse than the exposure of your embarrassment or vulnerability; losing him hurts so much more than any of that.

You follow him. He had given you exactly what you wanted. Wakasa laid his heart out for you to accept it, yet you spit it right back. You feel the crushing force of shame. How could you be so cowardly?

“Wait–Wakasa, please , wait!” You call out to him. Everything feels smothering. You don’t want to lose him.

He continues onward, shaking his head. You feel your chest tighten. The tears welling up. “Wait, goddammit! Let me explain, please!” Your voice rising to a panic.

Wakasa pauses, still not facing you, but you can tell his shoulders are tense. He’s breathing heavily. You swallow, gaining the courage. Since everything that has happened, you recognize now that you are not weak. His words from before coming back to you. You’re stronger than you know. It was Wakasa who had given you that word, and you will continue to show that he is right.

You always stopped yourself from moving forward, from letting others really get to know you deep down. You were the brakes, the glowing red light that caused people to leave you eventually and you would let them.

Not this time. You won’t be. You will tell him. Just how he told you so much without even a word. There was always a promise there. “I lied. I know what you’re thinking. How can you trust anything that comes out of my mouth?” You control your breathing, but you feel the nausea. “I like you so much. I think I did since I first met you when you gave me your unsolicited advice.” You laugh a little through tears. “Between the times you would tease me or encourage me. I think not being able to be around you anymore because of my mistake of letting you go would hurt so much more.” The tears fall then, unabashedly. You let them. He needs to know. “I am weak, that is correct, but I am strong in so many ways. I want to be strong in every capacity. So, I like you. I meant every word last night. Every single thing. I meant it.”

You let it out into the air. It is fully up to him now. Whether he will want to stay with you or let you go, not taking anything you said for certain. That will just be something you will have to live with. You feel the cracks beginning again, that shattering. This time, though, it hurts more. It is raw, and it is like the sensation of a gaping wound. The loss of something before it even began.

What you do not expect is Wakasa, a quiet, collected Wakasa Imaushi to take deliberate steps towards you, dropping his things.

He cups your face, his thumbs wiping your tears away. Wakasa moves close, his lips touching your forehead. You sigh, absolutely at peace with this. A simple action can mean so much. That is all he has ever done. Those hands were always the gentlest part about him.

“Go home,” he murmurs against your skin. Your heart sinks at that. Wakasa makes a face at your disheartened look, his eyes drawing you in. He has so much more to say. “I want you to get cleaned up, and then meet me here.”

“Oh,” you say shakily. “I thought I was going to be banished from here.”

Wakasa pulls away from you, studying your face. His eyes oozed with ardor. “I am going to do so many things to make it up to you. Just come back to me.”

You feel yourself grow warm. Oh. “I mean, there’s a convenience store nearby where I can get a toothbrush and bathe here,” you say in a daze.

Wakasa’s coquettish grin appears at your suggestion. “Works for me,” he says smoothly.

When you wake up, you’re close to him, covers draped over both of your bodies. His hair is messy, but his face is serene in the morning light. You look at him, memorizing every inch of him. The way he sleeps on his stomach and the gentle breathing you find comfort in. You touch his cheek, your fingers tenderly moving to trace his brow line.

Your heart flutters fondly. You adore him. It’s incredible how quickly the feelings developed. You’re drawn to him, absolutely infatuated. He had the arrogance of someone who had every right. A knowing presence with his quips and reassurance. He never once belittled you. He always took great care in reminding you how capable you really were. You kiss him lightly on the nose, moving closer to him.

His eyes open slowly, like hyacinths in spring. He hums. “Good morning,” you say, heart pounding.

Wakasa drapes an arm over you, his hand rubbing against your arm. He moves then to be on his side. His hand coming back to touch your face. Wakasa kisses you. His lips gently prodding yours open, you moan lightly against him. It’s unfair how gentle he is. He breaks away then to look at you. “Did you sleep alright?” He asks then.

You nod, bringing yourself close to kiss his shoulder. “I did, and you?”

He smiles, a genuine, not teasing grin. It is brilliant. “Never better.”

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