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The practice gym wasn’t anything special—fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow on worn mats that had seen too many hours of bodies hitting them. It smelled faintly of sweat and rubber, an atmosphere built for repetition, not inspiration. But Natsuki couldn’t help being here. Or, more specifically, couldn’t help being around Shin. The guy had this uncanny ability to make even the most ridiculous requests sound like impossible-to-refuse orders.
Natsuki leaned against the wall, arms crossed, trying to seem disinterested as Shin fiddled with the training dummy’s settings. Shin was absurdly focused, as always, his brow furrowed in concentration. It annoyed Natsuki how even mundane things looked good on him. Actually, everything about Shin annoyed Natsuki these days.
“You planning to fight that thing all night, or are we actually doing this?”
Shin glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Patience, Seba. I’m setting it up, so I can tire myself out a bit more. Just so you don’t get knocked flat in thirty seconds.”
“Oh, please,” Natsuki scoffed, pushing off the wall. “I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, might actually have to think this time.”
Shin’s lips quirked in a faint smirk. “We’ll see about that.”
And there it is, Natsuki thought bitterly, watching that stupid smirk. It wasn’t fair. Shin didn’t even have to try, while Natsuki was left trying to bury feelings he didn’t even want in the first place. It wasn’t even the words that bothered Natsuki; it was the way Shin made everything feel… complicated. He's not really used to feeling this way.
Natsuki leaned back against the wall, his eyes unfocused as he let his thoughts drift. Shin was... frustrating. Not just because he was a walking magnet for attention, but because he somehow made every situation feel like it mattered. It wasn’t the kind of intensity you could just ignore. Whether it was training, a quick spar, or even just a stupid conversation, Shin threw himself into everything like it was the most important thing in the world. And it made Natsuki feel like he was always missing something, like he wasn’t measuring up in some way he couldn’t quite figure out. Everything Shin did had a purpose, even the smallest gestures. And maybe that was what bothered him the most—that Shin made him feel so aware of everything, as if Natsuki couldn’t afford to just exist in the background anymore. That smirk, that unshakable confidence—it made it damn near impossible to forget he was there.
Shin stepped onto the mat, gesturing for Natsuki to join him. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”
“Oh, I’ll show you,” Natsuki muttered under his breath, rolling his shoulders as he stepped forward.
The sparring began with sharp movements and a rhythm born of familiarity. Shin’s precision and strength were evident in every strike, his mind-reading giving him an edge against most opponents. But Natsuki was clever, feinting unpredictably and using his agility to stay just out of reach.
For all his cocky demeanor, Natsuki was no match for Shin in brute force. Still, he had his moments.
“You’re holding back,” Shin said after sidestepping a kick that wasn’t nearly as fast as it could’ve been.
“Am I?” Natsuki’s tone was playful, but his thoughts betrayed him. Of course I am, idiot. You’re terrifying when you go all out.
Shin frowned. “Don’t. I don’t need you to go easy on me.”
Natsuki blinked, caught off guard. “Who says I am?”
“Your brain,” Shin replied dryly.
“Nosy,” Natsuki muttered, darting in with a sudden sweep that almost caught Shin’s legs. Almost.
The match grew more heated, their movements faster, strikes sharper. At some point, Natsuki managed to lock Shin’s arm and sweep him to the ground, pinning him with a triumphant grin.
“Got you,” Natsuki said, leaning in just enough to make Shin uncomfortable.
“Do you?” Shin asked, his voice calm despite the position. In one fluid motion, he twisted, reversing their positions. Now, Shin was the one on top, holding Natsuki firmly against the mat.
For a moment, neither moved. Shin’s sharp gaze met Natsuki’s, his usual stoic expression tinged with something Natsuki couldn’t quite read.
“Looks like I win,” Shin said softly, his voice steady but low enough to make Natsuki’s stomach flip. His lips donning a stupidly bright smile .
Sometimes, when Natsuki let himself think about it, Shin felt like sunshine, as cliche and gross as that may sound. It was a stupid comparison, but it was the best way he could describe it. Shin had this warmth about him, this effortless energy that seemed to fill up the empty spaces around them. It was the kind of feeling you couldn’t ignore, even if you tried. Natsuki, who usually kept his distance from anything remotely sentimental or sappy, found himself craving it, though he’d never admit it. But when Shin smiled, or even just looked at him with those genuine eyes, it was like a jolt of electricity, making everything else fade away.
“Depends on your definition of winning,” Natsuki replied, his tone laced with mockery to mask the way his heart was racing.
Natsuki’s breath hitched as he stared up at Shin, his chest rising and falling in heavy, steady rhythms. His blond locks damp with sweat, a few stray strands clinging to his forehead, and his sharp eyes seemed darker, more intense, in the dim light of the gym. The weight of him, solid and unyielding, pressed Natsuki into the mat, and for a brief, traitorous moment, all he could think about was how Shin’s stupidly perfect face looked even better this close. It wasn’t fair—nothing about this was fair. You have no business looking this good, all sweaty and breathless, as if we weren’t sparring but doing… something else. He looks… pretty. Natsuki’s brain betrays him.
“I can hear you!” Shin exclaims, his ears tinged pink, bashful shock stuck to his features. “Stop messing with me! You won’t win like that…”
Messing with him? Fuck, Natsuki’s thoughts were too loud. He cringed inwardly, feeling a knot tighten in his chest. His mind was a battlefield of conflicting emotions he couldn't begin to sort out. The feeling of Shin so close, the heat of his presence, the intensity of their sparring… It all felt too intimate somehow, even though it shouldn't have. Every time Shin moved, every word that slipped from his mouth, it seemed to hit something deep inside Natsuki that he couldn’t ignore, and it left him more frustrated than he cared to admit. He opened his mouth, but before he could find a way to steer the conversation somewhere safe, the gym door suddenly swung open.
“Hey, Seba! Can I copy your—”
Natsuki’s classmate stopped in his tracks, eyes widening at the sight before him. There, right in the middle of the gym floor, Natsuki was sprawled awkwardly, Shin on top of him, their legs entwined, the two of them tangled in a way that was definitely not a typical sparring position. The look on his face was a mix of confusion and amusement.
“Uh… am I interrupting?” he asked, clearly trying—and failing—not to laugh.
“Yeah, actually,” Natsuki shot back, irritation rising in his chest like a storm. He shoved Shin off him with a little more force than necessary, stumbling to his feet as he wiped his palms on his pants, trying to regain some semblance of composure. His classmate’s presence was a lifeline, though. A distraction. It gave him an excuse to pull away from the awkwardness and deflect the weird tension hanging between him and Shin.
Shin, still sitting on the mat, blinked up at him in confusion, completely unbothered. “We were sparring,” he said, his tone flat, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.
Natsuki's classmate looked from Shin to Natsuki, his grin widening into something more mischievous. “Sparring, huh? Is that what they call it now?”
“Shut up,” Natsuki muttered, grabbing a towel and tossing it at his classmate’s face with exaggerated annoyance. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
The classmate dodged the towel with a laugh, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Not when this is way more interesting.” His eyes glinted with something playful—he’d clearly caught onto the tension in the air. “You know, Seba, you’ve been weirdly defensive lately. Something you wanna share?”
“No,” Natsuki said through gritted teeth, grabbing his gear. He could feel Shin’s gaze on him, and it made his skin burn.
Shin stood, brushing himself off. “Hey! We’re not done, Seba! I don’t know what new trick you’re trying to pull off, but thinking of me in…that way… won’t throw me off my game!”
“Oh, he’s totally clueless. This is hilarious!” Natsuki’s classmate chimed in, clearly having the time of his life. “But hey, if you two ever decide to stop pretending, let me know first. The whole JCC’s got bets riding on this.”
Natsuki’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the betting pool. He had no idea what to do with that information, but the thought of people actually discussing… this? His stomach churned with a strange mixture of embarrassment and frustration.
Shin blinked, his expression genuinely puzzled. “Bets?”
“Not important!” Natsuki barked, shoving the classmate toward the door. “Out. Now.”
As the door closed behind them, Natsuki sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. Shin tilted his head, watching him with a curious expression.
“What do they think’s going on?” Shin asked, genuinely puzzled.
Natsuki stared at him, incredulous. How is he this dense? Does Shin actually not get it? The guy might be brilliant in a fight, but when it came to this, it was like he was on a completely different planet.
“Beats me,” Natsuki said flatly, grabbing his bag. “Same time tomorrow?”
Shin nodded, but Natsuki could feel his gaze linger on his back as he left. Natsuki shook his head as he trudged back to his dorm, half annoyed, half... something else. Despite everything, he was already counting down the minutes until they would meet up again. Shin was like... chicken soup for his blasé soul, if that wasn’t the most ridiculous thing to think. Natsuki hates this. He hates him. He hates how much he doesn't hate him.
Back in the gym, Shin scratched the back of his neck, a faint frown tugging at his lips. Why does he get so worked up?
—
The next day, Natsuki stomped into the practice gym, the hood of his mind-blocking device pulled low over his face. He’d spent all night tinkering with the prototype, adjusting the wiring and recalibrating the signal dampeners. If Shin was going to keep poking around in his head, he’d need a way to shut him out—or at least slow him down.
Shin was already there, of course, going through his warm-up routine with infuriating ease. His movements were sharp and deliberate, every punch landing on the training dummy with a resounding thwack. Even though Shin wasn’t paying him any attention yet, Natsuki could feel the confident energy radiating off him.
“New look?” Shin asked, finally glancing over. His eyes flicked to the hood. “What’s that supposed to be? Fashion statement?”
“Something like that,” Natsuki replied, pulling the hood tighter. “Figured I’d give you a handicap. You’re always whining about how easy I make things for you.”
“Handicap, huh?” Shin’s lips quirked into that maddening smirk. “You’re getting desperate, Seba.”
“Keep talking,” Natsuki muttered, tossing his bag to the side. “Let’s see if you’re still smug after I wipe the floor with you. You clairvoyant freak.”
Shin’s brow furrowed slightly as they squared off, his usual confidence flickering for a moment. “Something’s different.”
“Yeah, I’m not holding back anymore,” Natsuki said, though the lie burned on his tongue.
The sparring began, and Natsuki couldn’t help the rush of satisfaction when Shin faltered on his first few moves. His punches were still sharp, but his hesitation gave Natsuki an opening. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to land a hit that sent Shin stumbling back.
Shin recovered quickly, his gaze narrowing. “What’s with you today?”
“Guess you’re just off your game,” Natsuki said with a shrug.
Shin didn’t reply, his sharp eyes flicking toward the hood again. He lunged, forcing Natsuki to dodge a strike that came uncomfortably close. “What’s that thing really doing?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Natsuki shot back, darting to the side. He was fast, clever, and for once, he had the advantage. He just had to keep it.
But it's clear that Shin hadn’t been training with Sakamoto for nothing. As the match dragged on, his strikes grew more deliberate, his movements more calculated. But, he wasn’t just fighting Natsuki anymore—he was trying to figure him out.
Natsuki barely had time to dodge another attack before Shin’s voice broke through the rhythm of their fight.
“Why do you look so annoyed every time you think about me?”
Natsuki froze. Damn it. So much for the hood.
Shin didn’t press the advantage immediately, instead straightening with a calm that only made Natsuki’s skin crawl. His sharp gaze never wavered as he tilted his head, like he was examining a particularly stubborn puzzle piece.
“Seriously, Seba,” Shin continued, taking a step closer. “You block out some thoughts, sure, but the ones that slip through? They’re loud as hell. And they’re... weird. You’re trying to psych me out right?”
“Weird?” Natsuki snapped, trying to force his racing heart into submission. He rolled his shoulders like he was shaking off the tension, even though his body felt like a live wire. “Maybe your brain’s just broken.”
Shin raised an eyebrow. “Broken? I’m not the one thinking things like—” He faltered for the first time, a flush creeping up his neck as he fumbled for words. “Like... that.”
“That?” Natsuki mimicked, hoping deflection would work. He stepped forward, forcing Shin to back up. “Spit it out, Asakura. What exactly do you think I’m thinking?”
Shin blinked, his lips parting slightly as if he were debating whether to answer. The faint pink on his cheeks deepened, and for the first time, Natsuki thought he saw genuine uncertainty in the guy who always seemed too confident for his own good.
“You… you think I look good,” Shin said, his voice unusually quiet, almost hesitant. There was a strange edge to his words, like he wasn’t quite sure if he should be saying them at all. “When we fight, or when I pin you down. You want me to do it all the time… And you’re annoyed about it. Like really annoyed.”
For a moment, the gym felt too quiet, like even the humming fluorescent lights had shut off in disbelief. Natsuki stared at him, the silence stretching until it was unbearable. His throat tightened, and his chest felt tight with something that wasn’t just frustration anymore. It was a quiet storm brewing, and it had nowhere to go.
“That’s what you heard?” Natsuki finally said, his voice dropping an octave as his fists clenched at his sides. “Out of all the things in my head, that’s the one thing you decided to focus on?”
“It’s kind of hard not to,” Shin muttered, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s loud, Seba. Like... yelling. And it keeps happening. Is that why you keep holding back?”
“Maybe I wouldn’t be yelling in my head if you didn’t keep throwing yourself all over me like some kind of damn workout model,” Natsuki shot back, his face burning. “What are you doing? A catalog for sweaty gym wear?”
Shin blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What—no! I’m just training!”
“Well, stop being so—” Natsuki gestured wildly at him, words failing as frustration boiled over. “—you about it!”
“Me?” Shin asked, his confusion giving way to something sharper, a glimmer of amusement tugging at his lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know exactly what it means,” Natsuki hissed, yanking the hood off his head in exasperation. “You’re too good at this! You’re too strong, too precise, too... too—”
“Pretty?” Shin interrupted, his smirk returning in full force.
Natsuki froze, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I—I didn’t say that,” Natsuki stammered, his face a furnace now.
“You didn’t have to,” Shin said, leaning in just enough to make Natsuki’s pulse spike. “Your brain’s still leaking.”
The audacity. The absolute audacity.
Natsuki shoved past Shin, his face burning hotter than ever. “I’m done for today. Fight the damn dummy if you’re so desperate for a workout.”
Shin watched him storm out, his smirk faltering as a strange mix of satisfaction and confusion settled over him. Shin wasn’t sure if he’d actually won this round—or if Seba had just handed him something far more interesting to figure out.
—
Shin remained in the now-quiet gym, staring at the door Seba had stormed through. He still wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened.
Sure, he could read minds, but Seba’s thoughts were like some impossible crossword puzzle—loud, erratic, and contradictory in the most frustrating way. One second, Seba hated him, and the next, there were flashes of something deeper, something that made Shin’s chest tighten in ways he didn’t fully understand. Seba's repressed thoughts felt almost... tender. It was as if Seba’s own mind was desperately trying to protect him from whatever it was he was really feeling.
“Pretty,” Shin murmured to himself, the word feeling strange and heavy on his tongue. He leaned back against the training dummy, his fingers brushing over the mat as if replaying the match in his head. Seba had been so loud—his frustration, his flustered thoughts—but beneath all of it, there was something vulnerable, almost... tender.
And it wasn’t just Seba’s thoughts. Shin couldn’t ignore the way his own stomach flipped when Seba pinned him yesterday, or how his chest had tightened when he saw that fleeting grin of triumph. Seba’s kind of cute when he doesn’t open his mouth. Maybe it wasn’t just Seba’s mind that was being loud.
Shin sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “What the hell is wrong with us?”
The door slammed open again, jolting him upright.
Seba was back, his hood pulled low and his hands shoved in his pockets. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else, but he lingered in the doorway, glaring at Shin like it was somehow his fault.
“Forget something?” Shin asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” Seba stomped back onto the mat, stopping a few feet away. “I forgot to tell you to stop being so... so smug about everything.”
Shin crossed his arms, fighting the urge to smile. “Smug? I think you’re imagining things.”
“Imagining?” Natsuki’s voice rose, his hands flying out of his pockets as he pointed accusingly. “You literally smirked when you called me out earlier! And you keep—” He groaned, turning away as if to compose himself. “You keep acting like you know everything.”
“I mean, I do know most things,” Shin replied, casually leaning against the training dummy. “Like the fact that you came back because you were probably embarrassed about leaving like that. You know, you’re not as aloof as you pretend to be. I like this side of you,” Shin feels a fond smile tug at his lips.
“Shut up,” Seba snapped, spinning back around. His face was bright red, but his eyes burned with defiance. “You don’t know anything, Asakura. Not really.”
Shin tilted his head, studying him. “Then tell me.”
“What?”
“Tell me what I don’t know,” Shin said, his voice softer now, all the teasing stripped away.
For a moment, Seba just stares at him, his mouth opening as if to say something before snapping shut again. His hands clenched at his sides, and for the first time, Shin saw something crack in his armor.
“You don’t know how... annoying this is,” Seba finally muttered, his voice dropping to a low, raw tone. “How much it sucks to—to look at you and…” He trailed off, his hand running through his messy hair in frustration. Shin could feel his own pulse quicken, an irrational wave of desire sweeping through him. God, he kind of wishes it was his hand ruffling that through that hair. Has he always felt like this?
“Forget it. You wouldn’t get it.” Seba's voice was tight, like he was locking something away.
Shin stepped closer. “Try me.”
Seba’s laugh was bitter, but his eyes softened, just for a second. “I hate you, you know that?”
Shin’s response was immediate, certain, and without a hint of hesitation. “No, you don’t.”
“Yeah? And what makes you so sure?”
“Because I hear the truth,” Shin said, stepping closer until they were almost nose to nose. “And no matter how loud you yell in your head, it’s never hate.”
For a moment, they just stood there, the silence between them heavy and charged.
Seba’s gaze flickered away for a second, and when he spoke again, his voice was low, reluctant. “Damn it. Fine. I give in.”
Shin stood frozen for a second, unsure if he’d heard right. But before he could say anything, Seba grabbed his sleeve with a force that sent a jolt through Shin’s chest. He was yanked forward just enough for their lips to meet in a brief, messy kiss. The contact was electric, chaotic, nothing like what Shin had expected—awkward, clumsy, but more real than anything Shin had ever felt before. When Seba pulled back, his face was endearingly flushed, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He shoved Shin away, hard.
“That never happened,” he muttered, his voice thick with embarrassment, as he turned on his heel. But for the briefest of moments, he seemed to hesitate, as though his body wasn’t quite ready to leave but his pride demanded it. His hands shot deep into his pockets, and the unmistakable red flush creeping up the back of his neck betrayed Seba's feigned indifference.
Shin blinked, completely stunned. But...he wanted more. He didn’t know exactly what that more was— But there was something undeniable about the air around them, something magnetic and unfinished that had already planted its seeds deep inside Shin.
Seba was already heading for the door again, like he could outrun whatever was swirling around them, muttering under his breath. “Fuck you. I’m never sparring with you again.”
But just before he left, Shin heard the faintest whisper of a thought, almost too quiet to catch.
That was amazing... Why does he have to make it so hard to hate him?
Shin smiled. “Same time tomorrow, Seba.”
“Go to hell!” came the reply, but Shin didn’t miss the hint of relief in his voice.