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“I’m cold.” Momo huffed, throwing down her training sword and crossing her arms. “I hate winter.”
“You’d warm up if you were actually doing the drills.” Shouto pointed out. Momo threw another sword at him, child-sized and blunt but still solid enough to sting where it caught his shoulder. “You’re getting quicker at that.” he noted, stooping to pick up the toy sword and get a better look at it.
“The things I make quickly aren’t as nice, though.” Momo said, scooping up her training sword and walking over towards him to lean against his side, the fabric of her skirts slippery-smooth where it brushed his hand. “How about we call training quits for today and go do something our parents would approve of, like sit by a nice warm fire while I fill you in on gossip?”
“Alright.” he shrugged, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, the barest flex of magic woven into his touch, his flames warming her dress without igniting the fabric. “But next time, dress for the weather. I know you have wool underthings that fit under these fancy dresses.” he gestured at her gown, sleek enough to fit through the old servant passages without difficulty but with enough fabric in the skirt he didn’t doubt it could’ve been draped over those puffy things Fuyumi wore with basically all of her dresses now.
“Yeah, but those are so restrictive.” Momo pouted. “I get plenty of practice in at home, I don’t see why we need to spar every time I visit.”
“I thought you liked sparring with me.” Shouto frowned releasing Momo to remove his practice gear, which she took as a cue to doff her own simple protective chestpiece.
“I do, in most seasons.” Momo trailed after him as he walked to the equipment racks, hovering at the edge of his personal bubble of warmth with her gear in her hands. “Winter is just too cold for me.”
“Hmm.” Shouto hummed softly, their agreed-upon signal that he’d heard her and was thinking of what to say in response. “Would every other visit be acceptable?” he asked, once their things were back where they belonged. “You’re my only sparring partner who doesn’t go easy on me.”
“I can deal with every other visit.” Momo beamed, looping her arms through his. They really weren’t supposed to be so close without a chaperon, not while they were still only betrothed, but Shouto had never understood that rule. He’d only ever known Momo as his future bride, a match chosen by his parents for reasons he’d never bothered learning. It wasn’t like they mattered, since the decision had already been made. At least Momo was smart, and sometimes thought he was funny, and liked swordplay almost more than he did.
The walk back to the sitting room where they customarily spent Momo’s visits seemed even shorter than usual today, and Shouto brushed a bit of dust from his sleeves as Momo shook out her skirt. Gossip was, in his opinion, of little value, but Momo insisted that it was vital to keeping track of social something-or-other, so he did his best to remember what she told him. When they were eventually wed, he was sure the lesser nobility and commoners of whatever area he was titled would know and love her. She had a gift for that completely unrelated to her magic.
“So, a few days after our last visit, I heard some amazingly juicy rumours when I went to the bakery.” Momo said as soon as they were seated. Shouto flicked his fingers, and the tea in her cup warmed to her preferred temperature with just a flicker of magic. They were to be married, once they both were of age, and he’d been told time and again that the key to a happy marriage was compromise. As compromises went, alternating sparring and gossip was an easy one.