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Gigi notices it too late. During practice, mid-spar, she sees it: the way Cecilia hits the ground as soon as Raora gets too close.
“Cecilia’s not really good at close combat,” she mutters.
Elizabeth, sitting beside her, perks up. “Yeah… I’ve been meaning to practice with her.”
Gigi stares at Cecilia on the ground, watching as Raora extends a hand to help her up. Then she glances at Elizabeth.
“What if I do it?”
Elizabeth gives her a look. Wary. “And you’re not doing it just to annoy her?”
“Yes,” Gigi says without hesitation. Then, quickly: “I mean—yes, but I’m also the only close-combat expert here.” She lifts her gauntleted fists with pride.
Elizabeth studies the gremlin for a moment before finally letting out a tired sigh. “Fine. Just… don’t mess around too much.”
Gigi grins, “Oh, I’m sure we won’t mess around.”
¬
The next day, Cecilia arrives at the training grounds, fully expecting to run drills with Elizabeth or maybe Raora again.
Instead, she’s met with the sight of Gigi in the centre of the training platform, stretching dramatically, cracking her knuckles loud enough to echo.
Cecilia stops in her tracks. Looks around, and sees that no one else was her except for them.
“…No,” she says immediately.
Gigi’s grin spreads far too wide. “Yes.”
“I’m not doing this with you.”
“I already made arrangements,” Gigi says, patting the mat beside her. “It’s basically law. Come on. Just a little warm-up—no weapons. No lances. Just fists, baby.”
Cecilia glares. “I don’t do fists.”
“Which is exactly the problem.” Gigi bounds over, far too energetic for this early in the morning. “Ceci, you freeze every time someone gets within arm’s reach. What if your lance gets knocked out of your hand mid-fight? What if you’re surrounded? What if your girlfriend—”
“I don’t have one.” She didn’t deny the idea.
“—your hypothetical girlfriend,” Gigi continues, undeterred, “is in danger and you need to punch someone in the teeth to save her?”
Cecilia exhales through her nose. “You are impossible.”
“And you are avoiding the mat.”
Cecilia doesn’t move.
She shifts her weight, eyes flicking from the mat to Gigi and back again. Her fists tighten at her sides — not in readiness, but in hesitation. She’s trained for years with reach and precision, with form. With rules. Her fists feel clumsy in comparison. Heavy. Useless.
She hates that Gigi knows it.
But she hates more that Gigi might be right.
A moment of standoff. Cecilia considers her options, realises there are none, and begrudgingly steps into the raised platform.
“Fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
Gigi practically beams. “Oh, please. I’m begging you not to.”
The first few minutes are awkward.
Cecilia moves like she’s trying not to touch Gigi. Every jab is half-hearted, every block over-calculated. She’s stiff. Cautious. Like she’s performing a routine instead of engaging in a fight. Like she’s trying to stay somewhere safe.
Gigi, meanwhile, dodges like she’s dancing. Fluid. Casual. Infuriating.
“I said punch me, not pet the air,” Gigi teases, ducking a swing by a breath.
“I am punching,” Cecilia snaps.
Gigi leans in—too close—and taps a finger against Cecilia’s forehead. “Then why are you flustered?”
Cecilia swats her hand away like it burns. “Because you’re standing in my space.”
“This is your space, Ceci,” Gigi murmurs. “You just don’t know how to take it.”
She moves in again, this time feinting left, sliding around Cecilia’s defences with the ease of someone who knows she’s under her skin. A sweep of her leg knocks Cecilia off balance, and before she can recover, she’s flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling.
It happens so fast. And all she can do is lie there, gears turning, breath caught somewhere between frustration and humiliation.
Gigi’s face appears in her field of vision, upside-down and unbearably smug.
“Don’t say it,” Cecilia warns.
“I’m just admiring the view.”
Cecilia groans.
Gigi offers her a hand. “Come on. Again.”
Reluctantly, Cecilia takes it.
And again.
And again.
Each time, Cecilia rises slower. Each time, something shifts—small and invisible. A jab lands harder. A breath is exhaled sharper. The hesitation, the hesitation she didn’t know she was drowning in, begins to chip.
She stops thinking about how she looks. About whether she’s doing it right. About how stupid she feels, flailing at someone who was born for this.
She just moves.
And when a clumsy, wild swing finally knocks Gigi off balance—barely—Cecilia doesn’t apologise for it.
Gigi laughs. Bright. Delighted.
“There she is,” she says, panting. “There’s the real Cecilia.”
Cecilia’s still cycling her breath—more out of habit than need. A low hum builds beneath her plating, subtle but rising, like heat dispersing through her core. A strand of hair clings to her cheek, caught on static. But she’s standing taller now. Shoulders squared. eyes steady.
She doesn’t answer. Just resets her stance.
Gigi watches her. Really watches her.
“You know,” she says after a beat, quieter now, “you’ve always had this wall. Like you’re bracing for the worst even before the fight starts.”
Cecilia arches a brow, wary. “What is this, a post-battle therapy session?”
“Just an observation,” Gigi shrugs, but her voice stays softer than usual. “But today? You stopped waiting. You started hitting back like you meant it.”
A pause. Then, teasing again, but gentler this time:
“Almost like you wanted to win.”
Cecilia rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m not,” Gigi says, stepping closer. “I’m flattering you.”
Cecilia shakes her head. “I hate you,” she mutters, but her heart isn’t in it.
Gigi smirks, brushing a stray strand of silver hair behind Cecilia’s ear. Her fingers linger.
Gigi only grins wider. “No you don’t.”
And then—just for a moment—Cecilia doesn’t move.
They’re close. Closer than before...
¬
They’re alone.
The platform’s cleared out. The sun’s shifted low, casting long gold across the mats. Cecilia sits on the edge, lance at her side, chest rising and falling in quiet, controlled rhythm.
Gigi flops beside her. Much less dignified. Her gauntlets are off, hands red from impact. She’s got that same grin—but it’s tired now. Way softer than it should be.
For a while, neither of them says anything. Just the sound of cicadas outside the training room. Wind through the rafters. Breathing.
Cecilia’s the one who breaks it.
“…Thanks,” she says, voice low.
Gigi blinks. Turns her head. “Huh?”
“For helping me train,” Cecilia says. She doesn't meet her eyes. “I needed that.”
Gigi’s grin softens, turns crooked. “You’re welcome. Even if you did try to break my ribs on that last takedown.”
“You ducked into it.”
“You threw me into it.”
Cecilia allows herself a small smile. “Details.”
Silence again—but not heavy. Charged.
Cecilia glances over. Gigi’s hair is a mess. Her cheeks are flushed. There’s a smear of dirt along her jaw. And yet—her eyes still hold that same stubborn glint. Mischievous. Warm.
Without really thinking, Cecilia reaches out. Brushes her thumb gently across Gigi’s cheek, wiping the dirt away.
Gigi goes very still.
“…You had something there,” Cecilia murmurs.
And that is when it happens—Gigi, the ever-unflappable menace, falters. Just slightly.
Her breath catches. She tries for a smirk, but it wobbles. “Wow, Ceci. That was practically tender. You feeling okay?”
“You’re the one turning red.”
“I am not—” Gigi clears her throat. Looks away. “It’s the heat. Combat gets the blood going. Very normal. Very unromantic.”
Cecilia tilts her head, just a little. Watches her with something almost amused. “I didn’t say anything about romance.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Are you?”
Gigi chokes on absolutely nothing.
Cecilia lets the silence sit this time. Lets Gigi squirm. Just enough.
Eventually, she stands, offering a hand.
“Come on,” she says, voice steady. “We should clean up before Elizabeth starts scolding us for training too long.”
Gigi stares up at her, still flustered. Still pink.
“…This is revenge for earlier, isn’t it?”
Cecilia’s smile is calm. Dangerous. Smug.
“Exactly,” she says. “Now get up.”
They leave the training room in silence.
Later, in the medical bay, it’s Cecilia who sits on the edge of the cot, methodically wrapping gauze around Gigi’s knuckles. Her touch is careful. Precise. Almost too gentle for someone made of porcelain.
Gigi hisses when the antiseptic hits. “Ow—okay, you could warn a gremlin first.”
“I could,” Cecilia says. “But you didn’t warn me when you swept my legs out.”
Gigi snorts. “Tactical surprise. You should thank me.”
Cecilia doesn’t answer. She finishes tying the gauze, then studies the rest of Gigi’s arm—already bruising from where she took a hit trying to block one of Cecilia’s finally-committed punches.
“You’re very reckless,” Cecilia says, absentmindedly.
“I’m effective.”
Cecilia hums, almost amused. “You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.”
“I’m lucky you didn’t break anything.”
She glances up. Cecilia is watching her. Closely. Carefully. Like she’s still cataloguing damage.
Gigi raises a brow. “You gonna start scolding me now?”
“No,” Cecilia says. Then, quieter: “You fought well.”
Gigi blinks. “Wait. Was that… a compliment?”
“You earned it.”
Gigi stares. “Okay, what the hell. What are you doing?”
Cecilia tilts her head, entirely unreadable. “Bandaging your wounds. Giving feedback. Following proper post-spar talk.”
“You never compliment me.”
“You never taught me how to punch.”
A beat. Gigi opens her mouth, ready to fire something back—then stops.
Her ears are red. Very red.
“Are you—” she starts, faltering. “Are you flirting with me?”
Cecilia shrugs, entirely too composed. “Would it be effective?”
Gigi stares.
Then sputters.
Then nearly falls off the cot trying to sit upright again.
Cecilia smirks. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
And when they leave the infirmary, their hands brush. Not by accident.
Neither of them pulls away.
Gigi clears her throat. “Training again tomorrow?”
Cecilia hums, pretending to think. “Only if we skip the warmup.”
Gigi frowns. “What warmup?”
Cecilia glances at her, eyes sharp. Amused. Loaded.
“You know,” she says. “The part where you try to make me flustered.”
Gigi opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Groans.
“You’re evil.”
Cecilia brushes their hands together again—just once.
“I learned from the best.”