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She's crazy.
Absolutely, certifiably, batshit crazy.
He's known that since the beginning. Since she tried to fight him on a rooftop with no plan and too much pride.
Since she lit up like a bonfire every time he so much as smirked in her direction.
Since she called him useless with her sword drawn and her heart already tangled up in the fallout.
She's reckless.
Loud.
Impossible to reason with.
And stubborn enough to make even the gods groan.
Like right now, mid-spar, flames blazing, yelling at her opponent and the training dummy like both insulted her ancestors. She's already scorched three targets, nearly hit Ren (again), and shouted "I don't need strategy if I burn everything first!" loud enough to make the crows flee the treetops.
She's crazy.
And - God, she's beautiful.
Not just in the easy ways.
Not just in the way she tosses her hair or flashes fury like a weapon.
Not just in the sharp lines of Enraiha raised in defiance or the flicker of flame curling around her fists like it belongs there.
No.
It's in the way she throws herself at life like she's daring it to hit back.
In the way she yells because she cares, deeply, stupidly, more than anyone should. In the way she's always been too much—and never apologizes for it.
Like that time she bandaged his arm without a word after a job. No smugness. No snark. Just gentle fingers and a barely-there furrow in her brow, like she cared more than she meant to.
It's maddening.
Because somewhere between the shouting matches and the silent gestures,
Somewhere between her saving his life with just a glare and warming his hands with hers without a word,
At some point, he started watching her with awe instead of exasperation.
Started waiting for the sound of her voice, even if it meant getting yelled at.
Started liking the way she storms into a room like it's already hers.
Started smiling when she smiles. Like an idiot.
It's a problem.
A warm, terrifying, can't-stop-smiling problem.
And he's completely screwed.
And it's not just the big things. It's the tiny, stupid ones, too. The really unfair things.
The way she talks with her hands.
The way she gets overly competitive about ice cream.
That time she laughed so hard she snorted and then immediately threatened him for hearing it.
The way she keeps pretending he doesn't get under her skin, even though her ears turn red every single time.
The way she falls asleep in cars, neck tilted awkwardly, mouth slightly open, completely trusting.
He shouldn't care. He really shouldn't care.
But here he is. Warm. And slow. And stupidly fond, like a half-cooked frog simmering in water that's one degree from a full boil.
She's chaos wrapped in sunlight.
She's a pain in the ass.
She's crazy.
But again, God she's beautiful.
So yeah. He gives up. He's done. Never stood a chance to begin with.
The sound of footsteps pulls him out of the thought. She's walking over, toweling sweat from her neck, cheeks flushed, wild hair a mess from training.
She looks like a disaster. Like herself.
Perfect.
Admitting defeat feels... okay.
A little terrifying - but mostly warm.
Like maybe he doesn't need to run.
Not from this.
Not from her.
She raises a brow, squinting at him. "What?"
He leans back on his elbows, and he doesn't even try to stop the grin. "So you like me, huh."
She chokes on her water - actually chokes, sputtering and coughing like he just punched her in the lungs.
He's done. Dead and done.
"What was that, you cocky bastard?!" she gasps once she's finished wiping her face, cheeks flushed, eyes wide, water still dripping from her nose.
He throws his head back and laughs, full-bodied and helpless.
Yep.
Definitely falling.
God help him.