The lake stretched wide and glassy under the late afternoon sun, its surface shimmering in soft gold where the light kissed the ripples. You could hear the low hum of distant chatter, the occasional splash of someone diving in, and the lazy creak of wooden docks warming in the heat. It was one of those slow, perfect days—air thick with summer, time moving just a little softer than usual.

Valeria stood near the edge of the water, barefoot in the sand, the warmth clinging to her skin. The white bikini she wore caught the sunlight almost too well, the fabric bright against her caramel-toned complexion, clinging in a way that made her presence impossible to ignore. It wasn’t intentional—not really—but Valeria had never been the kind of person who shrank herself to make others comfortable. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder absentmindedly, glancing back toward you with that familiar look—soft, teasing, like she was about to say something she knew would get a reaction.

And then someone else noticed her.

He was bigger than most—broad, loud, the kind of guy who walked like the world owed him space. He approached without hesitation, eyes lingering too long, smile too confident for someone who didn’t understand the situation he was stepping into.

Valeria didn’t step back.

She turned toward him slowly, her expression shifting—not nervous, not flustered... just mildly unimpressed. There was a pause, brief but telling, as he said something to her—something you couldn’t quite hear from where you were. Whatever it was, it didn’t land the way he expected.

Because Valeria smiled.

Not warmly. Not invitingly.

Just enough to let him think, for a split second, that he hadn’t already made a mistake.

You saw it before it happened—that subtle shift in her posture. Her weight settling differently, shoulders loosening, her stance grounding into something familiar. Something practiced.

The same stance she used in the gym with you.

The same one you’d spent hours learning together.

Her hand moved quickly, almost casually, slipping into her bag where she’d tossed it earlier. And when it came back out—

There they were.

The Hello Kitty brass knuckles.

Your gift.

Pink. Ridiculous. And very, very real.

There was a flicker of confusion on the guy’s face—like his brain couldn’t quite process the contrast between the playful design and the way she held them. But Valeria didn’t give him time to figure it out.

She stepped in.

Fast.

A clean, controlled motion—her body moving with that same rhythm she carried in the ring. Her fist drove forward, precise and deliberate, connecting solidly with his midsection—not wild, not reckless, but calculated enough to knock the air straight out of him.

He folded instinctively.

And before he could recover—

She followed through.

A sharp, unapologetic shot to the groin.

The kind that didn’t need strength to be effective—just timing.

He dropped.

Hard.

The entire moment unfolded in seconds, the surrounding noise of the lake dipping into stunned silence nearby as a few heads turned. Valeria stepped back immediately, calm as ever, slipping the brass knuckles off and tucking them away like nothing unusual had just happened.

Then she turned to you.

And just like that—

She was soft again.

A small, almost sheepish smile tugged at her lips as she walked back over, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear like she hadn’t just dropped a grown man in broad daylight.

“You got me those for a reason, no?” she said lightly, her voice warm, a hint of her accent curling around the words.

She stepped close, close enough that her hand found yours without hesitation, her fingers lacing through like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her thumb traced a slow, familiar pattern against your skin.

Grounding.

Intentional.

“I don’t like when people forget I’m yours,” she added, quieter now—not possessive in a loud way, but certain. Steady.

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, that teasing glint returning to her eyes—but beneath it, something deeper.

Loyalty.

Chosen. Every time.

The gym was loud in that good way—pads popping, ropes snapping, someone in the corner laughing way too hard at something mid-combo. The air felt warm and alive, the kind that stuck to your skin and made everything just a little more intense.

Valeria was already in the ring with Stella, bouncing easy, shoulders loose, her gloves resting just under her chin. She moved like it was second nature—light, fluid, a little playful even in the way she slipped Stella’s lazy jab.

“Stop playing,” Stella laughed, tapping her again.

“I am playing,” Valeria shot back, grinning—

—and then her eyes flicked over.

Right to you.

Perfect timing.

You stepping forward.

Volunteering.

Helping the new girl.

Valeria paused mid-bounce for half a second, just enough to take it in. Blonde. New. A little stiff. And—yeah, okay—

That resemblance.

Her lips pressed together for a split second before she let out a tiny breath through her nose.

“Mm,” she muttered.

Stella didn’t even turn her head. “Oh my god, she is blonde Sa—”

Valeria bumped her with her shoulder immediately, laughing under her breath. “Don’t start. I swear—”

But she was smiling.

They kept moving, Valeria still sharp, still landing clean little touches—but now every so often she’d glance over again, catching you demonstrating something, leaning in, adjusting the girl’s stance.

Each time, her expression shifted just a little more—

Not annoyed.

Not upset.

Just... amused.

And maybe slightly dramatic about it in her own head.

By the time the round ended, she was already laughing to herself, shaking her head as she tugged one glove off with her teeth. She hopped down from the ring without even waiting, wiping her temple before heading straight toward you like she had something very important to say.

She didn’t stop at a normal distance.

No—she stepped right into your space, hip bumping yours lightly as she leaned in, one glove still on, the other dangling.

Her eyes flicked once toward the blonde girl.

Then back to you.

And then—

That look.

“Oh wow,” she said softly, dragging the words just enough to be ridiculous. “Look at you. Community service. Helping the new girl.”

Her brow lifted, head tilting as she looked you up and down like she was assessing your sudden personality change.

“Blonde too?” she added, tapping her glove lightly against your chest. “You’re feeling nostalgic today or what?”

She didn’t even give you time to respond before she laughed, leaning her forehead briefly against your shoulder.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she murmured, smiling against you.

Her hand slipped down to your wrist automatically, fingers curling there, thumb brushing that slow, familiar pattern.

“It’s like... one percent annoying,” she admitted, holding up her fingers with a tiny gap between them. “Like this much. Practically nothing.”

She squinted at you playfully.

“But I did see you getting all... ‘no, no, like this—bend your knees a little—’” she mimicked lightly, exaggerating your tone just enough to be funny.

A soft laugh slipped out of her again as she nudged you with her hip.

“Meanwhile I’ve been out here looking like a professional and you’ve never once been like, ‘wow Valeria, your form is incredible, let me guide you,’” she added, mock offended.

She glanced back at the girl one more time, then back at you, smile easy and bright.

“It’s fine,” she said again, lighter this time. “I trust you.”

Then, leaning in just a little closer, voice dropping into something more playful, more hers—

“But you’re done now,” she murmured.

Her fingers tugged gently at your wrist.

“You’re sparring with me next round.”

A beat.

Then a quick, teasing grin.

“And I’m not going easy on you for emotional reasons.”

The apartment still carried that faint, lingering buzz from the convention—like the energy hadn’t fully settled yet. A couple of tote bags were half-unpacked near the door, badges and lanyards tossed aside without ceremony, and the faint smell of street food and perfume still clung to the air.

Valeria padded into the room barefoot, the soft sound of her steps barely noticeable over the quiet.

She’d already changed.

Gone was the effort, the polish, the whole “on” version of her from earlier. Now she was wrapped in an oversized white t-shirt—definitely yours—hanging loose enough to slip off one shoulder if she wasn’t careful. It fell to mid-thigh, soft and worn, the fabric slightly rumpled from being pulled on quickly. It swallowed her frame just enough to look lazy, comfortable... lived-in.

Her hair was still a little messy from the day, those freshly dyed blue tips catching the light in soft streaks as they brushed along her collarbones. A few strands stuck slightly to her skin from leftover warmth, and she hadn’t bothered fixing any of it.

She stopped in the doorway for half a second—

Except this time, she wasn’t empty-handed.

Both arms were full.

A ridiculous, carefully balanced stack—chips tucked under one arm, candy wedged against her side, a couple of drinks hooked loosely in her fingers, something chocolate precariously resting against her forearm like she was daring gravity to try her.

“...I came prepared,” she said simply, completely serious.

Then she shifted her weight and immediately lost balance for half a second, catching herself with a small laugh before continuing toward the bed like nothing happened.

“Don’t help,” she added quickly, giving you a look. “I’ve got it.”

She reached the edge of the bed and, with surprising coordination, managed to drop everything down in a controlled little pile—snacks spilling out across the blanket, drinks settling with soft thuds, one bag crinkling loudly as it slid slightly out of place.

“There,” she said, satisfied.

A beat.

Then she climbed onto the bed right after it, no hesitation, no transition—just flop—landing on her side with a quiet exhale, like she’d been waiting all day to do exactly this.

“Okay. Now I’m done.”

Her hand found your arm almost immediately, fingers slipping into place, tracing slow, absent patterns like muscle memory.

“We’re watching Mean Girls,” she continued, already settling in, her voice soft but decisive. “No arguments. I already decided.”

She nudged one of the snack bags lightly with her foot.

“And we have options,” she added, glancing at the pile with a small, pleased smile. “Crunchy, sweet, and questionable life choices.”

Then she shifted closer without asking, tucking herself against your side, her head settling comfortably near your shoulder. The oversized shirt bunched slightly as she moved, one sleeve slipping just enough to expose her shoulder, her hair falling forward—those blue-tipped ends brushing lightly against you.

She let out a quiet, content breath.

“This is perfect,” she murmured.

A pause.

Then, softer—still teasing, but warmer now:

“You better not eat all the good snacks before the best scenes... or I’m turning the movie off.”

The gym felt completely different without the usual noise.

No trainers calling out counts, no music humming through the speakers—just the quiet hum of the lights and the soft echo of your footsteps as you both stepped into the locker room. Tyra had handed over the space like it was nothing, and now it felt... private in a way that wasn’t awkward, just yours.

Valeria pushed the door open first, glancing back at you with that small, satisfied smile.

“Mm... I like this better,” she murmured.

She stepped inside, already reaching back to loosen her hair from its tie, letting it fall in soft, slightly damp waves down her shoulders. Up close, you could see the faint sheen of sweat still catching along her skin from the workout—nothing messy, just that post-training glow.

She was still in her gym outfit—a fitted, two-tone sports bra in deep blue and white that hugged close without being restrictive, the fabric slightly darkened from the session. It framed her shoulders and collarbones cleanly, the cut practical but flattering in that effortless way she always carried herself. Her boxing shorts sat snug at her hips, a matching blue with subtle yellow trim, loose enough for movement but tailored enough to follow her shape when she shifted her weight.

She peeled off her gloves first, tossing them onto the bench with a soft thud, flexing her fingers as she exhaled.

“You were trying a little too hard today,” she added casually, glancing at you from the side, lips curving.

Her tone was light—already teasing.

She stepped out of her shoes next, nudging them aside with her foot before rolling her shoulders, stretching her arms overhead in one smooth motion. The movement was slow, unbothered, like she didn’t even think twice about you being there.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice,” she continued, dropping her arms and tilting her head slightly. “All that extra effort? Very dramatic.”

A quiet laugh slipped out of her as she walked past you, close enough that her shoulder brushed yours without hesitation. She reached her locker, popping it open, leaning forward slightly as she grabbed a towel.

“I mean, it was cute,” she added, glancing back over her shoulder now, eyes soft but amused. “You didn’t embarrass yourself.”

There was a small pause.

Then—

“Too much.”

She smiled to herself at that, straightening up and leaning lightly against the locker door, arms folding loosely as she looked at you properly now.

The space between you felt easy. Familiar. No tension, no awkwardness—just that quiet understanding you’d built over time.

“You’re gonna be sore tomorrow,” she said, tapping the locker idly with her fingers. “Like... walking funny sore.”

She pushed off it and stepped a little closer, her voice dipping just slightly—not serious, just softer in the quiet.

“But it’s okay,” she added, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll remind you why you thought it was a good idea.”

A beat.

Then her expression flipped right back—playful, bright.

“And next time,” she nudged, bumping your arm lightly with hers, “maybe don’t try to outdo me in my own gym.”

She moved past you again like it was nothing, completely at ease—like sharing a quiet space like this, post-workout, still catching your breath and trading jabs that weren’t punches anymore... was just another part of being you and her.

The roar of the arena was still echoing in your ears when the doors finally closed behind you.

Vegas at night didn’t slow down—but right now, it almost felt like it had shifted for her.

Valeria stepped out beside you, the neon glow of the Strip washing over her in streaks of gold, pink, and electric blue. The energy from the fight hadn’t left her yet—you could see it in the way she walked, in the way her shoulders were still set just a little higher, her movements carrying that leftover sharpness from the ring.

Round one.

Clean.

Decisive.

The kind of win that didn’t just settle a score—it erased it.

And she knew it.

She’d changed quickly, but not into anything subtle. No—Valeria had chosen something that announced itself. A sleek, golden dress that caught every bit of light around her, the fabric smooth and form-fitting through her torso before flowing just enough at her legs to move with her stride. It hugged her frame like it was meant for this exact moment—victory, adrenaline, the whole city watching without even realizing it.

Her hair was still slightly damp at the roots, the ends loose and falling around her shoulders, a few strands sticking lightly to her skin from the rush of everything that had just happened. Her makeup was minimal—she hadn’t needed much—but there was still a faint flush in her cheeks, her eyes bright, alive.

She slowed for half a second once you hit the main stretch of the Strip.

Then she looked at you.

And that smile—

Not soft this time.

Not shy.

Sharp. Proud. A little dangerous in the best way.

“Did you see her face?” she asked, voice low but buzzing with energy, like she was holding back a laugh she couldn’t quite contain.

She didn’t even wait for an answer, letting out a breath through her nose as she shook her head, stepping closer to you as the crowd moved around you both.

“She thought she had me again,” she added, almost amused. “Like it was already decided.”

Her hand found yours without hesitation, fingers lacing in tight—not grounding this time, not soft. Just certain.

“I told you,” she said, glancing up at you, that spark still lit in her eyes. “I fixed it.”

There was a pause as she took in the lights, the noise, the sheer chaos of Vegas around her—

And then she laughed.

Light. Free. Victorious.

“Mm... I feel good,” she admitted, rolling her shoulders slightly like she was shaking off the last bit of the fight.

Then her expression shifted—still playful, but now there was something more intentional behind it.

She tugged gently at your hand, pulling you just a step closer into her space.

“Come on,” she said, tilting her head toward the casino entrance ahead. “I’m not done yet.”

Her gaze flicked over the crowd for a moment—not searching, not cautious—

Just aware.

Confident.

Letting herself be seen.

“Tonight,” she added, voice dipping just enough to feel like it was meant only for you, even with everything around you, “I get to show off a little.”

A beat.

Her thumb brushed once across your hand, that familiar motion slipping back in—but lighter now, more playful than grounding.

“...and I brought my favorite thing with me.”

She glanced at you from the side, that same proud, teasing smile returning.

“You.”

The world felt... quieter up here.

Snow stretched out in every direction, soft and untouched in places, glittering under the pale winter sun. The air was crisp in a way that made every breath feel sharper, cleaner—and for a moment, everything slowed down.

Valeria stepped out beside you and just... stopped.

Completely.

Her boots sank slightly into the fresh snow, the sound barely more than a soft crunch—but she didn’t move after that. She just stood there, eyes wide, taking it all in like she didn’t trust it was real yet.

“...No way,” she breathed.

Her voice came out quieter than usual, almost like she didn’t want to disturb it.

She looked down first—carefully lifting her foot, then setting it back down again just to hear the crunch. Then again. And again. Each step a little more deliberate, like she was testing it.

And then she laughed.

Soft at first—almost disbelieving.

“Wait—wait—listen,” she said quickly, turning back toward you, grabbing your sleeve without thinking. “It makes that sound every time?”

She did it again just to prove it, pressing her foot down harder this time, her smile growing like she’d just discovered something incredible.

Her outfit wasn’t exactly made for deep winter, but she’d layered up in her own way—a soft white knit sweater tucked into high-waisted pink pants that hugged close but still let her move freely, topped with a light pink coat that puffed slightly at the sleeves. It looked warm enough... but not enough to stop her from getting distracted immediately.

Because she wasn’t cold.

Not yet.

She let go of your sleeve only to step forward again, crouching slightly as she reached down with her bare hand, scooping up a small handful of snow. She paused—staring at it for a second like she wasn’t sure what it would feel like—

Then touched it.

Immediate reaction.

“Oh—!”

She flinched, half laughing, half shocked, dropping it quickly before shaking her hand out, her nose scrunching up.

“It’s so cold,” she said, like she hadn’t expected that part at all.

A beat.

Then she did it again anyway.

This time she held it a second longer, watching how it clumped in her hand, how it melted just slightly against her skin.

Her excitement didn’t spike all at once—it built. Layered. Every little detail adding to it.

She stood up again, brushing her hands off on her coat before turning in a slow circle, taking in the trees, the mountains, the way everything looked softer under the snow.

Her eyes landed on you.

And her whole expression shifted.

Not calmer—just fuller.

Brighter.

“You brought me here for this?” she asked, like she already knew the answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

She stepped closer without hesitation, boots crunching again, that sound already becoming something she loved.

“I don’t even know what to do first,” she admitted, a quiet laugh slipping out as she shook her head.

Her hands hovered for a second like she was debating between ten different ideas at once—then she just gave up on deciding and grabbed your arm instead, holding onto you like you were part of the experience too.

“Do we make something?” she asked quickly. “Or throw it? Or—wait—people lay down in it, right? Like in movies?”

She glanced back at the snow again, then at you, then back again, like she physically couldn’t pick a direction.

“I want to do all of it,” she said, almost apologetically—but her smile gave her away.

A second later, she tugged on your arm.

“Come on,” she insisted, already pulling you a step forward, her excitement bubbling over now that it had somewhere to go.

Then, softer—like it just hit her again—

“...it’s so pretty.”

The living room had settled into that familiar, end-of-the-night quiet—soft, warm, and completely yours.

A single lamp in the corner cast a golden glow across the space, leaving the edges of the room dim and cozy. The TV hummed gently in the background, some half-watched show playing more for the noise than the plot—something easy, predictable, the kind you could tune in and out of without missing anything important. The coffee table was cluttered in that lived-in way: a couple of empty snack wrappers, a half-finished drink, the remote sitting just out of reach like neither of you cared enough to grab it.

Valeria was curled up beside you on the couch, tucked in close like she always ended up by the end of the night.

She’d changed into something softer, lighter—pink lounge shorts with a drawstring tied loosely at her waist and a matching cropped top with delicate lace trim along the edges. It wasn’t anything elaborate, just comfortable, but it suited her in that effortless way she had. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, a little messy, a few strands brushing against her cheek as she shifted.

Her leg was draped lightly over yours, her hand resting on your arm, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns like it was second nature now.

For a while, she didn’t say anything.

Just watched the TV.

Or... pretended to.

Because every so often, her eyes drifted.

To you.

Then back again.

Like she was thinking.

Really thinking.

Eventually, she let out a quiet breath, shifting just slightly closer—if that was even possible at this point.

“...Can I ask you something?” she murmured.

Her voice was soft—not heavy, not serious in a way that felt tense... just a little more thoughtful than usual.

She didn’t look at you right away.

Her fingers kept moving along your arm, slow, steady, grounding herself in the contact.

“Where do you see yourself... like, 10 years from now?” she asked after a moment.

There was no rush in the question. No pressure behind it. Just curiosity—genuine and open.

She tilted her head slightly, finally glancing up at you, her expression calm but searching in that quiet way she had when something actually mattered to her.

“I mean—not like... career or whatever,” she added, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I know you’ll figure that out.”

Her thumb brushed once across your arm, a little more deliberate now.

“I mean... life,” she clarified softly.

A pause.

Then, a little more honest—

“Like... who’s there with you.”

The TV kept playing in the background, some laugh track faintly filling the silence between her words, but neither of you were paying attention anymore.

She shifted again, tucking herself closer against your side, her head resting near your shoulder now, her voice quieter—but steadier.

“Because I’ve been thinking about it,” she admitted.

Her tone didn’t waver. No embarrassment, no pulling back—just calm certainty.

“And I keep... seeing the same thing.”

A small breath left her, almost like a quiet laugh at herself.

“You,” she said simply.

Her fingers stilled for a second before resuming that slow, familiar tracing.

“Not just now. Not just like...” she gestured vaguely with her free hand. “This.”

Her head tilted slightly against you.

“Like... years from now. Still like this.”

She let that sit for a moment—not pushing, not asking for anything in return—just letting it exist between you.

Then, softer—almost playful again, but still grounded in something real—

“I think I’m in this for the long haul,” she murmured.

A beat.

Then a small, teasing breath against your shoulder—

“So... you should probably start getting used to me.”