We reset for the final exchange. My hands feel clumsy now, hyperaware of every movement and what it might reveal about the thoughts I absolutely cannot be having right now.
Falla moves first this time, reaching for my wrists with both hands in a direct approach that gives me clear defensive options. I backstep but he follows the motion, his longer reach compensating for the distance I create.
His right hand catches my left wrist. I twist, trying to break the grip, but he's ready for it. His other hand reaches for my right wrist and I have maybe a second to decide—let him complete the capture or do something impulsive.
I choose impulsive.
Instead of pulling away, I step into his space, close enough that his attempt to grab my other wrist becomes awkward geometry. My free hand reaches for his wrist while he's adjusting to my proximity, and I manage to close my fingers around it even though I'm now standing way too close for this to be just a competition.
Close enough to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. Close enough to notice he smells like the healing herbs he workswith constantly. Close enough that my heart is doing things that have absolutely nothing to do with exertion.
"Mutual capture," he observes, voice carefully even. "Negates both points."
I should step back. Create distance. Return to the appropriate space between healer and patient, between orc and human, between someone helping me recover and someone I definitely should not be noticing this way.
Instead I stay exactly where I am, fingers still wrapped around his wrist, his hand still holding mine. Testing something I don't have words for yet.
"Reset?" I ask, and my voice sounds strange to my own ears.
He releases my wrist immediately, stepping back to create the distance I couldn't. His expression remains neutral but something in his eyes suggests he's reassessing, cataloging this interaction like he catalogs symptoms.
I miss his warmth instantly. The thought arrives unbidden and unwelcome.
We circle again, and this time when he reaches for my wrists I don't twist away. I let him catch both, let his fingers close around them in a firm hold that somehow feels different from every other time he's touched me in a medical capacity.
"I win," he says simply.
I just stare at him, not sure what to say. All I know is that feeling his touch settles something in me, and despite my panic attacks, the last few days have been better than the weeks before.
All because of Falla.
"Final challenge!" Drogath's voice cuts between us, and Falla lets go of me, taking two steps back. I hate the space. "The Serpent Strike! Partners will test their defensive reflexes through the ancient art of the pinch!"
I blink, certain I've misheard. "The what?"
"Pinch challenge." Falla's tone suggests he finds this exactly as ridiculous as I do. "Whoever successfully pinches their partner's upper arm first wins the round. First to three points claims victory."
"You're joking."
"I'm not." He gestures toward the other pairs, who are already squaring off with expressions ranging from competitive determination to barely suppressed laughter. "Frostfang believes it tests reflex speed and playful combat awareness."
"It's literally just pinching each other."
"Yes." Something in his voice suggests he's as baffled by this tradition as I am. "Welcome to Drogath's interpretation of human customs."
Saela catches my eye from where she's circling Kai, both of them moving like this is actual sparring rather than a glorified children's game. She grins, mouths something that might be 'help me,' then dodges Kai's reaching hand with practiced ease.
At least I'm not the only one finding this absurd.
"Ready?" Falla raises his hands, palms out, in a ready stance that looks far too serious for what we're about to do.
I mirror his position, trying to focus on the challenge instead of the fact that I can still feel the phantom warmth of his fingers around my wrists. That I'm now hyperaware of every shift in his stance, every adjustment of his weight, in ways that have nothing to do with defensive strategy.
He moves first—a quick darting motion toward my left upper arm. I twist away, my shoulder protesting the sharp movement but obeying anyway. His fingers miss by inches and I counter-strike immediately, reaching for his right arm while he's still recovering.
My fingertips brush his bicep—who knew a healer would be so muscular?—but he sidesteps smoothly, evading the pinch attempt with minimal wasted motion. The brief contact sendsheat through my palm that I absolutely do not have time to process right now.
Focus. This is just a game. Just a reflex challenge that means nothing beyond testing coordination and?—
