Daniel started noticing it the next day.
Leo stopped pushing during training.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
He didn't tease as much. Didn't provoke. Didn't corner Daniel with sharp questions or half-smiles meant to unnerve him. Instead, he watched. Quietly. Carefully. Like someone learning a pattern instead of trying to break it.
And that somehow felt worse.
During morning drills, Leo matched Daniel's pace without comment. When Daniel adjusted his stance, Leo mirrored it. When Daniel slowed his breathing, Leo did the same.
It was unsettling.
"Is he copying you?" Mika whispered during a water break.
Daniel wiped sweat from his neck. "No."
Ryo glanced between them. "He is."
Daniel clenched his bottle harder. "Ignore it."
But ignoring Leo was becoming impossible.
Later that day, the academy announced paired research assignments—strategy analysis, combat theory, and pack dynamics. Names flashed on the screen at the front of the hall.
Daniel scanned quickly.
His stomach dropped.
Daniel — Leo
He felt Mika's elbow immediately. "You're joking."
Ryo leaned back in his chair. "Fate has jokes."
Daniel stood abruptly. "I'll talk to the instructor."
Leo's voice followed him. "Why?"
Daniel stopped.
"Is working with me that unbearable?" Leo asked, calm but curious.
Daniel turned slowly. "I work better alone."
Leo nodded. "Then this will be educational."
They met in the academy library that evening.
It was quiet, filled with soft lights and the scent of old pages. Daniel chose a table near the back, spreading his materials out like a barrier.
Leo arrived a few minutes later, hands in his pockets.
"You always sit like you're preparing for a fight," Leo said lightly.
Daniel didn't look up. "And you talk when you should be reading."
Leo smiled and sat anyway.
Minutes passed. Then more.
Leo finally broke the silence. "You hate being seen."
Daniel's pen paused.
"That's not an insult," Leo added. "Just an observation."
Daniel exhaled slowly. "You're very observant."
"It's how I survive."
Daniel glanced at him. "Survive what?"
Leo hesitated for the first time. "Expectations."
The word lingered between them.
Daniel went back to his notes, but his voice was quieter when he spoke. "Then you should understand."
"I do," Leo said. "That's why I'm not forcing you."
Daniel looked up sharply.
Leo met his gaze evenly. "But I won't pretend I didn't notice things either."
Daniel's heart thudded. "What things?"
Leo leaned forward slightly. "The way your control slips when you're tired. How your presence shifts when you're angry. How you fight like you're protecting something, not proving anything."
Daniel swallowed.
"You don't smell like someone chasing dominance," Leo continued. "You smell like someone hiding from it."
The room felt too small.
Daniel closed his book. "You should stop."
Leo didn't move. "Why?"
"Because if you're wrong—" Daniel's voice caught, just slightly "—you'll regret asking."
Leo's expression softened instead of sharpening.
"And if I'm right?" he asked gently.
Daniel stood, chair scraping softly against the floor. "Then you'll regret knowing."
He walked away before Leo could respond.
That night, Daniel dreamed.
Not of running. Not of hiding.
But of standing still—while someone stayed.
When he woke, his chest felt heavy.
Because for the first time, the idea of being known didn't feel like weakness.
It felt like risk.
And Daniel had spent his whole life learning how to avoid those.