The training field behind the Black Bulls' hideout was cloaked in moonlight. Wind rustled the trees, and the occasional crackle of mana danced across the clearing like static fireflies. Most of the squad had long since gone to bed.
Except two.
Asta stood shirtless in the center of the field, muscles slick with sweat, breathing steady as he twirled his Demon-Slayer sword with ease. Each swing cut through the air with precision born of discipline and sheer, unrelenting drive.
Yuno, on the other hand, was struggling.
He stood a few paces away, cloak tossed to the grass, chest rising and falling faster than usual. His body glowed faintly with wind magic, but it flickered unpredictably—unstable. His new spell wasn't cooperating. He couldn't get the wind to obey.
And it was getting to him.
"Again," Yuno muttered, teeth clenched as he summoned the spell once more. "Spirito Form: Gale Serpent."
The air twisted violently around him, beginning to take shape—then sputtered out in a burst of uncontrolled wind, blasting the dirt beneath him.
"Damn it—!" Yuno staggered back, breath caught somewhere between rage and shame.
Asta watched silently, setting his sword down in the grass. Then he walked over—calm, measured, steady.
Yuno didn't look at him.
"Why can't I get this right?" he asked the air.
Asta didn't answer. Instead, he stepped behind Yuno and wrapped his arms around him from behind, pressing their bare torsos together—heat to heat, muscle to muscle.
Yuno tensed.
"Asta—what are you—"
"Breathe," Asta murmured in his ear. "Feel me. Not the magic. Not the pressure. Me."
Yuno exhaled shakily, eyes closing. Asta's hands stayed on his chest, grounding him. His touch wasn't demanding—just secure. Certain.
"You're trying too hard," Asta said softly. "You're not fighting magic. You are magic. Stop treating it like a weapon and start treating it like part of you."
Yuno's shoulders relaxed slightly under the pressure of Asta's hold.
"I can't—" he whispered. "If I lose control—"
"I'll catch you," Asta cut in, voice low and solid like iron. "Always."
Something in Yuno broke open at that. Not like glass. Like a door finally unlocked.
He turned in Asta's arms, eyes searching his face in the pale moonlight. "Why do you do this?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. "Why do you always know what I need, even when I don't say it?"
Asta didn't blink. "Because I see you, Yuno. Not the Golden Dawn's prodigy. Not the Spirit Host. Just you. And I love every damn part of you."
Yuno's breath caught.
Then Asta kissed him.
Not rushed. Not frantic. But deep. Grounding. A promise sealed in lips and breath. His hand rose to the back of Yuno's neck, pulling him closer. Yuno melted into it—leaning into Asta's strength, letting himself fall for once.
The kiss grew hotter—Yuno's fingers clutching Asta's bare back, nails digging in slightly. But Asta never lost control. He guided it, deepened it, owned it.
When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, Asta pressed his forehead to Yuno's once again.
"You don't have to be perfect around me," he said. "You don't have to hold it all together. Not when I'm here."
Yuno's eyes shone. "Stay with me tonight."
Asta's lips curved into a slow, quiet smile. "Try and stop me."