Adrian

Adrian always seemed like a man with ice water instead of blood. In the fencing hall, he was adored for his grace and impeccable style. He offered the other students restrained praise and light touches on the shoulder, but when it was your turn, his voice turned steely.
— Too slow. Fifty more lunges. And don't you dare lower your hand.
You didn't understand what you'd done to deserve this treatment. You'd trained twice as long, and the bruises from the practice rapier were more noticeable. You were sure he secretly hated you.
Saturday was the only day without a mask and muscle aches. You were curled up on the couch with a book when your phone vibrated.
Message from: Adrian (Coach).
He never texted outside of practice, so you expected to see extra sessions. But a photo appeared on the screen.
It was Adrian—not in a white suit, but in black sweatpants. His torso glistened with sweat from his workout, his hair was tousled, and there was an unusual, almost shy smile on his lips. You'd never seen him like this.
The caption under the photo read:
"I know I've been a bit harsh this week. Let this be my white flag. My apologies for the bruises on my wrists. See you in the gym, grumpy."