We fight like lovers and plan like thieves. You steal my calm; I crack your armor. In every boardroom, every chess match, every midnight argument on a rain-soaked balcony—you push, and I refuse to break. It’s the only dance either of us knows. The music is a blade. The floor is a promise.

That was the moment I knew. Not love—something rawer. Something that doesn’t need a name. You are the fire I set myself against to stay sharp. You are the flaw in my mirror that keeps me honest.

The war is the thing that keeps us alive.

Once, you said, “I want to win, but I don’t want you to lose.”

You were the first to notice me.