however, your paths to mastery are worlds apart. hyunju's skills come from the military. since she was eighteen, far before her transition, she learned taekwondo before rising up the ranks.

by the time she was a first class sergeant, her kicks were silencing a room of recruits.

you’ve been at it since you were a kid, breaking boards with tiny fists before you could even tie your colored dobok properly.

your shared apartment with your lover tells the story of your talents...hyunju’s military medals are pinned neatly on a corkboard, all precision and order, while your world championship medals spill out of a shoebox under the coffee table.

it is a chaotic pile of gold, silver, and bronze, some tangled in ribbons, others dented from being tossed in after a win.

one evening, you catch hyunju on the couch, a wine in hand, staring at that box like it’s holds the worlds secrets. she’s holding a gold medal from your barcelona win in 2017, her fingers tracing the edge.

“babe, how do you just… leave these in a box?” she asks, her voice caught between awe and disbelief.

“this is from a world championship, and it’s just… sitting here with some loose change?”

you grin, flopping beside her and stealing a sip of her white wine.

“what am i supposed to do, frame every single one? we’d need a bigger apartment.” you nudge her shoulder, teasing, “besides, you’ve got your own shiny badges, sergeant. don’t act like you’re not a badass.”

hyunju blushes, her usual stoic vibe softening.

“mine are different. they’re… duty. yours are art.” she holds up the medal, the ribbon dangling. “you should display these. they’re you.”

you laugh, leaning into her, “if i put them all up, you’d never find the remote again. too much bling.”

you’ve been dying to go one-on-one with hyunju since you moved in together.

the thought of sparring with hyunju...both of you at your peak...sounds like pure adrenaline. maybe, its your hormones talking as well. one of your fantasies is having your girlfriend pin you as she drills into you.

anyways....you can already see it. the gym, the mats, the two of you circling, kicks flying like a dance.

unfortunately, hyunju shuts it down every time, her face getting all flustered like you’ve asked her to do something embarrassing.

one morning, you’re stretching in the living room, your black dobok a bit wrinkled from the laundry basket, and you try again.

“come on, hyunju,” you say, doing a dramatic high kick that nearly tips you over.

“one round. you and me. let’s see if a sergeant can keep up with a world-class spinner.”

she’s at the kitchen counter, sipping coffee, and nearly chokes.

“absolutely not,” hyunju says, eyes dodging yours, “i’m not fighting you, y/n.”

“it’s not fighting, it’s sparring,” you correct, catching yourself before you fall.

“come on, babe. scared i’ll win?” she rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at her lips.

“you’re ridiculous. and no, i’m not scared. i just…” she pauses, setting her mug down, “i don’t want to hurt you.”

you burst out laughing, doubling over.

“hurt me? hyunju, i’ve been kicked in the ribs by girls twice my size in tokyo and had my teeth knocked in by others in moscow. i think i can handle you.” she crosses her arms, leaning against the counter, her expression stubborn but soft.

“it’s different, okay? you’re not some random opponent. you’re… you. i’d feel weird.”

you pout, dropping onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh.

“fineeee,” you drawl, “you’re no fun, sergeant. i bet i’d have you on the mat in ten seconds flat.”

hyunju raises an eyebrow, grinning.

“ten seconds? you’re dreaming, champ.” she walks over, ruffling your hair, “keep talking big, and i might just change my mind.”

even if she won’t spar, hyunju’s admiration for you is obvious. you catch her watching old videos of your matches on her phone, eyes glued to the screen as you land a perfect roundhouse kick.

one night, you come home from practice, sweaty and beat, to find her on the couch with her laptop open, rewatching your 2022 world championship final.

“are you… studying me?” you tease, kicking off your shoes and flopping beside her. she doesn’t flinch, still focused on the screen where you’re dodging a strike with inhuman grace.

“you’re insane,” she mutters.

“the way you move… it’s like you’re dancing with your opponent and not fighting.” your cheeks heat up, caught off guard.

“says the woman who could probably take down an entire platoon with one kick.”

she looks at you, her expression soft.

“i’m serious, y/n. you’re incredible. i’ve seen a lot of fighters, but you’re something else.”

you don’t know what to say, so you kiss her cheek, quick and playful.

“you’re just saying that ‘cause you’re stuck with me.”

“maybe,” she teases, pulling you closer, her arm around your lower waist as her nose pokes yours, “but i’m not complaining.”

since hyunju won’t spar, you find other ways to share your mutual bond.

you start “technique tuesdays,” taking turns teaching each other your favorite moves in the living room, coffee table pushed aside and you make sure that your two cats are in another room.

one tuesday, you’re showing her a flashy spinning heel kick you perfected years ago.

“okay, your turn,” you say, hands on hips, panting.

“show me that military precision you’re always bragging about.” hyunju smirks, stepping into the center of the room. her stance is sharp, controlled, and she nails a double knife-hand block followed by a low kick so precise it could’ve been measured with a ruler.

you whistle, impressed.

(a/n: upstair neighbor activites LMAOO)

“damn, babe,” you say while clapping, “you’re so sexy and its making me look bad.”

“please,” she scoffs, brushing hair from her face, “I think you’d eat me alive in a real match.”

you grin, stepping closer until you’re inches apart.

“then let’s find out. one round. no holding back.” you mumble against hyunju's soft lips. you nearly kiss them but hyunju groans.

the woman's grain turns into laughter, pushing you away gently.

“you’re relentless, y/n.” “and you love it,” you shoot back, winking.

she doesn’t deny it, just pulls you into a hug, her chin on your head.

“maybe i do,” she murmurs, “but i’m still not fighting you.”

“whateverrrrr. fine,” you mumble into her shoulder, smiling.

you’ll get her on the mat someday.

for now, having her gentle warmth is satisfying enough.