#f you

Clarisse clocks you as a problem immediately. You don’t flinch. You don’t back down. She likes that.

You argue. A lot. Not petty stuff - strategy, training methods, who messed up a drill. It’s loud. But it’s also honest.

Neither of you are good at apologizing. You show it by showing up anyway.

You hit just as hard as she does. Sometimes harder. Clarisse respects that more than words.

Training together is brutal. No mercy. No special treatment. You both expect better from each other.

When you’re injured, she’s furious - not because you got hurt, but because she wasn’t there.

You don’t soothe her anger. You redirect it. Sparring is how you talk things out.

Clarisse doesn’t feel like she has to explain herself around you. You already get it.

You understand her temper because you have one too. No lectures. Just space when it’s needed.

Silence between you isn’t awkward. It’s recovery.

You challenge her authority sometimes. She challenges yours back. It stays even.

Clarisse trusts you to watch her back without asking. It’s instinct.

You don’t need reassurance. Neither does she. Loyalty is assumed.

When you do get soft, it’s rare and private. Shared looks. Brief touches. Nothing dramatic.

Clarisse hates public affection. You do too. Your version is standing shoulder to shoulder.

You don’t try to make her gentler. She doesn’t try to make you kinder.

Camp is slightly afraid of you together.

Clarisse fights better when you’re beside her. She’s sharper. Meaner. Focused.

You don’t fix her trauma. She doesn’t fix yours. You just don’t let each other face it alone.

When one of you breaks, the other holds the line without comment.