Minako can feel Zoicite's chest heating her through the back of her fuku, and knows this is the end. No matter the outcome of this battle, which will feature the death of one or both of them, she knows this is the end because she can feel it in the ragged breathing that rubs their clothes in friction. He is not tired, nor is she, because the fight is young and fresh, and they've both been training so long. She feels the tense flexing of his arm as it pins down her hands. She can feel the hot slice of air against her cheek as he expels breath in the shape of a smirk. She is at his mercy physically. But in their silent battle of wills, punctuated only by the tiny grunts of one getting the upper hand over the other, she finds herself falling deeper. This is wrong, she knows. She can see that danger flashing in his eyes, the finality. Her heart beats faster as she crouches for the next round, and she can taste the end, bitter on her tongue. Even if she wins, even if he perishes, she knows she will come out of this encounter forever changed, and will feel loss and sorrow sharper than any blade.