The coarse fabric of the gi snaps. Muscle and bone collide with satisfying physicality as her guard connects with his strike.
The intense expression in his blue eyes shifts to frustration, forcing a smile out of her. He tried to feint, but he's never been good at hiding anything. Now he's left himself open.
Quickly pulling back her arm, she strikes with the back of her fist, holding back only as the last moment as knuckles meet temple. Only skin touch is allowed against the head. The sense of precision confirms to her that she is in control.
Resignation follows surprise in his eyes as he acknowledges the hit. He sighs, then smiles at her, with his whole face. Her heart doesn't exactly skip a beat, but it does jump in her chest.
Eyes still locked, she takes a deep breath. They step back, bow, start again.
They are unevenly matched, her green belt two grades above his orange. She knows she should be seeking more challenging opponents, but tells herself that this is her way of giving back to the community. Helping the lower grades improve by forcing them out of their comfort zone. She tells herself it has nothing to do with him being cute. She almost believes it too.
Also, sometimes he's the one to seek her out, materializing from within the mass of white-clad students to stand before her, bowing. Awkward smile on his mouth, determination in his blue eyes.
She brushes hair away from her face. Her ponytail is rapidly unravelling, every strand is sticking to her sweaty skin. He is sweating worse though, often forced to find openings just to wipe it out of his eyes. His uniform is coming undone too, from hairy chest down to slightly soft stomach.
He is cute. That much she's not even denying. Probably she's thought so even from that first day he stepped into the gym. Bewildered, dressed in sweatpants and t-shirt, stance too high and too crooked, striking almost apologetically, as if afraid he might hit somebody.
Even now, there's a gentle vulnerability to both his face, his awkward smile and his body. Somehow artless, unapologetically himself. And she's seen him grow, in skill and in confidence. He leaves himself open less often, is learning to read her moves, recognize her tells (a mean voice inside tells her this means he needs to fight other people than her). Her shins and arms are now actually sore from his blocks more often than not.
There is a conviction that shows during practice. Whatever he does in here, he does it like he means it.
Her train of thought is lost. Along with her breath as he strikes her solar plexus. Lost in thought, she fell for a new feint and he's rightly punished her for it.
His whole face is grinning around his mouthguard. Scoring a hit is still a rare pleasure for him and that artless smile genuinely makes her happy for him. If she wasn't in respiratory distress she might be smiling along with him.
He sees her struggling to breathe and his smile softens. "Are you OK?"
When air finally enters her lungs again she smiles at him. "Yeah. Enjoy your victory while it lasts." A wide grin splits his face, they stand back, locks eyes, bow.
They straighten their uniforms. She covers up her sports bra, wrangles her hair back into the ponytail. He spends a few moments tightening and retying his own uniform jacket. Finally, only his neck is showing again, and he nods, smiling.
Then, like a switch being flipped, the gentle look he had about him is suddenly focused and confident.
The second change in his expression, signalling an attack, is almost too quick for her to read. Almost, but not quite. She turns away from a front kick at the last moment, raising her own leg, muscles coiled as a spring waiting for release. Curling her toes, she aims the ball of her foot at his exposed torso.
She releases.
The kick connects.
It feels wrong.
Fuck.
His posture was higher than she expected. She aimed too low.
Fuckfuckfuck.
She kicked him right in the nuts. Hard.
He collapses on the floor, spits out his mouthguard, dry heaves while curling up to a ball like a dying insect. All she can do is stare at him in mortified disbelief. Her control is a point of pride, especially now that she's stronger.
"Yame! Aite ni o-rei!" The instructor grunts in a valiant imitation of Japanese and with it the rest of the world comes rushing back in. The sounds of a dozen uniforms moving, the smell of sweat and mattresses heavy in the air. She is almost shocked to find herself snapped back to the reality of the gym, surrounded by other students.
She instinctively makes a quick bow, then extends her hand to help him up. He doesn't take it. Turning his back to her he picks up his mouthguard and disappears among the other students, lost in a churning sea of white uniforms as they arrange themselves by grade. Reluctantly she straightens her uniform and joins the other green belts.
- - -
She showers and gets dressed quickly, then sits down at a bench outside the gym. The autumn wind is cold in her wet hair as leaves blow across the gray concrete and steely sky, congregating briefly in piles only to be swept off again.
Then he appears. Khaki pants with a green hoodie, hands in pockets, duffel bag slung across his shoulder. She realizes she's never seen him in his street clothes before. They look out of place on him, oddly personal. Clothes he has chosen to wear himself. Therefore the fact that they say almost nothing in itself says something about him.
She walks towards him and he looks up, surprise becoming a smile as recognition sets in. The wind flattens her long-sleeved T-shirt against her body and she can see his eyes dart down, then quickly back up, embarrassed. No doubt hoping she didn't notice.
She's always been lean and flat-chested. If she chooses to fight competitively, this will be to her advantage. No extra weight that isn't muscle and that she can't get rid of. Now though, she can't shake the feeling that he checked her out hoping to find something only to come away with nothing. Also, he should keep his eyes to himself.
She pushes embarrassment and annoyance down. She's the one here to apologize after all.
"Hey." She starts tentatively, coming up beside him as he waits to cross the street.
"Hey."
"So," she swallows. "I'm really sorry for what happened. I've never done that before!"
A chime indicates green light. "It was a new experience for me too, actually. Didn't know they made pain that intense." He gives her a crooked smile as they cross.
"I'm really sorry!"
"It's not as bad anymore." He turns to her, face softened. "I guess it happens." The wind intensifies, he brushes sandy hair from his eyes. "Don't worry about it, OK?" He smiles. First with his eyes, then with his mouth. "I'm not mad at you our anything."
She breathes an actual sigh of relief. "Thanks. Really thought you would be."
"I was mostly just in pain. I don't think you did it on purpose." He stops walking, extends his hand, hair still blowing across his face. Around them the concrete maze of apartment complexes extends in all directions. Trees absurdly colorful in contrast.
"You're forgiven." She takes his hand, large and solid as it closes on hers, his handshake gentle but firm. A slight tingle runs up her arm at the touch.
"Thanks. Hey..." She takes a moment to catch her breath, stop her head from spinning, then starts walking again. Butterflies are starting up in her stomach, his touch still lingers on her hand. "If it's any consolation, I've taken a few boob shots. Got all swollen once."
"Ow. Sounds nasty." He looks concerned, also endearingly awkward. Giddy, she decides to push the subject a bit further. Take control of it maybe, make up for her moment of insecurity when he looked at her earlier.
"Yeah. All blue and yellow and veiny. Course I grew a cup size too, which was kinda hot." He glances at her. She grins back. "They're back to normal now, sorry to disappoint the gentleman."
He looks at the ground, blushing. Fitting payback for not keeping his eyes to himself. "What? No! I don't think that... I mean you're really..."
"You're cute when you're blushing." She laughs, embarrassed. Did she just call him cute? To his actual face?
"So, what got you into fighting?" He asks immediately, thankfully eager to steer the conversation into safer waters.
"Self defense, initially. Had a bad experience and decided I need to know how to fight."
"Oh..." He looks at her, concerned "Was it, you know, serious?"
"No." She decides to close up this particular path in her memory. "But it taught me that helplessness is the worst. I hate not being in control and I don't like running." A car passes, sound system momentarily drowning any attempts at conversation as it dopplers by hypnotically. "I feel running's a habit that's hard to break, you know?" She says once the car is past.
"Yeah, I guess so. Start running who knows where you end up right?"
"Nowhere is where you end up. And also whatever you're running from is now chasing behind you, right? You wanna meet things head on, not get snuck..." A leaf blows into her face, cutting her off as its sweet smell fills her her nostrils. She spends a moment spitting and brushing it away while he manages not to laugh too hard at her. "Anyway, I think my metaphor kinda got away from me."
"It was a nice metaphor. I liked it. Shame it got away." He puts on a face of almost genuine mournfulness.
