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!"
