Before stepping out of the changing room, you adjusted the bland, cotton jacket around your body and frowned. This outfit does not compliment my figure, it’s so unflattering, you quietly thought. Then, feeling your tutor growing impatient, his sighs overly emphasized, you finally stepped out feeling a little uncomfortable in your new attire.

 

“Whoa, wait,” said the well-built man, whose was not much older, “Put your mask on.”

 

“Why?” you whined, clearly not in the mood for anything of this. However, there was no way you were getting out of this one; not after you quit the last 6 hobbies you signed up for.

 

“Your face; It’s distracting,” he chuckled and put on the mask for you to save time. He waved a gloved hand in front of you to check if you could see properly. You nodded.

 

He motioned for you to join him on the strip, a specified area just for fencing about 14 meters long and 2 meters wide, and you didn’t hesitate to follow. Fencing wasn’t like the other pastimes you tried- gymnastics, swimming, knitting, etc.- for you actually had to cooperate with another human being. Not to mention that you actually had to fight against them.

 

Fencing, up close, was nothing like it had seemed like on the television. There was strategy, choreography, intense rules, etiquette, and even a strange lingo. You’re mind swirled around and around as your instructor explained the ins-and-outs of each attack, play, and weapon.

 

Of all of the weapons, you felt the most comfortable with the foil, the lightest of them all, and so you decided to start with that one. He clarified for you that points are only scored by contact with the tip. He demonstrated the technique by lightly tapping a spot on your shoulder.

 

“Mr. Wang, what if-”

 

“Jackson. Just call me Jackson,” he repeated for the umpteenth time, not once showing a sign of frustration.

 

“Oh right, sorry! But I was wondering, what if-”  

 

“Y/N. No more questions,” he cut you off.

 

At that, he walked dangerously slow around you. You immediately felt your muscles tighten, your back straighten at the thought of being observed. Both of your masks were off in no time. Leaving you with nowhere to look, your eyes settled on wide mirror in front of you; just like the ones they had at the ballet studio you attended for only three days.

 

Suddenly, Jackson’s dark, sparkling eyes met yours in the mirror. He was standing behind you. So close. You could hear him breathing steadily; a stark contrast to your rapid hyperventilation.

 

“Relax, Y/N, you’ll get it in time,” he whispered so low that you almost didn’t hear him, “Just relax. It’s just me, you, the strip… nothing else exists outside of this room. ”

 

Jackson, with one hand steadied upon your waist, began to massage the particularly tense muscles between your shoulder blades. Without thinking, you let a soft, almost inaudible, moan escape your parted lips. Startled by your own mistake, you stepped forward, out of his comforting embrace, turning sharply on your heel.

 

“En garde!” you exclaimed, lifting your foil up in the attack position. However your attack was no surprise to your well trained instructor, for he quickly countered your attack.

 

“Nice beat. But I had a nicer parry, followed by a beautiful riposte. Stay on the piste Y/N,” he said, lightly laughing to himself again.

 

“Jackson I have no idea what you just said! This whole thing is like a foreign language to me!”

 

 

He continued to giggle at your confusion and your lame attempt to surprise him. You felt frustration and stress boiling just underneath your skin. You weren’t shocked to see the tips of your ears turning a bright crimson either in the mirror. Whether it was out of embarrassment or determination to get it right, you grabbed the mask and pulled it over your face- showing him you were ready to try again. Jackson followed in suit by pulling on his mask and getting in position.

 

“Advance,” he ordered and you moved toward him, your foil in the air. Jackson then signaled for you to make the first move to initiate your attack, a beat.

 

“Parry! Riposte!” said Jackson on each of his defenses- illustrating what each word meant.

 

 

Cling! Your blades met briefly, an engagement, but the match didn’t end just then. This is actually quite fun, you whispered and smiled behind the dark mask. With each move, you felt your worries and the world outside melt away.

 

Just then, Jackson faked you out with a false attack, provoking you to fully commit to the next move- one that sent you toppling over upon your back. You landed with a loud bang and began to feel really dizzy. Your mask rolled away to some odd corner behind you.

Jackson’s worried face, unmasked, hastily appeared above you, his legs straddling you. The room was spinning, the lights blinding. You groaned as you grew lightheaded and weak. He was speaking. You were sure of it.

 

His plump, pink, oh-so kissable lips were forming words you didn’t bother to hear.

His glistening eyes, framed by dark eyebrows, beamed with concern and anxiety.

His taunt, firm muscles, unfortunately hidden under the bland fencing attire, tensed.  

You couldn’t help but…

 

“Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, your hands wrapping around his neck, pulling him down further, “Y/N, Y/N, you crazy girl.”

 

You smiled against his lips at his comment. His warm embrace was back, enveloping you into a tranquil state. As if by magic, your breathing slowed and you felt fully relaxed.

 

 

“That tactic is called a second intention, and you fell for it Y/N” he said smugly.

 

“That’s not all I fell for… Now tell me, what was your first intention?” you teased and cupped his face in your petite hands, his cheeks with your thumbs.

 

“W-What about the lesson?” asked Jackson, avoiding your question, pulling away slightly to look you in the eyes.

 

“Jackson. No more questions,” you mocked and pulled him down for another kiss.

 

Maybe you could survive fencing after all…

 

The End.