[Hyou/Jon] Get out the Way

The solid smack of a wrapped fist against the weighted punching bag echoed dully in the open gym and Jon bounced a step back, keeping their fists up against the imaginary foe. They struck forward in several quick right jabs followed by a left, switching it up to keep from falling into a pattern. Sweat dripped down their temple and they gave a shake of their head, the heavy bun of their hair swaying ominously. So far the band they had found held up under the abuse, keeping the bulk of their hair off their neck. More sweat beaded along their bare shoulders and arms where the black, short sleeved athletic top didn’t quite reach. They pivoted on the sole of their prosthetic, snapping their left leg up to kick the bag sharply with a decent roundhouse kick, but the height left much to be desired. At their current range, they could do more damage to a kneecap than a face.

Corded ear buds trailed down their back to the small music player they had clipped to the waistband of their baggy green shorts. Faint music pumped enthusiastically and Jon bounced back with the rhythm, kicking again. Take out the kneecap and drop the opponent, the bag swung heavily, sharp jab to the solar plexus to kill breathing, they gave two quick left strikes, and follow through with a roundhouse. Jon spun sharply, catching the bag one last time with the heel of their bare foot and nearly tumbled over at the force they exerted, making for a quick little hopping dance on their prosthetic until they had their real foot firmly planted. Never once did they drop their hands.

It wasn’t exactly a rarity to see Jon in the gym, occasionally hanging out to watch others train and lightly heckle friends, but they could count on one hand they willingly did anything athletic. Freshly healed scars from their excursion with Cure stood prominently against their brown skin, two along their bicep with the third hidden beneath the baggy hem of their shorts. At least their half sleeve of colorful tattoos had made it out in tact. On their next free day, they’d head out into the city, maybe take a train to Akihabara to find any shops offering flash tattoos. They’d been thinking of adding something anime-esque, maybe Ghibli or something sci fi, Jon never really had a plan to the slowly growing collection.

Vanity aside, as soon as they were all cleared medical wise Jon dove headfirst into their old boxing regiment with a focus they reserved for video games. They’d gotten a little attention from some of the students, word traveled fast when you got your ass handed to you by a top tier villain and survived. It was misplaced hero worship and Jon shrugged it off with their usual candor, a few deprecating jokes to slip out of the spotlight and took the few jeers with a shrug. Jon was good at feigning they were infallible, unflappable in the moment, never letting anyone know the difference between their normal cheery grin and the ones that didn’t reach their eyes.

With a loud groan, Jon caught the bag and leaned against it, breathing heavily and pressed their forehead against the smooth surface. They’d been quietly and slowly working on bettering themselves, even their brother noticed a difference when they last sparred. Finding willing partners to spar against at the school proved to be rather difficult, Jon had tried to enlist Kazume but the guy had to really learn the friendly part of friendly sparring. So that left them on their own with Bruce Dickinson’s voice to keep them company.

Ignoring the burning ache in their arms, Jon straightened stretching their hands high above and their head and leaned from side to side and yawned loudly. Time for a water break. Scratching at their outer thigh just where their prosthetic’s socket ended, the teen tested the hold of their liner and decided to hold off on changing it. Popping one of their ear buds out, they let it dangle, leaving the other to belt out a few lines about children of the damned. For once Jon was relatively bandage free. They had their usual collection of bandaids that crisscrossed over a few fingers and a weird, faintly phallic bruise on the inside of their left forearm with no memory of how it’d gotten there. But that had been the worst of it.

Meandering over to the side of the gym where they dumped their stuff; a towel, water bottles and their phone, Jon caught sight of another student studying themself in the mirror. Bending to retrieve a water bottle with another groan, they twisted the cap off with a flourish to drink greedily from it. Water never tasted so good. Plastic crinkling under fingers, the teen finally let up and sighed.

With a quick, casual glance, they took in the guy's state and offered a friendly, “You look like shit, dude.”

Water slipped past their lips, running down their throat to mingle with sweat and Jon didn’t bother to wipe it away to take another guzzle of lukewarm water. It’d been cold when they grabbed it, but guess they’d be at the bag longer than they thought. It was easy to lose themselves in the beating of an inanimate object they could project frustrations on. It’d been good too, Jon felt better, looser and the faint ache felt right. They watched the guy from the corner of their eye as he spoke. Blond ruffled hair, pretty eyes even with a scar that ran through; that looked that had to hurt, jawline to be envious of, not that baby faced Jon was. Nice body, they thought as their gaze trailed downward briefly, noting he had at least a solid foot of height and a good fifty pounds over them. Jon didn’t recognize them, so they were probably weren’t a third year.

“You know you’re suppose to duck.” They offered helpfully with a knowing smile tugging at the corners of their mouth before taking one last swing. “Awww, you wound me blondie. This is me on a good day.” They twisted the cap on the empty bottle and dropped it on their green hoodie before bending to pull out a towel from under it, groaning unnecessarily as they straightened.

“About a week long nap oughta do it.” Dragging the towel across their face, they slipped it around their shoulders, bunching it to catch the uncomfortable tickle of sweat down their neck. They tugged on the edges, see sawing it in a gentle motion. “Names Jon.” The teen extended a wrapped hand in a proffered shake, mindful of the peeling edges around their knuckles. “And nah, got that covered.”

Then as if the proverbial light bulb went off over their head, they grinned suddenly. “Actually yeah, if you’re offering.” That grin spoke volumes for those who’d previously barred witness to it. To the unassuming, it was nothing more then a cherry gesture. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. “You know how to fight? I mean I gotta ask ‘cause.” Jon gestured to themselves, mirroring where the bruises were on the other guy. “Nobody will spar with me, guess they’re afraid of me kickin’ their ass.” And not because they took one look at their small stature and thought, they’d snap the third year in half.

“You look like you can take a proper ass kickin’.”

One could tell a lot by someone’s handshake and without delving too far into stereotypes, Jon appreciated the hearty greeting. It was a good way to seize up a person and feel out what the first half dozen or so first impressions filtered through. Hyousuke. They ran the name through their dumpster of a memory data bank and came up empty, though they weren’t exactly surprised. They were terrible with names, did better with faces and reps but with a school with over a thousand plus, it was hard to even keep those straight. Kid could have been the top of his class, graduating with honors or their next door desk neighbor in home room and Jon would have shrugged all the same. However, the fact the guy hadn’t made mention of their child size or prosthetic instantly made him their best friend.

“Whoa, really?” Jon hadn’t expected the yes and was pleasantly surprised. “Nice.”

They hummed, letting the note linger before shrugging as they dropped their towel back on their pile, following with their music player and ear buds. “Can’t really use mine right now, don’t got any spare metal to work with, so if you want, that’s cool. Unless it’s like laser beams outta your eyes or some mind whatchamacallit that makes me think I’m a cat. Then that’s just cheating.” They added with a wink before rolling their head slowly, testing the tension that’d been building from their previous workout.

“Don’t tell Isamu I said that. I’ll never hear the end of it.” If there was one thing Jon was good at, it was talking in circles. Their mouth ran a mile a minute and half the time they didn’t even remember what they were saying. Made for some interesting conversations.

“You a first year? Second?” Jon tugged on the edge of their shorts above their prosthetics knee, making sure it hadn’t bunched around the socket liner, that made for uncomfortable chafing. They’d been using Barda a lot during non hero related things, leaving Éowyn for the big jobs and assignments but both running blades had served their purpose and Jon figured at the end of the week they’d have to get Barda resoled. The rubber sole was starting to wear unevenly. “That’s all right, I promise to take it easy on you, if you do the same for poor, lil ol’ me.”

“So, what’s your fighter class? Brawler? Martial arts? Wrasslin’?” They bounced a little on their toes, feeling the proper give of their knee joint and the easy, loose movement of their real one. “I do a bit of boxing on the weekends with my bro.”

Jon shot Hyousuke a mock scowl at the mention of Isamu and flipped a few loose green dreads over their shoulder. “Good luck with that pal, it’d probably backfire on ya.” They’d had enough time to work through the first few sleepless nights of nightmares, on more than one occasion taking over the common room’s couch with a blanket and their phone to watch videos until they eventually dozed off and dropped the tech on their face. It beat being alone in their room and they only contemplated knocking on Kaz’s door rather than doing it.

“Actually, try it and let me know what he does. I tend to have an effect on people.” The effect being almost getting themselves killed, but surely it’d been plenty of time for Isamu to forgive them for almost dying in front of him. Jon hadn’t talked with the student since the attack, dodging the problem as usual.

“Boi, they make you first years bigger and bigger every year.” Jon teased, shaking their head. “As long as you don’t let my good looks blind you either. Not the face,” they brushed a hand beneath their chin, following their rounded jaw. “That’s my money maker. Everything else is fair game.” Folding their arms behind their back, the teen swayed slowly, stretching their arms a little, waiting with just enough patience to not walk off toward the mat while the guy got ready. “Also, third year. I know, I look older than that, get it all the time.”

“Ooo, fancy.” Jon tipped their head toward the gloves. They had a few pairs but never seemed to have them on them while they practiced. Tape worked the best, it gave them a moment to concentrate, ensuring they wrapped their hands properly. That was something they didn’t skimp on. They’d had and would have their fair share of bruised and bloodied knuckles working with Iron Fist and one of these days, they’d get the hang of them. Maybe if Hyousuke was some damn powerhouse, they’d call for a break to include the metal boxing gloves if they could scrounge around for some spare metal.

“Nice, nice. Beat ‘em till they’re nothin’ but a bruise. I like. Brutal, efficient, overwhelming, total boss move. Get the job done with style.” That was all really good info and if Jon was a thinkin’ person, they’d actually apply it to their own.

“Savate.” Their accent slipped through on the pronunciation. “French boxing, kinda like boxing and kickboxing smooshed together but not as neat?” They shrugged lightly at their simplistic descriptor, falling short of what it really entailed. “Unlike most heroes, I’m not built like the Hulk, so I gotta rely on other strengths. Speed, stealth, dirty fighting. No, no, just joking.” Jon waved their hand at the last part before grinning broadly. “Or am I? But hey, what are the chances of a couple of boxers meetin’ up, huh? Totally fate, god herself would be proud to have us throw a few punches around.”

Jon followed along side the first year, noting they’d forgotten their mouth guard, but really, who was surprised anymore. “Can’t give away all my trade secrets. How else a I going to mercilessly beat you?” The teen winked before lofting a hand. “Gentlemen first.” They followed, climbing into the ring with little flair, taking a moment to appreciate the gym UA provided, sparing no expense. The ring was standard size and raised like stage, complete with corner padding and ropes.

Raising an arm, Jon offered a fist to bump in friendly sportsmanship before falling into an unassuming, neutral pose. “A’ight, blondie. Show me what you got.”

“This ain’t Europe, is it?” Jon lofted a brow as a challenge. “God save the Queensberry, yada yada, all that.” They eased out a soft laugh in an exhale and their grin was crooked, cocked higher than one side in simple joy. It’d been awhile since they sparred against anyone who wasn’t family or friend and they were honestly looking for something different. While their sneaker wasn’t standard boxing attire, neither was their running blade prosthetic, it still slid smoothly along the ring’s flooring as they drew it back behind them, shifting their weight evenly. They were definitely looking forward to this.

“You look plenty tough, don’t think I didn’t miss all that.” The teen waved a hand up and down, encompassing the other guy in their punctuated movement. “Mmm, daddy like. Maybe afterwards, I’ll treat you the finest canned soda the cafeteria has to offer and you can tell me more about your daily workout.” Jon winked, breaking their record of how fast they could toss out a little flirting and reign it back in a breakneck speed before focusing on the spar.

They didn’t know a single thing about their partner, Hyousuke, but out in the public fighting the good fight, one didn’t have the time to stop and ask what everyone’s strengths and weaknesses were. This was perfect, going in blind and probably getting their ass handed back to them. Wouldn’t make it any different from the norm.

There was no warning, no tell and suddenly the guy as looming over them. Jon stepped back, artfully shifting just out of range, tucking their forearm up in a quick snap to block the second punch and grunted. Dude was not pulling their punches and they could appreciate that. Their body, not so much. Maybe they should have gone for some gloves themselves, but too late now.

“Not bad, not bad, blondie,” they huffed out. “But come on,” and continued, provoking with the slightest of teases. “my grandma hits harder than that and she’s 103.”

They snapped their knee up in a quick piston like move and with the momentum of their hips kicked forward with the heel of their sneaker aiming for Hyousuke’s thigh. It was easier to aim for joints, Jon being much smaller than most opponents, but they wanted to see how tough he really was. As little as they were Jon played fully into it, using their shorter stature to dodge and the strength in their leg. Alex always did say they kicked like a mule, but that’s what happened when it did twice the work. Their prosthetic shifted, gathering the buildup of energy from pivoting their weight, sending Jon backwards in a light hop. Stepping off kept them outside of his punching range and the guy wasn’t lying when he said he was a swarmer. Hyou definitely kept them on their toes and they grunted, blocking a nasty punch that left their arm throbbing before slipping back, mindful of the ropes behind them.

“That’s called a chassé figure. Well, more like a bas since my reach isn’t as high as some freakishly tall giants.” Jon bounced back and forth. “Better to catch them at the hip, it takes away,” they paused to duck, snapping back up to counter with a quick jab and cross, “your opponents balance. Then you can come in swingin’.”

Jon bent, sweeping in close to counter and throw a few uppercuts, their stance giving them the perfect range for the teen’s sides or liver or wherever it was. They’d never been that good at anatomy. Still they kept a close eye on how he reacted. They followed after taking a step back with whip kick to the head or at least they tried. Damn tall first years. They were going to have to work on that, knock their target down to a knee and then take them out that way. Jon reached about mid bicep on Hyou but it was a strain and wouldn’t hold the same power behind it, if they connected. It was still controlled, precise, less impact but more precise, fast and to the point. Aim, shoot and back off. Basically a roundhouse kick if you wanted to simplify it, but Jon was never one for simple.

This was fun. But Jon had a slightly warped sense of fun. The pretty blonde was proving to be an ample opponent and they laughed, a warm rasp that was more breathy than normal. “You don’t know my grandma. She could run circles around,” they grunted and moved forward to strike, shifting closer to the taller teenager. “the headmaster.”

There was something Jon could better than most people. Disarm and annoy and just Hyousuke’s luck, they were full of it today. They could happily babble, poignantly and randomly and smash the two together without a second thought. Friends usually took the brunt of it on the daily, mildly annoying them on the down low enough for the small third year to refrain from terrorizing others. Or, at least that’s how Kaz put it, but he was a beautiful snarky stick in the mud and therefore his opinion only counted for half. But, Jon had not necessarily avoided others, they simply had other things on their mind today and that was making their knuckles bleed by the end of the day. On the mats of course, Jon was not at all interested in hurting anyone. The first year just happened to be a nice break between bruises and sore muscles.

“Geeze, if I wanted a punching bag, I would have stuck with them.” Jon nudged with their usual reckless cadence, all easy sarcasm and loose taunting. This time it was with a little more purpose, testing the water of responses. “At least they’re entertaining.”

Hyou came fast, towering and crowding over them and Jon tucked in close, hoping to diminish the force of the punches. He took to the advice like fish out of water, but eh, Jon wasn’t too miffed. Not like they were expecting to being thanked in the middle of the spar. They couldn’t help but share like their brother did, offering advice in his easy going nature. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t have the same deference and could easily come off as something else. Wouldn’t be the first time. Jon whipped their arm up to block the feinted punch, ducking at the same time and swung their opposite arm down to catch the knee just as it connected.

Jon went down, falling heavily and would have made for quite the spectacular defeat if their grin wasn’t stretched across their face. Their hands hit the stretched mat with a slap as they fell into a low crouch, already shifting their balance to the square sole of their prosthetic. They spun sharply and kicked with their left leg in a sweeping backwards arc, using their heel to aim a hard kick. Again, their disadvantage was their height but they could probably reach his ribs if they made contact. Not dwelling on it, Jon completed the spin and was already shoving themselves up to stand, quickly backing up to give themselves space.

“Woof.” Jon rubbed their side and gave a quick shake out of their arm from the shoulder before falling back into a defensive stance. “I’m gonna feel that one for days.”

The countering jeer was met with another wave of excitement. “Ooo, the punching bag bites back.”

The aggressive barrage pushed Jon back but they moved with it, never quite meeting the ropes until they were ready. Hyou was right though, they were definitely going feel more. Jon was always bad with spatial awareness but that been something they’d been working on. Fighting and losing to Cure had been the unintended drive they needed and while not many could say they lost and lived to tell about fighting a top tier villain, it made the teen buckle down. How could they become a Titan if they couldn’t do what they’d been working at for the last three years?

Ducking behind a raised arm block, Jon reached behind them and grabbed the top rope, tightening their grip on it. They hopped almost precariously on the sole of their prosthetic, settling all of their weight and trust in the slim lined tech. The curved metal bar that made up their calf bent sharply with the momentum before springing back. It was a simple move, as natural as if they’d been born that way and ingrained in them. Jon hiked their knee up, using the forward push to snap a kick up, aiming for Hyousuke’s upper body. They weren’t overly picky, wherever the heel of their dirty sneaker landed was good. If they could have their way (and reach) they’d try for more of the traditional Fouette kick using the top of their ankle to catch higher. But, that wasn’t exactly sportsman and fair, they were sparring, not trying to kill each other. Still, the acceleration was the same intense speed, faster than their other attacks. It all came from their hips where the real force moved through. One of the only physical trait’s they were happy to have of their mother.

Jon didn’t drop their leg, keeping their balance with the rope and kicked again in record time before finally dropping down and swung with a sharp snap forward, letting go of the rope to follow the movement of their body straightening. It was nothing special, something their brother had taught them in the basics, balance being key and one didn’t have to rechamber the gun to strike again. A folly amount of laughter burst out of the teenager as they staggered a little before dancing away, skimming past the ropes.

“Not bad, blondie. You can def-a-lutely do a lot of damage like that, but swarming aint exactly a genius move. You had me against the ropes, now you don’t.” Jon gave an entirely too casual and defiant shrug. “Watch your feet, keep ‘em moving, don’t be a brick wall.” And bounced a little back and forth, swaying to an unheard tempo and keept their arms up. “Follow through and catch your opponent off guard. Leg sweep, kick, knock ‘em down, whatever but get them on the floor,” they stressed the last five words with importance.

“A brick wall is great for defending, but every wall can tumble down. Right? Takes time to get up, throw your guy back down again. Do it again. They’re burnin’ energy gettin’ up, less fight to fight with.”

“Want me to show you a move that’ll put ya main down for good?”