Good Morning

Private Lesson

Nya is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

That, of course, is not a new revelation, but every single time he looks at her, it still slugs him right in the gut, and, well, it would probably be a waste of his time to try and fight the instinct to gape at her like a lovesick puppy, anyway.

So he sits in the corner and watches her, and she stands in front of the blackboard and scribbles, and, in the span of five minutes, she draws an incredibly accurate depiction of Lloyd. She turns and glances over at him, and their eyes meet, and his lips part around the beginnings of an awestruck sigh. She grins, then, and he feels his ears burning.

Nya, his brain reminds him. His girlfriend, Nya.

She pivots, facing the board again, and, in the process, her hair sways across the back of her neck, revealing the barest peek of the nape. Jay gulps.

This is what he does now. He sits and stares at his girlfriend. She stands and talks about battle tactics. She is incredible.

And so are her hands, the way they hold the chalk so firmly, the way the tip of the stick drags along the board and leaves behind a white, thin line, the way she uses them to gesture as she speaks, the way the knuckles are smooth and the fingers are long and the wrists are small and the palms are strong.

The way her voice lilts when she says, her back still to him, her arms crossed, her hip cocked, her eyes on the drawing of Lloyd, which, incidentally, also looks kind of like Wu:

"Is there something you need, Mr. Walker?"

"Yes," is his automatic reply, and then his face burns and he realizes that his hands are balled into fists.

Nya lets her arms dangle by her sides as she turns, her head tipped.

"And what is it that you require?"

"A kiss," is his next thought, and it is not even remotely a joke. He has spent the past thirty-eight minutes thinking about kissing her, specifically, and nothing else.

"Uh," he manages. "Teach me how to do that."

She raises her eyebrows.

"What?"

"Y'know." He clears his throat. "With my hands."

"Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Walker?"

"Maybe."

He's trying really hard, anyway.

She laughs and rolls her eyes, but she's biting her lip, and that's good, right? That's good.

"What, are you trying to get extra credit?" she teases him.

"If that's what you want to call it, sure," he replies with a shrug, trying and failing to seem nonchalant.

"You are an absolute goofball," she says affectionately, and he thinks that might be better than being called incredible, because it's true.

He is.

"C'mere," she commands, gesturing to the space in front of her, and Jay scrambles up so quickly that he almost knocks his chair over.

She's a full head shorter than him, and even when he's standing as tall as he can, her eyes are still at his collar. She has to crane her neck a bit to look at him.

He wants to kiss her so badly.

"First," she says, her voice low and warm and, yes, that's definitely her flirting with him, "You gotta make a fist."

"Okay," he responds, his voice squeaking.

She reaches out and touches his elbow, her fingers feather-light against his skin. She takes his arm and guides it up until his knuckles are poised by his ear.

"And then," she murmurs, stepping closer, so close that their chests almost touch, "You bring your arm back and thrust it forward. But not all the way – you wanna aim at the center of the body, not the chest or the face, because those are where your opponent will dodge. And when you hit," she adds, curling his fingers in towards his palm and then uncurling them again, "Make sure you're aiming with your thumb."

"My thumb?" he echoes.

"Yeah, you wanna protect your knuckles. You break them and you can't fight."

"So, uh, how do you do it without breaking your thumbs, then?"

"Practice. You'll get the hang of it."

She doesn't let go of his arm, though, and he doesn't step away, and the air is electric.

"I'll practice," he promises, and her breath tickles his neck.

"Good," she whispers. "Now try it."

"Huh?"

"Try it on me."

He gapes. "What?"

"C'mon," she insists, letting go of him and folding her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows expectantly. "I'll show you how it's done."

"W-wait, what do you mean—"

"Thrust forward," she instructs, and she grabs his wrist and guides his hand against her stomach.

He blanches. "Nya, I'm not gonna—"

"It's fine," she dismisses. "I've taken worse hits than this."

"That doesn't make it okay!"

"I trust you. Don't hold back, now."

He doesn't. He brings his arm forward as quickly as he can, his fist making contact with the soft fabric of her gi, and his knuckles don't even graze her. She doesn't even blink.

"Again," she says. "Don't hesitate."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he says stubbornly.

"You're not," she assures him, and, as if to prove her point, she reaches out and wraps her fingers around his wrist again, pulling his arm up and pushing his hand against her.

"Do it."

"I don't—"

"You won't hurt me."

"I can't—"

"If you're afraid to do it, then you'll be scared to do it in a real fight, too, and you'll get hurt. Do it."

His fingers curl. His knuckles press against her stomach. His breathing picks up.

"Do it, Jay."

His fist flies. His arm jolts forward, and his hand lands. He hears the rush of his heartbeat in his ears, but, after a beat, Nya laughs.

"You're holding back," she says. "You're not trying."

"I'm not gonna hit my girlfriend," he snaps back.
She smiles, and the sight of her teeth is enough to make his entire body ache.

"You won't hurt me. I promise."

"I—I can't."

"Then," she suggests, taking his other arm and raising both of his fists, one on either side of her head, her eyes shining, her lips curving, "Try it with your feet."

"I won't kick you," he replies instantly.

"C'mon," she presses.

"No way."

"Just a tap. It won't hurt."

"It will, too, hurt, and I won't do it."

"If you don't want to do it," she says, and then, suddenly, her legs are hooked around his thigh and her hands are on his shoulders and her butt is pressed against the edge of the desk, "Then make me."

Her lips are on his, then, and the heat of her skin is on his, and the air is gone. Her tongue is in his mouth. Her hands are tangled in his hair.

He pushes her against the wall, and her legs clench around his hips. He bites down on her lip.

She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.