Bodies falling into years of muscle memory, they began to move in time with each other, mirroring one another like a strange dance. Haru made the first move, his right arm coming over his shoulder to meet the side of Jamie’s face. He knew this move like he knew the palm of his hand, and with a small side step he transferred the weight over to his left leg and batted Haru’s arm away. Usually at this point he would pull the Partizan over his shoulder, spinning his arm round and throwing him on to his back, but, just as he went to do it, Haru countered the move, his other arm coming to twist him away. Jamie tried to get his bearings, slipping his leg out in front to block Haru’s footing, only he didn’t move how he anticipated. It was like fighting the wind, and it constantly changed direction, pulling him from one side before spinning him out, and just when Jamie was sure Haru would throw him violently down, instead he collapsed Jamie’s knee with his shin and twirled him round, gripping his hand and pulling him up mere inches before his face met the mud.

Panting from both the thrill and the exertion, Jamie righted himself. He wasn’t mad he’d lost; he was elated. This was the first time in all his years of being a Partizan that anyone had ever surprised him.

They both fell back into their stances, sweat mingling with the rain, making them glow with each heavy breath.

‘Did you ever specialize in a weapon?’ Jamie asked, suddenly curious.

‘Rope.’

He laughed as Haru shrugged, the two of them still poised, ready for another round. ‘Why does that not surprise me?’

Haru cocked an eyebrow. ‘How about you?’

‘I don’t want to say.’

‘Oh, Jamie-kun.’ His lips twisted, freckled nose wrinkling to stop himself laughing. ‘You didn’t fight with fans, did you?’

‘I was unbeatable,’ Jamie asserted, not quite believing how easy it was to laugh with Haru, how good it felt to have another Partizan he could talk to. ‘Let’s do another round.’

Sprinting forward, Jamie barely gave Haru a moment to prepare. Slicing through the air, he reached out to grab Haru under the shoulder. This time Jamie expected the unexpected, waiting for Haru’s body to show him where it was moving, like watching a wind chime move, every tiny sound and sway letting him follow the rhythm of Haru’s form. They were nearly at an impasse, one grabbing the other, one spinning out, one nearly landing a hit, one deflecting, until one wrong breath had the sweet scent of marshmallow filling Jamie’s nose, the smell so warm and inviting that he lingered a little too long, his hand flying out with too much force, so that Haru had to manoeuvre himself out of the way, but not before Jamie grabbed hold of his shirt.