Tom rolled the green wad of gum over his tongue, teeth collectively chewing. He folded the substance, tasting the mint flavor even as he inhaled. His breath cooled, which turned out to be convenient considering how much he was already panting.

To be fair, many others in Tom's position would be panting sporadically; simply put, he was out of shape. His hands struggled to grasp the damp muscle before him, forcing him to collide with his teacher. As they sparred, Tom found himself exceptionally sore. His muscles provided little protection, leaving his bones weak and vulnerable. Thankfully, Chris had accounted for this as he calculated the power behind his strike. Chris did not intend to hurt Tom, and it would take time for the latter to understand that.

"There's an assault every forty seconds," Chris spoke, wrapping his strong arms around Tom's chest. He had the boy's hands pinned forcefully, chest against Tom's back. His voice was low in Tom's right ear, nearing a dull growl. "Thankfully, I am not an attacker. You could be seriously hurt right now."

Tom huffed. Being a teenager, his thoughts went absolutely haywire during the touching. His eyes flickered across the fingers gripping his chest; he was curious as to if the man could feel his thundering heartbeat. But Tom was thankful Chris could not see the red in his cheeks. However, he tried to remain indifferent, pretending to be a student that lacked such raging hormones.

"Okay, listen. In this position, there are a few different responses." There was a grunt as Chris secured both of his hands together. "You want to make yourself hard to pick up or move. So by wiggling and dropping down as far as you can, bending your knees, then you can make things more difficult."

Without waiting for a signal, Tom lowered himself almost instantly, bringing all of his weight and power to his base. He pretended to not feel Chris against his backside, following through with his movements.

Chuckling, Chris let go of him. "Good, this is good."

Tom's cheeks were a bright red, and his eyes found those of his instructor. Tom quickly regretted the action; he was kneeling in front of Chris as they made eye contact, and the scene held a very particular undertone. Tom blushed, quickly pulling himself up from his knees.

"Now what about this?" Chris advanced, taking one step forward to lace his hand around that pale neck. Tom gulped, his skin warming to the touch, and his Adam's apple moving under the pad of Chris' thumb. Tom's head flew back violently, exposing the white column of his neck to Chris. It was a light touch, but the younger of the two remained alert. He had to frequently remind himself that it was only Chris, and Chris could never hurt a client.

"What about it?" Tom mumbled, waiting for his teacher to simply answer the question for him.

In that moment, Chris might have stumbled, failing to find words. Tom's neck was pale and milky, and his eyes were half-lidded. It left Chris a mess as he stuttered out an answer, "You find a weak spot, and you hit it." Chris still remained focused on the soft skin, definitely picturing his marks on it. Ashamed, Chris pushed those thoughts away frantically.

Tom nodded, but the hand on his throat prevented any other movement.

"Eyes, nose, neck, groin, knee, shin, instep," Chris listed. "The acronym makes absolutely no sense," Chris released and took a step back, "So repeat it back to me from top to bottom."

"Eyes, nose, neck, groin, knee, shin, instep."

"Perfect."

Tom blushed.

"But grabbing my fingers when I do this," Chris positioned himself again, fingers loose. "There are better options than that."

"And they are?" Tom questioned, but it was a teasing one at that.

"First, turn your neck to the side, so the choking force is directed at muscle or tendons. This might work, but only in certain situations. Now, don't go doing this to me, but a knee to the dick– sorry, groin– would be effective. Thumbs to the eyes also works, but any cheap shot to a weak spot is a good bet. What are they again, Tom?"

Ignoring the swear, Tom repeated, "Eyes, nose, neck, knee, groin, instep."

Chris only smiled. He let go. "If it is done from behind, a heel-to-shin could work. Taking an elbow to the assailant's ribs is also an option. But what's the second weak spot?"

"Nose," Tom assured. He needed no correction; to him, knowledge was power.

"Right," Chris smiled, having taught the boy something. "Bashing your head back into their nose is a try worth taking. You could break the nose, or do a fun thing where you send the bone into the brain, but those techniques are ones I am not licensed to teach." It was a joke, but Tom found himself wishing it was not.

"I would hate to break your nose," Tom teased, knowing well he could not do anything with this knowledge yet.

"We'll get to the fighting after a few lessons."

"Then I can beat your ass?" Tom said sarcastically.

Chris turned serious in an instant. "Yes, Tom. The things I teach you can actually help you. My strength doesn't matter if you know my weaknesses. Your reaction to an attack is more important than your physical strength. You can beat me if you listen."

Tom was listening. He was listening as if his life depended on it, so he did feel embarrassed for even making the comment.

"That's why I teach self defense." Chris soon distanced himself, running a hand through his hair.

"So people like me can defend themselves?" Tom questioned, but an answer was not needed.

"If you get jumped in an alley, I think you should be able to protect yourself. It's not just women who get assaulted, Tom." Chris sighed with the full intent of continuing. "I wan't to make a difference before I die. I don't need to be remembered, and my name won't be on the cover of a newspaper. But, Tom, the more people I teach, the more chances I get to save a life."

Tom nodded, deciding not to speak. Parts of him believed Chris was not done speaking.

"Let's say I teach you how to defend yourself, and you use it to fight an assailant. You make it out alive due to your amazing skill and preparedness– and they will be amazing, since I am your teacher. The lives of your children and your children's children are then on me."

Tom would not have children, but he understood the point very well. It made him think, however.

If Tom was going to spend money on these classes, his secret might as well be known. Not the secret; he only wished to say one. He needed to make things clear to Chris, for it would eventually come out. Perhaps Chris would then understand his hormonal behavior and get why he blushed so frequently. Perhaps he would reject him, and Tom could fight a homophobic bastard. Fortunately, Tom would soon find Chris more of a listener, a friend, and a loved one.

Tom was sick of hiding. The small amount of confidentiality he'd acquired made him question the suffocating, tight closet. Each day he was pushed further back into this closet. His mother stacked clothing in the metaphorical closet with her mental manipulation. But it was as if his father was playing hide and seek, searching every crevice of this metaphorical house. Tom was sure this game of hide and seek would end; he would be found hiding in that deep closet before his next birthday.

"I need to tell you something, Chris. If you no longer wish to teach me, I will try to understand. In all honesty, it's better you know now. But I must tell you before we become acquaintances or even friends."

"What is it?" Chris snorted as if he was going to make a joke, but he found it was in his best interest not to do so.

"I'm gay."

Tom's fingers were trembling at his sides. His tongue stilled, keeping his gum frozen in place. He was no longer blowing bubbles or even looking at Chris. In fact, Tom could hardly breathe so much as look up.

"I just thought you should know. I can leave. You don't need to teach me if you don't want to. I won't like call you ignorant or anything because like I understand you have your opinion–," It was a constant flow of words that toppled from Tom's mouth.

"Tom," Chris started, but Tom continued talking. He was still talking about some random closet. Thankfully, Chris had Tom stopping in the middle of a sentence. "Calm down, Tom, it's okay. Trust me when I say it's perfectly fine."

"You're not upset?"

"Why would I be?"

Tom could not answer. He was baffled. Stuttering, he confessed, "I don't tell many people. Only when I am confident." And pumped with aching adrenaline.

"So why are you telling me?" It was a question that consisted of less judgement and more curiosity. Tom barely knew Chris, and Chris hardly knew Tom.

Tom squinted, questioning his own actions immediately. "I don't know," he began. "I just felt like I could tell you. I felt like I should tell you. Call it a trial, perhaps." Unfair, but true.

"If this is because I brought up children, I'm sorry. It's my mistake, and you don't need to tell me anything you don't want to. We are only just getting acquainted." Chris' eyes were remarkably kind, despite the awkward fog in the room. He was handling the situation the best he could.

"I wanted to." At that time, as Tom spoke that truth, he felt impossibly closer. Not only were they standing closer, but he felt the nearly nonexistent mental connection grow between the two of them. Perhaps it was the blue eyes or velvety accent that drew Tom in. Perhaps it was the blue-green eyes and smooth voice that drew Chris in.

Regardless, Chris smiled a real smile. It was pure, genuine, true, and absolutely infectious.

Tom smiled back.