Page 5 of Misfit (Starshine)

T he next day, Arlon started his search for Garrett and Bridgette all over again. Yet this search ended much quicker when he bumped into the former while turning the corner to the main atrium. Arlon bounced off of his broad chest, but Garrett didn’t so much as budge.

The other man grabbed his arm to steady him, but he let go just as quickly. As if Arlon was a hot pan he was eager to drop. “Shit, sorry.”

“No, my fault,” Arlon said. He tried to grin, but it felt forced. Felt like he didn’t know how to do it right. He gave it up, falling into his usual, comfortable scowl.

“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you,” Garrett said. “I… wanted to be sure you were alright. I was afraid I’d hurt you.”

Arlon’s shoulders relaxed a little. If he cared enough to be concerned, then maybe Garrett didn’t fully hate him.

“No—no, I’m fine,” Arlon assured him. He forced the next words out on a breath. “I wanted to apologize. I was an ass to you yesterday. To Bridgette, too. I’m sorry.”

Garrett looked him over before he said, “Yeah, well. You were the last person we expected to find in the Crux, but there must be a reason Fawn let you in.”

“Yeah, well.”

An awkward silence stretched between them before Garrett broke it. “How’d it happen?”

There was no use in trying to hide it. They already knew who he had been. He had to do as Fawn suggested and tell them who he was now.

“I was press-ganged into Vian’s pack at sixteen. Stayed with him for a decade until Fawn arrested me. Served my sentence to the Crown, helped kill the evil fucker, and now I’m a wizard of the Crux, same as you.”

Garrett’s eyebrows shot up. “Woah, wait. Vian Wolf is dead ?”

“For a little over two months, now,” Arlon said, and his grin came a little easier this time. It was a nice reminder to have.

“Well fuck me,” Garrett chuckled. “Shame I never got a shot at him, but I can’t be mad he’s gone.”

“You could’ve taken him,” Arlon huffed around a laugh. The tension in his shoulders eased some more. “How’d you learn to fight like that?”

Garrett shrugged as something unreadable crossed his face. “I’ve just had a lot of practice.”

The words were out before Arlon could stop himself. “Would you teach me?”

Garrett blinked in surprise. “Seriously? Why?”

Arlon crossed his arms over his chest, averting his gaze. “I don’t want to lose a fight like that again. Ever.”

Garrett looked him over, slate-gray eyes searching. It was like they could see right through Arlon’s mask to the fear underneath.

But Garrett must have understood something of fear himself, because he said, “Alright, Arlon. I can give you some tips.”

T he next morning, Arlon headed down to meet Garrett in the evocation yard.

Unlike the rest of the courtyards that were designed with comfort in mind, the evocation yard saw far rougher use.

It contained nothing but a couple of wooden benches scattered around a patch of dirt.

Dirt that Garrett was raking as Arlon stepped into the yard.

“Don’t think you’re going to save that grass,” Arlon said, eying the sparse spring green trying to break through the hard-packed earth.

Garrett turned to face him with a grin. “No, but you’ll be thankful I’ve broken the ground up a bit.”

Arlon crossed his arms over his chest with a frown. “Why’s that?”

“Because I’m going to teach you how to fall.”

Arlon raised an eyebrow. “Thought you were going to teach me to fight.”

“You’re asking to get hurt if you pick a fight without knowing how to go down first.”

It wasn’t the lesson he’d expected, but Arlon could see the wisdom in it.

Garrett demonstrated first, doing a back fall and side fall that he made look easy before he instructed Arlon to try.

The first back fall he attempted knocked the wind out of him.

The second was little better, but Garrett was patient and helpful, giving him tips like “tuck your chin” and “slap the ground as you connect, not after.”

As the morning passed, Arlon was very, very grateful that Garrett had softened the ground up a bit. When they finally called it quits at the lunch bell, he was sporting new bruises on his hips, but not nearly as many as he would have without Garrett’s forethought.

“Same time tomorrow?” Garrett asked with a bright grin.

Arlon tried not to let his annoyance show. “You going to actually teach me how to fight?”

Garrett chuckled as he looked him over. “We’ll see.”

The next morning, Arlon woke with regrets.

He was as sore as the day after he’d been initiated into the Wolves.

For a moment, he debated skipping out on Garrett’s lesson, but something stopped him.

Maybe it was his competitive streak, some ingrained stubbornness, or maybe…

a part of him had enjoyed the other man’s company yesterday.

No matter what it was, he hauled his sore body out of bed and went down to meet Garrett in the evocation yard once more.

“How you feeling?” Garrett asked.

“Last time I hurt this much, I at least had the excuse of having the shit kicked out of me,” Arlon admitted.

Garrett barked a laugh, and the sound tugged at the corner of Arlon’s lips.

“I’ll take pity on you today,” Garrett said. “Let’s see your fighting stance.”

Arlon showed him, spreading his legs a shoulder’s length apart and dropping his weight down.

Garrett circled around him before he tapped his left thigh until Arlon moved it back and out.

It put the majority of his weight on his front leg, and Garrett used one of his own to correct the position of Arlon’s back foot.

“That’s a front stance,” Garrett said before he tapped Arlon’s legs again until he moved them into more of an L shape.

It felt awkward before Garrett tapped the back of his knee until he bent it.

“That’s a back stance. Now spread your legs a little wider than your shoulders.

Good, now drop your butt down. That’s a horse stance. ”

Garrett showed him how to step while keeping his stance, and together, they moved back and forth across the yard in steady, measured steps.

Every time Arlon slipped out of his stance, Garrett would correct him with a gentle tap to the offending spot.

They continued until his thighs burned, and it was only Arlon’s competitiveness that kept him moving right alongside Garrett until the lunch bell rang.

“This is… not what I expected… when you said you’d…

give me fighting tips,” Arlon panted as he sprawled in the shade of the wall to give his aching legs a rest. It wasn’t terribly hot out, but his shirt was soaked all the same.

Garrett sat on the ground beside him, and seeing how he’d barely broken a sweat, it was hard to believe they’d both spent the morning doing the same damn thing.

“You’ve been relying on raw strength, and it shows,” Garrett said. “You’ve got some bad habits to unlearn.”

“Is that why I’m so sore? You have to beat the bad habits out of me?”

Garrett barked a laugh. “I haven’t beat anything out of you yet. We’ll start that tomorrow.”

And they sure did. The next morning, Garrett showed him a range of arm and leg blocks that he drilled into him until Arlon had bruises coating his forearms and shins.

But each bruise was a lesson learned, and being able to stop an attack made him feel like maybe he was actually starting to learn something.

It wasn’t until a couple days later, nearly a full week into the start of their new training regimen, that Garrett finally taught him some strikes.

Nothing fancy, simple punches and kicks, but Garrett’s focus on good technique and form was a marked difference from the “instruction” he’d gotten from Vian and the other Wolves.

Garrett taught him how to keep a tight fist, what part of his hand and foot to strike with so he didn’t hurt himself.

Garrett had him combine the simple strikes in conjunction with the movements he’d taught him earlier in the week.

Moving with the right stance helped give power to the strikes, and all the time they’d spent ingraining the motions into Arlon’s muscles paid off.

With a solid foundation starting to form, Garrett slowly built him up as days turned to weeks.

Trips, hip throws, shoulder throws, takedowns.

Each new technique Arlon learned stacked on top of something that Garrett had already taught him.

Then, one morning, after they finished their warmups, Garrett stood opposite of Arlon and motioned him forward with two fingers.

“Spar with me.”

Arlon stared at the bare-chested man in surprise. Even though this was the whole reason he had asked Garrett to teach him in the first place, he hesitated now.

“You sure?” Arlon asked.

Garrett smirked. “Afraid you’ll win? Don’t be.”

“Ass,” Arlon chuckled. “More afraid of you pounding me into the dirt again.”

“Valid fear,” Garrett said. “But we both know I don’t have anything to prove. I just want to see what you’ve picked up. Pull your strikes and kicks, and don’t aim for the crotch or head. This is a friendly spar.”

Arlon squared off with the man as he brought his fists up. “You saying we’re friends now?”

“Aren’t we?” Garrett asked before he lashed out with a side kick.

The question threw him, but Arlon’s hard-earned muscle memory kicked in automatically. He blocked with a forearm before he sidestepped in to try and bring a knee to Garrett’s middle.

The man hooked one arm under Arlon’s raised leg before he tripped his other one out from under him.

Arlon went down with a grunt and understood immediately why Garrett had spent days drilling falls into him.

The impact rattled his bones, but it was Garrett’s weight on top of him that made old fears jolt to life.

Before that panic could even set in, Garrett was off of him, offering him a hand up. “That was a good block.” Arlon took his hand, a little stunned as the man pulled him to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder. “Want to try it again?”

“I—yeah. Sure.”