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Jean Kirstein was an asshole. It was plain and simple, and due to a cliche scenario, of course, he was going to be your partner for today’s hand to hand combat training. You could practically hear fate laughing at you with that evil, knowing laughter, or maybe that was just Mina pulling up beside you, finding your predicament to her amusement.
Her laughter died down enough to scan the list for her assigned partner before adding, “So, Jean, huh?”
“Looks like it,” you answered with no attempt to hide the distaste in your voice.
Mina snorted, fixing her black pigtails as she turned from the list and walked off to find her partner. “Have fun with that!”
“Yeah, right,” you retorted to yourself. Like that would be possible.
To be fair, it wouldn't have been so bad considering how handsome he was, but his personality and cocky comments completely overshadowed his looks and even ruined that for you - most of the time, anyway. His strive to finish top only to live a life of luxury in the Military Police and his loud mouth was enough to earn him on your dislike list, and you didn't need to know any more to know you didn't like him.
Sighing, you left the crowd by the list and moved off to the side to wait for your partner, but it looked like he beat you to it. Jean was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, meeting your gaze with less than a smile. “So, you’re my partner?”
Because that didn't sound very enthusiastic at all. “Don’t look so excited, Kirstein.” You ignored the sharp features of his profile and the angle of his lean body against the wall long enough to give him a reply, walking away from him towards the training grounds. The sooner you finished training, the sooner you could go back to avoiding him.
He chuckled confidently as he walked beside you to the grounds. “I’m always excited to kick more ass, don’t worry.” The ash-brunette shot a smug, shit-eating grin in your direction.
You really wanted to punch him in the face. Hard. And repeatedly.
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Your body was squared with his, hands up and ready for any advance; your brows were knitted in concentration and sheer focus; body ready, coiled, and tense like a cobra waiting to strike. Jean mirrored your stance with the wooden knife in his hand, preparing to advance and kill you with his weapon, but you weren't going to let that happen. You’d be damned if you let that cocky bastard beat you.
In a swift movement, he charged at you with intent to knock you over with a shouldered ram. You quickly sidestepped the advance and countered with a sweep of your leg under his. Jumping and rolling, he avoided the sweep and spun on his heels to redirect your fist with a smooth move of his arm under your’s, using this time to jam the sword in your side.
“Ow!” You yelped. “Pretending is enough, Kirstein,” you complained, slapping his knife away. You continued the brawl by knocking your fist into the inside of his elbow, dropping his hand from your other arm and freeing it.
“Not if you’re still moving. You’re dead, act it!” He demanded with a growl, catching your wrist in his hand, and glared at you with annoyance.
Wriggling to get out of his grasp, you kicked the knife away from him and sent it skittering feet away from you, settled in the dusty ground. “Not yet! That wasn't a fatal blow.” You laughed in his face and flattened your hand, chopping him in the throat. Jean released you in a fit of coughs and gasps, allowing you to scramble for you the knife and kill him.
Forcing himself to recover, he followed in pursuit. “No, you don’t!” He tackled you into the ground and pinned you down beneath him, a strong thigh on either side of your shoulders, reaching for the knife that was only a mere foot away.
You kicked and pushed at him in order to stop him, but let’s face it, you were bleeding out from the side and he had you pinned like a butterfly in a display case. Well, shit, right?
A laugh rumbled through his chest and he looked down at you with that same smug expression as earlier. “Nice try. Now,” he trailed off, dangling the knife above between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m sure this means I win and you lose. Don’t make me finish you off; just die this time.”
You were both panting and gasping from the scuffle, but he beat you. Goddammit. Letting out a long sigh, you then swallowed dryly and nodded. “Fine, you win.” You met his golden hues with your gaze darkened by defeat and for a moment, you forgot you disliked him. He was gorgeous, really.
A moment of silence passed between the two of you breathing hard and catching your breath before he finally was aware of your position. “Right.” Clearing his throat, Jean lifted himself off of you in a swift move and held out his unoccupied hand out for you.
Was he helping you up? Horseface doing something nice? You stared at his hand, pausing.
“Well?” he questioned, impatient. “Do you want help up or are you going to be sour about my victory?”
“I’m not sour,” you mumbled and clasped his hand, noting the strength residing in it, and stood up with his help.
He scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, watching as you brushed yourself off. “You are, but don’t be.” The male waited a beat. “You did have some good counter attacks.”
A brow quirked on your face. You finished brushing the last of the dirt off your white shirt under the jacket and let out a breathy laugh, not entirely humored. “Thanks. You fight well, too.”
The two of you met each other’s gaze and shared a small smile before you settled your hands on your hips, adding, “But I’m kicking your ass next time.”
A smirk played on his lips and he closed the distance between you, clapping you on the shoulder. “Next time, you’re on.”