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With a little nod, Antonio says, “Attack.”
Lovino comes running to him, holding the sword above his head and swinging down. Antonio’s sword rises to meet his, sliding it away and with an arch of his arm, ushers Lovino aside and manages to hit him gently in the small of his back. Lovino lets out a small grunt—a mixture of pain and frustration.
“How did I avoid that?” Antonio asks, kindly.
Lovino grunts again and glares at Antonio, rubbing idly at his back as he approaches Antonio. “By being a bastard and using your experience against me?”
“No,” Antonio says with a laugh. “You attack the same way. You swing your arm down and put too much movement into your shoulder, Lovi,” Antonio says kindly as he jolts forward, tapping the side of Lovino’s arm with the blunt flat of his sword. “The strength must come from the elbow, or thrusting the point.”
“That makes no fucking sense,” Lovino snaps, furrowing his brow. “It seems stronger to go from the shoulder.”
“But you lack the proper control that way and it’s easy to catch your opponent off-guard. It’s slower,” Antonio says, bright and shining in the hot Spanish sun. His hair clings to his forehead and it’d be distracting if Lovino didn’t already feel like a fool. The sooner these lessons finish, the better. He is growing tired of listening to Antonio’s disappointment.
Antonio demonstrates by lifting his sword and trying to blunt it down on Lovino’s own sword. The movement is sluggish in comparison to Antonio’s usual quick movements and Lovino dodges easily.
“See?” Antonio’s voice is kind and he smiles and the way the sun filters through the leaves in the tree above casts sunlight and leaflight patchwork across his face.
“Whatever,” Lovino mutters, feeling too warm in his trousers and billowing sleeves.
“What you should focus on is your speed, Lovi,” Antonio continues. “Speed is the key, not strength. It doesn’t take a lot to break skin or bones. What matters is that you’re the first to deal that break.”
Lovino remains silent, brooding, staring at Antonio as a bead of sweat curls down the side of his face, sliding down his jaw and dripping onto his shirt. It shouldn’t be as captivating as it is, and Lovino feels himself blush, despite himself.
“And now with the elbow,” Antonio says and without any other warning, he lashes out with his arm and it takes all of Lovino’s concentration to get the sword there in time to block Antonio’s attack, but it isn’t enough to prevent him from falling backwards two steps.
Antonio is there to meet him, all sweat and wide eyes, and a small smile as he swivels on one foot and slices the air. Lovino struggles, but manages to block again.
“Speed, Lovi,” Antonio reminds him when the flat of the blade taps against his shoulder. He’s suddenly too close and the air is thick and Lovino reminds himself to breathe. But Antonio’s hand is on his sword hand, fingers curling around his as he lifts Lovino’s arm, shows him how to poise it.
Lovino doesn’t breathe, though distantly reminds himself that he should be pushing Antonio away—he’s too close.
“It takes just the slightest bit of pressure to pierce flesh,” Antonio says quietly, eyes on Lovino’s hand as he draws it through the air, showing Lovino how to move. “What matters is the speed—the determination to be the first to take what you want.”
Lovino shifts, uneasy, his own eyes flickering away from the strange light in Antonio’s eyes.
He’s the first to look away. “Whatever.”