Vanessa was, as all successful designers were, a trendsetter. From her unconventional, layered, lacey outfits, to her short, choppy black hair with faded pink dye, everything was intentionally camp. Even her daily makeup look was out there, featuring a hot pink lip stain, a dark pink, glittery eyeshadow and maroon eyeliner, purposefully stacked to accentuate her pitch black eyes. She was purposefully curated and cohesive and, in turn, so was her work.

Perhaps that’s why she was so drawn to Jed. Everything about him was a delicate icy blue, with a dash of pearlescent white; everything about him shined in the sun, and everything about him had its own intense contradictions. His big eyes were contrasted by thick, black brows. His delicate freckles were contrasted by a sharp jawline. Contradictions caused controversy, and sparked curiosity and Vanessa truly couldn’t wait to lean into whatever would work best for their future partnership.

She was excited to get started.

***

“I said… was that weird?” Jed repeated himself. Amon seemed too distracted to answer him the first time.

“Oh. Uh—yes. She’s also an Inner City citizen.” Amon strapped his focus pads back on. “Those people always have a couple screws loose. You wouldn't want to go on a date with that even if she said yes. ”

“Not her. All she’s done is help me.” Jed said defensively, getting into the stance Amon had shown him a few hours prior. He straightened his posture, placed his feet shoulder-width apart, and then moved one slightly in front of the other. “She.. um, she just doesn’t know me yet.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard that one before.” Amon motioned to his feet on the ground, signaling for Jed to raise the heel of his back foot up more. “Raise your back foot, but keep your toes planted. It’ll make you more ready to pivot.”

“Oh, right.” Jed corrected himself, and Amon moved closer. “Am I … forgetting something?”

“Very much so.” Amon took Jed's hands in his, guiding them upward to chin height. After he ensured they remained level, he tucked Jed's elbows gently against his sides. Amon looked back up, meeting Jed’s eyes expectantly, wondering if Jed would recall their earlier conversation about the nuances of hand posture and the dangers that came with it being ignored.

Under the pressure of his trainer’s intense gaze, Jed self-corrected, turning his knuckles toward the sky. Amon’s expression shifted, registering a touch of impressed approval. But it wasn’t all straightened out just yet.

Amon’s hands moved down to Jed’s waist, slowly guiding him into a controlled squat, which certainly wasn’t a stance he did often. He struggled to balance his spread wings like that, almost toppling over, but Amon held tight, steadying him. Somehow, by some miracle, Jed was prodded by two strangers today, and neither of them hurt him.

“After every punch,” Amon began teaching again, his voice low and close to Jed’s ear. “You need to bring your hands back to this. It’s called your guard.” He noticed the scales on Amon’s face now carried a tinge of red.

“Oh, right. So…” Jed felt the nervous energy rushing through him, making his boxing bounces unusually quick. The idea of throwing punches, even with the protective padding, seemed risky. His hand could break, which would mean his fledgling career’s derailment before it even began. And if Amon decided to punch back? That would spell the end of Jed. So, in a moment of self-preservation, Jed opted for a stall tactic.

Despite their recent introduction, it was no secret Amon liked to talk about himself. So, to buy time, Jed probed, “Are you a designer too? You acted like you knew a lot earlier. At least, um… in my opinion.”

“I work with textiles. I’m not really a designer, but I like messing around with fabrics and I’ll sometimes come up with patterns.” Amon explained, his scales shifting to purple once more. “So, the camouflaging thing works out great for me. If I want to see what something looks like, I can just sketch it and then, like, put it on my body.”

“Oh, cool. How does that work?”

“I mean, it’s kind of complicated. I’m not like a regular chameleon—I can expand my chromatophores, which is something I’m not getting into.”

“Are you sure? We still have—” Before Jed could attempt to derail their session any further, Amon issued a warning:

“Stop stalling. If you say one more thing that isn’t related to this spar, you’re going to be the one wearing the focus pads.”

Thus, their first round of mitt training commenced. However, instead of the anticipated sharp thud of gloves making contact, rapid movements, and intense exchanges, everything took an unexpectedly tame turn. Jed wanted to fight, he wanted to see what exactly his full potential was, but the hyper awareness of the pressure on his fingers and the weight of his punches restrained him. Breaking his hand on the first day was a scenario he wanted to avoid at all costs—Vanessa would likely void their contract if anything bad were to happen.

Each time Jed prepared to strike a mitt, he instinctively pulled his punch just before the inevitable collision. Initially, because of Amon’s teaching technique, this misstep was able to go unnoticed. To simulate a real fight scenario, Amon would quickly withdraw the mitts backwards as Jed approached, mimicking the movements of a retreating opponent. The pulled punches, at least at first, seemed a consequence of Jed adapting to the training method.

Unfortunately for Jed, Amon wasn’t that dumb. After observing the pattern of Jed’s lack of self-correction, which was incredibly different from what he was capable of during cardio and weight training, Amon decided to test his theory. This time, instead of retreating, Amon moved forward to catch the punch. Caught off guard from the switch up, Jed faltered, Conspicuously pulling his punch. The lack of impact was jarring. Amon sneered, noticing the distress on Jed’s face that followed.

What the hell is this guy doing?? Amon thought. That should’ve felt way harder.

The next attempt to catch Jed’s punch garnered him the same result—Jed pulled his punch once again, and the impact was minimal.

“Jed.”

“Um.” He stopped bouncing. “What’s up?”

“What are you doing?”

Jed looked at his gloves, attempting to appear as innocent as possible. “Boxing?”

“Boxing how?” Amon said, fixing Jed’s stance once again. His expression was unimpressed. “Boxing … the air, Jed?”

“I’m boxing you?”

“Yes, you’re boxing me.” He put his mitts up. Jed sighed. “So punch me. Hard, and fast. Don’t pull.”

Oh no.

Jed was trapped—no escape in sight. With eyes squinted tightly shut, he started his bounces up again, preparing for the impending, potentially world-ending strike. After a series of determined huffs, he readied himself. The moment had arrived.

In a second of controlled precision, Jed’s body executed a seamless sequence. He pivoted towards the mitt, surging his entire mass forward, elbow tightly bent at a 90-degree-angle. His back leg swiveled inwards, rapidly, while the front one swung open in perfect alignment with Amon’s awaiting hand. Raising his punching arm, middle knuckle leading the way, Jed propelled himself towards the target, stanced to deliver a killer blow. The setup was flawless. Amon’s mouth hung in total awe.

Despite all that, Jed still pulled his punch, barely tapping the mitt.

“Jed!” Amon groaned, defeated. He ripped his focus pads off, flung them to the side, and shook Jed softly by his shoulders. “Why would you do that? Your setup was perfect! That was going to be so good.” Slowly, he slid to the floor, changing to match the color of it and rolled over. Jed stared at him, wondering if he was crying or practicing interpretive floor gymnastics.

"I’m sorry." Jed said as Amon checked his watch. It was 4:30 PM.

“It’s fine.” He popped up, “I’m off the clock now so… I don’t care.” Then, he got out his phone to call Vanessa. “But tomorrow, we’re going to have a talk about this.”

Amon started packing his things, waving Jed away as he spoke with Vanessa on the phone. The only thing that wasn’t totally garbled was Vanessa’s arrival time, which was apparently within the next five minutes.

Once he hung up, Amon came back over and handed Jed a granola bar. He read the label, which, in big bold print, said: SAFE FOR NON-FLIGHTLESS PEOPLE TO CONSUME. Jed inwardly appreciated Amon’s choice of bar. That was considerate.

“She’ll be picking you up now.” He glared at Jed, “You’re gonna be in so much trouble during our next meeting.”

“Do you really think what I said earlier was weird?” Jed asked, and, before Amon could make fun of him, he noticed the worry in his eyes.

“Look, I don't know you, but I know her. That was forward. A lot of her clients fall for her. It’s like some weird form of Stockholm syndrome.” He swung his duffle bag up and hung it over his shoulder. “Just, don’t forget she’s a person, too. She isn’t just the thing that’s gonna get you out of here. And…” He looked around, making sure the assistants weren’t listening. “Before you try anything, make sure she knows that you’re a person, too. Goes both ways.”

“What do you mean?”

As he left, Amon said, “I’m just saying, things get messy when you’re the thing she’s marketing. It blurs the line between person and product.”