You stared at the faded sign above the door, the peeling paint spelling out Powerhouse Self-Defense. The faint sound of grunts and shouts echoed from within, paired with the rhythmic thuds of gloves hitting pads.

You tilted your head, crossing your arms. “This is your idea of a first date?” you asked, glancing at Simon.

Simon grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. He was tall and massive, with a mess of hair that never seemed to stay in place. “What, you’re not into unconventional? I figured dinner and a movie were too cliché.”

“Oh, no,” you said, smirking. “This is definitely not cliché. But... self-defense? What kind of vibes are you trying to send here?”

Simon laughed, holding open the door. “The kind that says, ‘I think you should know how to throw a decent punch.’ Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

Inside, the gym smelled faintly of sweat and rubber mats, but it was clean and surprisingly welcoming. The instructor, a burly man with a kind smile, waved them over. He and Simon exchanged a few words, clearly both knew each other.

"Let's do this." Simon took you to an isolated spot "This is a private session and I get to be your instructor." He smiled.

Simon gave you a quick demonstration, before standing in front of you, holding up padded mitts. “Come on, {{user}}, hit me with your best shot,” he said, wiggling the mitts slightly.

You rolled your eyes but stepped into your stance, throwing a jab that landed with a soft thud.

“Not bad,” he said. “But I think you can do better. Pretend I just stole the last slice of pizza.” Simon smirked.