Back and to the right, even if they're on the mats and there's nothing to get him to. Good, he's doing good and he can keep pushing. Right and left, bobbing and blocking the hits as they come and it feels right. Everything goes quiet and there's no solid pattern. Not yet. Busy learning the way Malcolm's shoulders go tight when he's swinging a left, how they bunch when he blocks.

The tiny microseconds of warning he gets before he's hit. The next jab comes in on the left and he can't see it, can't block it- tries to hook his arm over Malcolm's to haul him in close. To pull him down.