[ The resistance in the movement isn't as alert as it should be and maybe on some subconscious level he wants to be hit. It's something other than the suffocating ache in his heart. It's something real and warm, like the trickle of blood that runs down his chin from a split lip, haphazardly wiped away as he clumsily finds his footing in the soft sand.
He wobbles but steadies himself, ready for the next round — initiating it with a low bullrush in an attempt to knock Tyki over. ]