Violet Ray~

A deep, vibrant purple color that expands as intuition develops. Signifies a deep curiosity in the world and all of its beings. Present in the minds of psychics, clairvoyants, and other deeply spiritual people.

~

~

~

Should I be worried?

I really should. Shouldn't I..?

It's the end of the first week of training. We just had our celebratory banquet. We were placed into training groups, and my clan is unsurprisingly linked to Leonardo Costa. That's right. For the next 5 weeks, I'll be training by his side and the American beast Donnell Whiffrey. I'm not complaining about us three training together, but...

But Costa.

He...I don't know what's happening! 

His aura, his personality, and everything attached to his prized name doesn't bother me anymore. Sure, I feel intimidated when he's around sometimes. Yes, I can sense his powerful vigor. But they aren't binding. They aren't impeding. Ever since he touched me for those fucking stretches, something passed between us. I'm not sure what. I'm not sure how.

All I know is, his aura keeps trying to pull me in. One day I was stretching in the aerobics studio and had the inexplicable urge to get a drink from the water fountain outside. Turns out, Costa was there filling up his water bottle at the exact same time. Our bathroom breaks are synced, and it's gotten to the point that if I enter the bathroom, I can tell who's in the stall before I see the red light spilling underneath it. 

Or that other time when we were in the cafeteria, and I got up to throw something away at the SAME time as him, by the SAME waste bin. He blinked at me then, tilting his head to the side. I think he senses it too, the odd co-occurring phenomena that greets us everyday. It's no longer coincidence anymore. 

Something in my intuition keeps leading me to him, again and again. 

And it makes no sense. I'm supposed to thwart the enemy, not fall in line with him. I'm supposed to dislike my biggest competitor on the basis of competitive spirit. Not fraternize with him, support his improvement. But day in and day out, I can't help but find myself dimming down the old mistrust I used to hold for him. 

The red around him no longer burns my weary irises, but gently heats them up--incites my urge to keep going. His aura is now the maroon battery that continues to seek me out, wanting to transfer its shimmering goods to me. And so far, it hasn't failed to amp me up in a positive way.

It's all connected somehow, and I don't know how yet. Neither does he. Costa seems almost wary around me, as if suspicious of his body's continuous flocking to my side during warm-ups. 

And we start training together tomorrow.

~

~

~

Swallowing the last of his meager breakfast consisting of half of an apple dipped in peanut butter, Jungkook is startled by a loud knock on the door of room 333. 

"Coach? Is that you?" He yells out in Korean. He wonders what business Coach Kan would have at 6:32 in the morning. Probably to make him start practice an hour earlier than the others...to urge Jungkook into adding a few more rotations to his flair on floor.

"But my flairs weren't even bad last night..." Jungkook muses as he skims over the floor to the door. "I was doing them well! Even Costa couldn't spin as fast as I was getting them last night."

Again, a trail of tapping knocks flutters against the door.

"Yes, coming!" Jungkook would grab a shirt from his dresser, but it's not like his coach hasn't seen him shirtless countless times. It gets hot in Busan over the summer, and even the wide ceiling fans don't do much to dispel the humidity in the large gym.

The door gets tossed open. Jungkook opens his mouth to ask, politely of course, why he knocked so early in the morning and what business Kan has for his mentee. But the man standing there staring at him from the doorway definitely isn't his coach.

"O-oh...um..." Jungkook switches to English, which takes a while to kick in. Especially so young in the day. "Hi Costa. Do you need something?"

The Brazilian's red aura leeches into the room energetically. Jungkook tries not to let his eyes avert from the curious face of his competitor while the blushing aura trails waft off of his body. They remind Jungkook of the scent radiating from a hot stovetop during dinner...spreading and coiling and tossing steam spirals into the ready air.

"Did I wake you?" Costa's hands fiddle with a watch on his wrist. His dark eyes blink guiltily at the semi-bedraggled Korean in nothing but shorts, with a smear of peanut butter on his lower lip.

"No, you didn't." Jungkook feels his heart thumping in his chest, to the beat of red coals. 

"Okay, good." Costa brushes his dark hair back. Over Jungkook's shoulder, he stares into the interior of the room, rolling his shoulders back and forth casually. "Can I come in?"

The Korean blinks. Here is his biggest competitor at his door frame, asking to insert himself into his personal bubble. Cubes of red patter against Jungkook's forehead, urging him to let the Brazilian inside. For what possible reason? Even the sun doesn't seem to know, hiding behind a cloud as Jungkook steps aside for the man to enter.

Leonardo Costa gracefully steps into the room, traveling directly to the window. His hand grips the drawstring to the shades and he precisely tugs once. Weak sunlight illuminates the room little. When Costa faces him, Jungkook senses a rare timidity in his face. 

"Why..." Costa starts, seating himself at the foot of Jungkook's neatly made bed. "Why are your things...?"

Jungkook swallows as Costa points to the wall--to the lack of objects lining the wall separating their rooms. Only the TV is left, dusty and unused on a simple brown stand. Costa raises an eyebrow at the tightly knit train made up of a dresser, a nightstand, and bed all squished before the sandy wall opposite.

"I...didn't like how it was..." Jungkook dives in his mind for the right word. He's been studying extra hard to learn complex English words and phrases. "Organized and ordered. I wanted to change...to alter it."

"Oh." Costa tilts his head at the peculiarity. "All...ter?"

"Change." Jungkook repeats, scratching absently at his stomach.

"Right." Costa rotates his neck to a crack, folding and refolding his hands in his lap. "I came because...you know a lot of English. I want to ask if you will teach me?"

Invisible red energy dances against the lame TV, bumping the black screen. Sunlight returns from behind the single cloud in the sky, lighting up the room to the hue of a bright classroom. Jungkook licks his lip in thought, tasting the remnant of peanut butter left from his small meal. Expectantly, Costa watches him, waiting for a pleasing answer.

"Um..." Cherry shifts to burgundy as doubt mixes into the Brazilian's field. Jungkook clears his throat. He's been captured in his own abode by the enemy with his defense system shot down. Jungkook should feel as if his hands are tied behind his back--it would be rude to decline the favor, yet unbelievable to accept it--but he feels no barriers in his mind. "My English is not good, but I will try."

A gaudy smile from Costa makes him chuckle. He didn't realize Costa was this excited to received English tutoring. The Brazilian hops off the bed, cracking his knuckles. He closes the distance between them, extending a hand...to shake on it. 

Jungkook grips the other's hand, legs tensing at the cool touch of their calloused palms. It ends quickly; the handshake isn't more than one movement of the arms up and down. Jungkook sets his arm by his side when it finishes, scooting towards the bed.

"Thank you, Jeon. I appreciate it. I really want to get better at speaking before London."

Behind the bed, Jungkook sifts around for something. When his searching hand snakes back from the comforter, it comes along with three English language books and a rather dingy blue notebook. "Me too. I study a lot...I have been studying a lot."

Costa's brazen grin shifts to serious interest. His brows knit together, mouth puckering, while he stands off to the side of the bed. "That's good. Can we...study in mornings? This time? Or is it too early? Our practice does not begin until..." Costa peeks at the ticking hands of his watch. "...eight o'clock...so maybe 6:30? Only for thirty minutes."

The eagerness of the Brazilian to learn and improve is what eventually sells Jungkook. Even if they are intense competitors in gymnastics, he would be more than willing to teach the other what he knows of English. Costa isn't too bad at the language anyway--he just has the occasional blank look of confusion whenever Jungkook throws longer words when talking.

If Jungkook didn't know better from Costa's open red aura flecked with curious baby blue, he might think Costa was competing in the language field with him. But the genuineness behind Costa's intent to learn is clear as day for the clairsentient...entirely invisible to the eager pupil radiating off receptive colors.

"Yes. That will do. Mornings...at 6:30." Jungkook places the books back under his bed, grabbing a T-shirt from his dresser. Costa sends him a grateful nod before heading for the door. Right as Jungkook yanks the shirt over his head, Costa passes him by. A red iron pokes his side, sending electricity to his already hammering heart. 

When the shirt is past his eyes and he can finally see again, Jungkook bares his teeth in distress. 

"Ribs." Costa lingers on his torso, fingertip pressed against the lowest rung of his right side. Jungkook feels the skin tingle there, as if a firecracker is injected underneath his skin, continuing to combust repeatedly. Suddenly he's aware of his entire ribcage and how it juts out at a slight angle.

Jungkook steps back.

"Um."

Costa's finger floats in the air, the air now buzzing thickly with swarms of red bugs. They start to suffocate Jungkook, and the feeling of the calm cherry cloud is replaced by a semi-hostile army.

Something snaps Costa out of his daze. He peers at the lone TV, then to Jungkook who now wears a thin blue tee. He recedes to the wooden exit, mouth pressed in a fine line. Whatever he's thinking, it isn't pleasant, and Jungkook can tell by the way all flecks of blue have disappeared.

"See you at practice."

Costa leaves room 333.

~

~

Panting and sweaty, Jungkook exits the track to cool off in the hallway.

For their first day of training, Coach Kan decided to make them run endurance intervals. For the last hour, Jungkook, Costa, and Whiffrey have been doing sprint lines for a lap, then a steady run for four laps, only to sprint the last lap all over again.

Kan made them run five kilometers, a little over three miles, at an intense, break-ankle pace. Running next to Costa, Jungkook didn't feel short on motivation. Although the Brazilian's running strides were longer than Jungkook's, he made up in the sprints. They constantly kept at each other, their footfalls aligned after the first kilometer. Even their breathing had the same fanning rate, and they paused at the same time for water. Donnell Whiffrey dropped back from their running group around the third kilometer, tiring quickly from their highway pace.

"Whew..." Jungkook saunters over to the water fountain with his empty water bottle, breathing heavily. He wipes the side of his face with his training tee while the bottle fills, his hip pressing against the water dispensing button.

"Shit! Shit shit shit...!"

A frantic, cussing voice approaches him from behind. It's flowery somehow, a daffodil with a sharp bite that he recognizes instantly. It's from the loudest chatterbox at the banquet...a voice from the women's gymnastics team...who was wearing a studded black jumpsuit the last time he saw her.

"SHIT! Noooo..."

As his water bottle fills to the top, he quickly twists on the lid. Then he turns around, blinking when he sees a very chalky, messy bun slip past his nose.

"Excuse me, sorry." 

The chalky brunette shoves her hip harshly against the fountain, taking his place. Water curls up in an arch, and she shoves her hand under it. Leaning in, Jungkook spots the bloody circles of a nasty bunch of rips on her palm from bars. He winces, knowing all too well how much those fuckers sting. She hears his sharp inhale and turns to face him, her mouth twisted in pain. Soon, her eyes sprout recognition.

"Oh, hello!" She offers a toothy smile. Her hair bounces against the back of her neck as she jitters on her heels. Jungkook deciphers the air surrounding her body, met with rivulets of tan and red. A personality with high energy, friendly to all...and seen as annoying by some. "Aren't you...wait, hang on, it'll come. Yes, there it is. You're Joan Jungcook, right?"

The pronunciation is a bit flat in the girl's mouth, but Jungkook smiles at her anyway. "Jeon Jungkook, yes. That's me. And you're...Mackayla Mahroanie?"

Her hands waver under the cold stream of water. "McKayla Maroney! How'd you know? Haha!"

Jungkook could ask her the same thing. But elite gymnasts aren't too common a commodity, so names of elite ones are hard for him to forget. Especially when they're from America. "I've seen your vaults before."

After dutifully drawing enough blood out of her ripped hands, she leans away from the water fountain. Her grips are flecked red, mixing with the chalk on the leather to form a sickly pink. She catches him looking.

"Oh, so you've like seen my vaults? I've seen your vaults too! You're fucking good, chico from Korea! And yes, I know...these grips are stained now...but the blood will come out with enough chalk. I know they will. Hey, how is your English so good? Half of the other gymnasts won't even speak more than one sentence to me. Am I that scary?" She adjusts the grips around her wrists, eyeing him up and down. "Please don't say I'm that scary. That's what most people say, even my coach! I'm not scary-"

"You're not." Jungkook cuts in, mildly amused by her wild banter. Even if he doesn't fully understand everything she's saying, he gets the gist. Spending time around a fast-speaking English speaker might just be a challenge that will help him improve his own English. "I have studied English hard. I'm still studying...I don't know a lot, but I know enough."

"You know plenty." McKayla grins sideways. "So I'm not scary? Good! Then I'll see you around, Jungkook. Gotta get back to practice!"

As she walks away with her purple leotard and swishing bun, Jungkook senses a faint pink hue mixing with her tan aura. He snickers, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle and downing half of it in one go. He likes this McKayla character.

And apparently, she likes him too.

~

~

note from authAURA~

hello everyone!

Just so everyone knows, I'm utilizing McKayla Maroney's identity in a purely fictional way, just like Jungkook. She was a powerful gymnast at the 2012 Olympics irl and a superstar vaulter <3

Who else here needs English lessons from Jungkook? Because I know I do :(

On this lovely day I hope you find violet ray in your activities--be curious about the world around you more, damn it! Hehe.

Izzy.