Sunflower Petal~

A deep yellow that signifies a newfound inspiration and optimism in surroundings. Pertains to those seeking a journey in environment who have found 'it' for themselves.

~

~

~

My locker is next to his.

My locker...in the fucking locker room. Is next to his. 

Next to Leonardo Costa's. 

FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!

I thought I was doing well in choosing the locker right next to the doorway, but turns out it was a colossal mistake. Following our rings exhibition--when we were all funneling into the locker room, sweaty and trailing fatigue--I noticed the odd, red-slimed combination lock on the locker next to mine. I blinked at it, confused for a while, until a warm shoulder brushed against mine. Before I even turned to see who it was, I could feel the familiar zinging pinch of a large personality. I could feel the way my heart rate soared, sensed the domineering presence of my biggest competitor.

"Oh, you're next to me." He said, after saying something in Portuguese that I couldn't decipher. "Locker neighbors."

I briefly glanced at him and flashed a polite smile, but I was tired out and just wanted to shower and lay down. Nodding, I said something dumb along the lines of "you better not get in my space" in a joking manner and I vaguely remember him laughing.

Other than mild irritation and tired shock, the only thing coursing through my veins was a perplexing red.

Why? I asked myself. Why did he pick the locker next to mine? And then I realized.

'Fuck, Jungkook.' I thought to myself. 'It's so obvious. When Costa was choosing his locker, he thought of the same things you did. He was thinking--get a spot closer to the gym, closer to the training area rather than prioritizing the other amenities. Be the first one in the gym. Don't let others get to you, and be professional about it.'

Costa's mindset was a winning, competitive one. He didn't care about being close to the showers, being near someone he liked. He was determined to be alongside his rightful throne, closest to the gym....and I beat him to it.

"I won't bother you, Jeon." He said while digging around in his locker. I could hear him smiling, but didn't look at him. I was busy packing my grips away, grabbing my shower supplies. Before I knew it, his suffocating cherry cloud was gone.

I realized in dismay that I dropped my grip pads into my tennis shoes in my haste. Bending down to retrieve them from the open mouths of my neon blue kicks, I saw them. The traces of chalky footprints facing my locker a little to the right of my own feet. Pointing my direction, as if the owner was facing my side for quite a while.

Inside the toes were flecks of crimson dust.

~

~

~

Room 333 gives Jungkook the creeps.

Not only is his dorm room devoid of any shades of life, but it screams temporary-stay.

The beige, earthy walls are unevenly painted, trapping him in a claustrophobic jail cell of skin. It smells of sand and baking grass, and the sun is unnecessarily bright from his window overlooking the complex yard. His bed is a creaky excuse of a resting place, the springs digging into his back whenever he reclines. The air is too thick for proper breathing...and the carpet makes his stomach ache...and the looming door seems to stare at him from across the room, studying him with splintering apprehension...

"I'm just overreacting!" Jungkook tells himself, bouncing a little on the bed. His first night alone in the room shouldn't perturb him this much. His calloused hands reprimand the goosebumps forming on his forearms, cursing the skin for relaying his slight fear. "It's a stupid room. Just a stupid room."

He glares at the wall separating him and Costa. Can the other gymnast hear him through the wall? Does Leonardo Costa hate his room just as much as Jungkook does? Is he stretching out his body or drinking a recovery shake? Did Costa even leave the gym yet--is he in there?

Instantly, Jungkook rises from the bed, striding to the window. The mocha-dusted ground is still kissed by the evening sun, and by standing so close the window he can feel the heat radiating off of the panes. Outside, the snaking pathway into the dorm complex is deserted, a wild west scene where all actors but the wind have retired.

Jungkook sighs.

"Of course he wouldn't take the outdoor path. It's too hot. He'd take the tunnel to the dorms." Jungkook steps away from the window. He travels aimlessly to the door, his feet naturally taking metered steps as if on a vault runway. 

Once his feet have blown him to the door, he stands there. Blinking. His hand doesn't dare touch the handle, and yet it wants to. The untamable urge to burst into the hallway and check to see if an aura trail is by the doorway to 334 keeps pestering him...like a pestilent flu bug, forcing him into a state of restlessness until he can find some way to feel better.

After staring at the connection of the doorway to the floor for a few minutes, Jungkook hears something.

At first it starts out quiet, a gentle baritone bubbling somewhere down the hall. Then it picks up, growing louder. Footsteps approach, two sets, and the voices take on a strain. Jungkook slides against the door so his ear is tickling the wood. Listening.

The voices become clear. It's Leonardo Costa and his coach, arguing about something...in Portuguese. Jungkook has no idea what the duo are saying to each other, what grenades are being exchanged between warring mouths. It doesn't sound pretty, and it sounds a lot like Costa is backtalking the older man. Jungkook's eardrums yearn for the changing pitch, trying to follow the sentiment of the argument rather than the meaning. 

Costa and his coach soon arrive in front of room 334, their heated breath a prime indication that the quarrel is not proceeding well. The coach keeps upping his volume, strengthening his scoffs-

Jungkook gasps against the door as a loud slam filters through the thin walls. A set of angry footprints storms away with fleeting grumbles chasing them. Jungkook's breath fans unevenly into the stuffy atmosphere of room 333 as the building recommences silence. Costa must be in his room.

Walking stiffly back into his cursed abode, Jungkook feels mounting distress as his lower gut starts picking up negative energy. He scoots to the farthest side of the room, clutching his arms to his chest. Even if he can't see Costa's aura because of an impeding wall, he can still feel it. Like the invisible rays of a microwave, undefined waves of Costa's ire slip under his skin.

Itchy, itchy is his neck...a sign of anger, of irritability. His back presses against the opposite wall, and he stares disgustedly at the vertical bread-colored wall causing his pain. That stupid, insubordinate wall--that inanimate barrier that is supposed to keep out everything, yet can't for Jungkook. 

He can still feel Costa's anger retention. Can taste the discord between his teeth. Can feel the vibrations of the universe scattered in the space next to his, all jumbled haywire and unmistakably irate. Costa is an invisible fireball, a moping energy that grinds on his nerves, makes him want to punch the wall separating them and scream out his grievances.

"Unfair." Jungkook grits his teeth down, inhaling deeply to calm his vicarious rage. "Unfair that I have to feel this."

Jungkook sits down, leaning his back on the good wall.

The bad wall, he will not touch. 

~

~

"Give 'em hell, Jeon." 

Coach Kan whispers to Jungkook as they pass by each other, heading for the parallel bars.

Today, Jungkook must show off all of his routines to the judges so they can get a taste of where to start with his personalized training. He has already performed on single bar, vault, and floor...and blown the judges away with superb routines. Even though he barely slept the night prior because of Costa's wall-defying anger, he pulled through for his routines. 

He was ruthless today, residual anger from Costa pulsing in his muscles. He stuck all of his landings and whipped out the best back layout release on high bar that Coach had seen. The judges' poker faces even broke for a second after he stuck his extremely difficult piked Melissanidis on vault.

"I'll give 'em more than hell." Jungkook whispers under his breath as he fills his grips with chalk. Parallel bars aren't his forte, but he can still manage a clean execution for a high score. Especially with his previous performances of today, he feels capable of anything. Without Leonardo Costa breathing down his back in practice or blinding him with the unforgiving shade of a bleeding cherry, Jungkook feels much freer. 

"Jeon Jungkook." The eldest of the five judges lifts a tepid hand upwards. It's the signal to begin, the cue for him to salute and begin the fourth act of today's play: Road to 334.

Jungkook raises his arms in a proud cross, chin held high with athletic pride. He claps his grips once for security, then mounts the parallel bars with a powerful leap. Soon, his body is a brutish swan in a charging river, flowing over the harsh waves with grace. Jungkook's eyes never leave the bar as his body commands them, squeezing his body tight and pointing his toes extra hard while he travels up and down, around and around. 

This performance is as dire as if he were in competition, and he's treating it as importantly. If the judges see his true potential when it isn't muddied by Costa...they might dethrone their old king. They might give Jungkook the first spot in lineups. 

As Jungkook's hips rise over his backside in a clean handstand, he exhales in utter concentration. Time for his dismount. Like a whipcrack, Jungkook pikes his legs up hard into his chest before swinging them back, propelling his body in a double front flip before he lands hard. The mat thunks as his feet slap them, scrunched tightly together in the perfect finishing pose: a stick.

"Nice, Jeon!" Coach Kan comments from the side, clapping his hands together once. He does not write on his clipboard, doesn't sniffle or tilt his head critically. It feels nice.

The judges accept his ending salute with a few cursory blinks. They continue to take notes on their careful legal notepads, conversing among each other as Jungkook walks over to retrieve his water bottle. Coach Kan meets him by the chalk box, seemingly pleased in an aural cloud of mango trees. 

"Keep this up, Jeon. You have two more routines, and if you keep showing them how hard you've worked for this moment they won't even remember Costa's name." Kan gives him a half-smile, nodding over to the judges. "I bet they're scribbling the stupidest recommendations for your training. That routine was close to flawless. Maybe a little too much oomph on that first press hand, but other than that..."

Jungkook rolls his wrists out. "Thanks, Coach."

They begin walking through the mats and protective equipment towards the rings. Jungkook breathes quietly to himself, ruminating on his performances. It's strange, having to perform for a few judges inside of an empty gym, but it beats doing so with the other gymnasts staring at him. Second only to Costa, Jungkook receives the most sideways glances and jealous squints from the other trainees.

It's not like he isn't used to it; he is the best in Korea, and even his own teammates back home can't hide their envious admiration of him...but here it feels different. Since they have all qualified for the London Olympics already, they don't have to prove themselves. But they do have to better themselves--have to try and bolster their personal rank, improve their form, and change their routines to flatter the judges' standards of form and execution. Now it isn't about doing spectacular gymnastics, but about winning. It's about becoming a champion, beating the competitors, honing the body to perfection.

Getting the gold.

"Hey, Jeon." Coach Kan suddenly inputs into his thoughts. "Look who came to watch."

Stomach dropping, Jungkook subtly turns his head up to perceive the second floor glassed-in balcony. Standing with his strong arms crossed and his judgmental hip jutted is none other than-

"Costa." Jungkook almost spits. "He came to watch the show."

Coach Kan doesn't catch the last bit, as he's walking away to the mat under the rings, saying things like 'come on, Jeon!' and you got this!'  If the judges weren't present, it would be 'if you can't fucking give me a good routine Jeon, you're doing 5 rounds of stairs instead of three!'

Jungkook inhales, exhales, inhales...and finally pushes the red from the corners of his vision. Coach Kan's hands wrap around his torso, hoisting his body up to catch the rings that sway mid-air.

The judges watch.

Fifty eight seconds later, the judges nod.

Jungkook salutes, a wide smile on his face. 

His routine was killer--a breath of fresh air in a stuffy room filled with clouds. His lithe body, tormented by hunger and repulsed by Costa, carried out a spectacular routine. Jungkook drew energy from the red dripping down the window panes, drew it out of his wanting heart. Desire and anger mixed to click inside of him for clean, seemingly languid moves that would normally tire him out. Instead, he feels invigorated.

"JEON!" Coach Kan yells with pleasure at the routine. He claps his hands together a few times, summoning the gymnast forward. When Jungkook finds his spot next to Kan he gets slapped proudly on the back multiple times, smiling all the while. "What did you eat today to make you so good?"

Jungkook lies with slight amusement tinting his irises. "The usual."

Vengeance is what he would say, if Coach Kan knew about the auras. He might spill that he had to get back at the Brazilian gymnast for making him suffer--to show up Costa when it counted.

"Well, well. Maybe the pressure has brought out a new side of you, huh?" Coach Kan gnaws on his mint gum, tapping lazily at the clipboard. "I barely wrote down anything."

Jungkook grins, unbuckling his grips one by one. He follows his coach towards the pommel horse for his last routine of today. Blatantly, he turns his head to align with the window pane that powered the brunt of his routine. He almost gasps at what he sees.

The entirety of the figure standing up there glowering down at him is unable to be discerned. Reds blur and clash to form an opaque cloud, blocking Jungkook from seeing most of Costa. Like a cesspool of wine, a deep blockade of bloody molecules.

Shutting him out.

~

~

~

note from authAURA

Hello!

I'm going to be completely honest here, I think I have a fat crush on Leonardo Costa...

I mean Jungkook too, but like...that was already established. WBK, who doesn't have a fat crush on the guy? I think I have a fat crush on most male gymnasts. Whoops.

I hope the chapter of this story put some sunflower petal into your day, maybe inspired you to try something different! :)

IZZY.