Injured Blueberry~

A shrouded blue/purple that settles around the mind after a doubtful event occurs. Signifies hesitance to speak the mind, nervousness regarding the future.

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Yesterday during practice something alarming happened.

While our group was working scissors on pommel horse, another training group was working twisting front layouts. Their coach was getting angry at one boy--a stout youngster from Italy--because he kept stumbling out of his 2.5 twisters. From my spot on pommel I could see the dewy frustration bent under his knees for not landing correctly. His head radiated a dirty brown overlay of doubt. 

But his coach kept pushing him. Even though the Italian clearly wasn't ready to twist another half, his coach demanded him to. The other two males in his group were pulling triples already--so why couldn't he?

While Costa and his coach were on pommel, I was working press handstands on some floor dowels. That's when I heard it.

You see, the floor is a good few meters away from the mirrors lining the walls for safety purposes. While gymnasts still need to see their form in reflections, they can do so at a safe distance. But the Italian landed so off-kilter that his rebound carried him forward at an astounding speed. I didn't see it, but the sound of glass shattering forced me down from my handstand.

Around the gym, everyone stared. A group on bars halted their exercise--even the Peruvian gianting over the bar slowed to a dead hang. A vaulter sprinting down the runway darted off of the long carpet halfway through his approach to the springboard. The parallel bars group was closest to the floor, gasping and guffawing loudly at the scene.

The mirror was shattered lengthwise, a spiderwebbing crack from head to foot. The hapless tumbler had careened directly into the reflective surface, now speckled with shards of glass. His aura was black with fear and pain, shoulder bleeding at the intersection of glass and skin. His coach ran up to him squatting next to the broken mirror, yelling warnings not to move for fear of him getting cut.

"That's a nasty one." Costa spoke up next to me, at my shoulder. "You think he'll be okay?"

Staring at his nightmarish, coal-streaked aura, I knew he wouldn't be okay. But I wasn't going to speak the negative truth, especially with Costa's optimism floating around in the air between us.

"Yeah. I think he will be fine." 

At the time, I remember scooting closer to Costa, further into his air of power. Around us, the coaches rushed over to help the poor fellow. Other gymnasts huddled together and mused worriedly about the state of the young Italian. I crossed my arms. He wasn't going to make it another day of training. The glass had cut pretty deep into his elbow and shoulder--a deep abrasion that wouldn't be healed within two weeks. He would be out of camp...perhaps even out of the Olympics because of this accident.

Costa clicked his tongue. "I don't know about that..."

I turned to face him. His dark eyes peered at me, upset. 

After a very long time, we recommenced training.

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"Say it again."

Bold sunlight dapples through the shades of room 333. Impartial to the occupants of the room it shines inside, the sun is low and hot in the Arizona sky. Despite dawn's fairly brief introduction into this Tuesday, the day is heating up fast, and Jungkook's air conditioning unit knows all too well what the day will have in store.

"Eemmaynse graehtitoode-"

"Nope." Jungkook opens his mouth wider, pointing to the tongue. "Not eee, it's pronounced ih. Also meh not may. Immense. Ih...mehn...sss-"

The Brazilian hums, nodding his understanding. His legs bounce against the bedsheet where the two gymnasts sit side by side, an English book opened between them. "Eemaynsse-"

"Nope! Mirror me." Jungkook repeats again for him. "Ih...mmen...ih...mmen..."

Costa licks his lips. His brows furrow with novice consternation. "Ih...mayn-"

"MENSE." Jungkook says louder, hoping that the volume might push it into Costa's mind. "IMMENSE." 

The Brazilian is actually quite skillful at picking up the meaning of English vocabulary and grammar, but his accent is hard to get over. Opposite of his opponent, Jungkook has been successful in pronouncing the foreign syllables of English since studying in school--even speaking better than most of his peers. His English definitely isn't perfect, but it's better than the average Korean.

"IMMENSE!" Costa repeats. Only a twinge of his accent is there. "Immense...what was the word?"

"Gratitude." 

"Immense...graehtitoode-"

And so it goes like this, for another thirty minutes of teacher/student in the Arizona dorm. Costa learns a few more erudite phrases for all of the upcoming interviews that are sure to transpire in London. Costa's usual robust confidence that he normally possesses in the gym is dulled within his new role as student. Jungkook discovers quickly that the choking maroon around Costa is more of a hazy watermelon pink-red, a relaxed color that puts him more at ease.

As their English lesson wraps up, Costa stands up to stretch. The muscles under his t-shirt ripple unenthusiastically, languidly. Jungkook straightens his legs, snapping the book shut.

"Wow...okay." Costa sniffs, stretching his arms overhead.  "I feel immense gratitude and honor to be able to perform at the London games."

Jungkook grins. "That was perfect."

"No it wasn't. I feel immense gratitude and honor to perform...no, to be able to perform at the London games. I feel immense gratitude and honor-"

"You sound good, Costa." 

The Brazilian purposely ignores him, striding towards the door. His footfalls are slow, thoughtful. With a limp hand, Jungkook tosses the English learner book back to its spot and stands up to see his competitor out. "Ih...mehnse...I feel immense grae--no, gratitude...to be able to perform..."

Costa turns the door handle and lingers in the threshold. Down the hall, heavy footsteps of other early-wakers tap against the soft carpeting of the floor. Jungkook catches up to his competitor, pausing just before the doorway.

"You did well today, Costa. As long as you practice and study enough-"

"I feel immense gratitude and honor that Jeon is a good teacher." Costa remarks, exiting before Jungkook can say anything else. Scoffing at the Brazilian's graceful farewell, Jungkook heads back into his room.

Teaching Costa hasn't been the most pleasant of experiences due to the Brazilian's tendency towards perfection, with him often interrupting Jungkook mid-sentence to repeatedly orate his troubled words. Jungkook has learned that Costa is the most stubborn individual he has ever met, attacking his lessons as violently as he would attack his hardest routine. Costa's wish to become proficient in so short a time is beneficial for his motivation, but tiring for Jungkook. 

Just yesterday they were working on mastering transitive and intransitive verbs, and Costa had fallen into a bout of frustration. Impatiently, the Brazilian scribbled down which verb belonged in each category after failing to understand Jungkook's explanation of the topic. After finishing the exercise, Jungkook had pointed out to him that he got half wrong because he misunderstood the lesson.

"You explain better!" Costa bit at him, tossing his brown hair off of his head. He glared at the headings Transitive and Intransitive as if they were low score cards. "I don't get it!"

Frustration was common for Costa in their English lessons. Jungkook found that the Brazilian became quite heated whenever he messed up, utilizing his anger to improve himself. However, Costa's ire was always temporary--only a fleeting rush of clashing reds between them. To outsiders, it might be seen as petty rage, but Jungkook knew better. 

It wasn't true anger that Costa was feeling but a competitive fire to win, to become the best. Even if he was curt with Jungkook in his mode of speech, the Brazilian never meant offense. Generally, he apologized after he'd succeeded in the lesson. Jungkook never took it personally.

After all, he could always read the truth in Costa's aura and never saw true malice. How could he be upset if the Brazilian's passionate, competitive spirit was only yearning to learn more?

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Coach Kan taps a pen against his clipboard, staring at Jungkook across the table.

"Why don't you want to add the Dimitrenko in your routine? We both know you can do it. It'll add another few tenths to your difficulty, which you could use. Costa already has a higher difficulty than you on parallel."

The Korean inhales for a moment. He peers over Kan's shoulder at the large training facility that towers in the evening sun like a sweltering giant. Right now they're taking a brief pre-dinner break in the heat of night, discussing their options for his routines. It's common for coaches and their mentees to hold private meetings right around this time--after a hard day of practice where reflection is necessary.

"I don't know, Coach." The Korean sighs, cupping his chin on his palm. His eyes race over the lines of square windows reflecting the sun's sharp rays off of the training facility. "If I add another Dimitrenko, I wouldn't know where to put it. I feel like it might mess up my routine flow."

Coach Kan tuts. "We can work around it."

Brownish puffs burst from Kan's temples, sifting into the Phoenix air. Jungkook grabs at his water bottle, chugging the liquid greedily. In Arizona the air is dry and brittle, reminding him of all the desert movies he'd watched as a child. Water fountains within the facility are like gold mines, and insanely popular among the athletes. Hydration in such an arid climate is paramount to maintaining their conditions.

"Hmm..." Jungkook isn't sold on the idea, but the brown tapering sheets in Kan's aura tells him there isn't much room for argument. "I guess we can, Coach. You know what's best."

The brown fades into the background. Interposed is a triumphant lemon shade of positivity. Jungkook grins inwardly, taking advantage of how much his coach likes to be viewed with respect. "You always know what's best, Coach."

Coach Kan scrunches his nose, nodding. He writes a few more things on his clipboard while Jungkook drinks. The large motors powering the AC units within the building offer a dim hum in the background of their bench talk. While his coach's pen edits and revises one of his plans, Jungkook massages the back of his neck. He can't help but be grateful that Coach Kan is being a lot softer on him inside the training facility. Kan doesn't want to show his true colors, for fear of being seen as tyrannical. 

But Jungkook can see the colors regardless.

"Okay, great. We'll start working those tomorrow." Kan sets his things down then. "But that's not the primary topic of our meeting."

Jungkook's fingertips pause their movements on his neck. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Kan crosses his arms and leans forward on the table. "Leonardo Costa."

Behind the name is a bitterness Jungkook has become all too familiar with. His stomach rumbles and he quiets it down by wrapping a tight arm around his torso. Coach would kill him if he found out that he skipped dinner again to stretch.

"What about Costa?" 

Coach Kan frowns. "You and him seem oddly close now. Running together in conditioning, chatting at the chalk  box-"

"We're in the same training group." Jungkook interrupts.

Coach Kan sends him a disciplinary look. Usually if Jungkook interrupts him, the consequences are less than stellar. "Same training group or not, why are you acting so friendly with him? He's your competitor, Jungkook...and not just any fucking competitor. Sportsmanship is fine, but you shouldn't let him schmooze you."

A huff escapes Jungkook's lips before he can help it. "We're going to the Olympics together. It's nothing more than a little talk, Coach. I promise. I wouldn't let Costa get to me anyway."

Coach Kan watches him for a long time. The water bottle perspires on the outside, and Jungkook traces jittery patterns in the misty droplets. "Good. Whatever he's trying to manipulate you for, don't let him. From what I'm getting from Costa's coach, the boy is impertinent and childish."

Jungkook squints, flummoxed. If anything, Costa is the exact opposite of childish. The Brazilian carries himself with such unabashed grace and maturity, and is usually polite. If Costa's frustration is seen as childish by his coach, then Jungkook is happy for his competitor's childishness. It makes him strive for better.

"Did his coach really call him childish?" 

Kan shakes his head. "No. Me and Costa's coach haven't spoken on a personal level. I don't want to get to close to that man, as competitors shouldn't get."

A droplet of water from the bottle falls onto Jungkook's thigh. He brushes it off. 

Kan continues. "But his coach always speaks about him in an odd way, as if Costa is a stitch in his side...you know, difficult to work with. A 'nose in the air' kind of guy."

Jungkook sets his water bottle down. A ripple of hunger peals through his midsection, but he ignores it. "I don't think Costa is-"

"Enough." Coach Kan stifles his comment, blinking against the sunset. "See? This is what I mean. Defending your competitor. What in hell is he spewing to you, to make you so soft for his cause? That's not right, Jeon. Where is the old spirit, the old competitive anger?"

The AC units hum on around them, a high pitched whine in the air. Jungkook shuffles his fingers between his knees, trying to come up with an answer. But truly, he doesn't know. 

"I...it must be the new training environment." Jungkook sputters, flinching as round disappointment clouds teeter across the table. "I mean, back in Busan when it was one-to-one, I always had you as a coach. You always told me exactly what I was doing wrong and how to fix it. I got advice, criticism, and orders. But here, the staff and judges are too afraid to put it as bluntly as you do, Coach. I'm not used to it, yet."

Skillfully maneuvering the conversation in a direction he knows his coach will appreciate, Jungkook avoids admitting that he doesn't see Costa as the evil competitor anymore. Coach Kan listens intently, waiting for more. Jungkook doesn't fail to tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

"The relaxed training program isn't as constructive as you were to me in Busan, and I think it's rubbing off on my competitive spirit...I'm sorry, Coach. I'll try to amp up the fighting spirit against him...but it's difficult without you there."

Coach Kan seems insanely pleased, although his face shows nothing. "You sure you're not making an excuse, Jeon? I didn't train you to be soft."

"I'm serious." Jungkook focuses all his willpower on maintaining eye contact. "It's just the adaptation period. I'm not used to it yet. I'll try harder...I won't speak with him in practice if it makes you feel better."

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Jungkook doesn't feel better.

That night as he's washing up for bed, he hears the Brazilian's footsteps padding down the hall. Graceful yet sure like the man they belong to, the footsteps pause briefly in front of his door. Jungkook sucks in a breath, praying that Costa doesn't knock again to give him a late night snack. 

Ever since Jungkook agreed to teach him English, the Brazilian thinks he has free reign in room 333. Delivering random snacks, knocking as he makes his way down the hall, waiting to walk with Jungkook to morning practice...if Jungkook didn't know him better, he'd think the other was trying to taunt him.

Thankfully, the footsteps continue. The unmistakable noise of the door hinging and shutting close relaxes Jungkook's shoulders. 

"Can't talk with you."

The Korean speaks to himself in the bathroom mirror. Steam from his shower flourishes in the air, coiling against his auric field. It fogs up the mirror, briefly abstaining him from seeing himself. Jungkook uses the towel to re-wipe the area again until his naked body is clear in the reflection.

"Can't talk with you anymore at practice, Costa...why? Um...my coach doesn't...I shouldn't be..." Jungkook pauses, noting the black tendrils around his midsection. 

Somehow gazing at them reminds him of the late night snacks Costa had brought to him the last two nights. A package of vanilla wafer-bites filled with chocolate from Brazil, with silly monkey-faces drawn on the outside. Another package filled with a calorie-catastrophe of Brazilian corn chips. Jungkook had thanked him when he dropped them off, but knew he was never going to touch them. Too much sugar, too much fat. He wondered why Costa would even have such snacks in his room, and why his coach allowed him to eat junk food. 

"I can't talk during practice with you because I can't." Jungkook re-wipes the mirror again, turning his body around in a small circle. He pinches and prods, examines and twists. Watches how bulky his chest appears when his arms are raised, and how undefined his lower abs are. "My coach thinks I'm getting too close with you. He says competitors are akin to mortal enemies. Don't fraternize with the enemy, he tells me, but-"

Jungkook taps at his ribcage a few times. His ribs jut out slightly, the framework of bones blatant against strands of long muscle. He pokes his finger in, holding it there. When he brings his eyes back up to his own in the mirror, a loose fire has settled in his eyes.

"Keep your friends close." The finger tap tap taps at his ribs. "...and your enemies closer."

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note from authAURA~

hey there love bear,

What! Enemies! What am I hearing? Ah...good ol' healthy, competitive hate. 

I mean, really--what does soft sportsmanship amount to deep down? Not motivation to get better. Whether we want to admit it or not, envy and feelings of dissatisfaction lead to the most change. With gymnastics too, seeing another gymnast put up a higher score on an event really gets to the athlete. Scores are the impetus for improvement!

'Leonardo Costa doesn't seem like much of an enemy to Jungkook thoug-'

I hope you all stray from injured blueberry since I don't want to see you all get doubtful! Own it, and if you can't own it then at least forgive yourself. People make mistakes.

IZZY.