Egg Shell~

An off-white, dirtied shade that hints at a possible underlying illness when present in the auric field.

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A symphony.

Blaring loud alarm symphony. From my iPod. Heavy guitars and tumbling drums and screaming lyrics just how I like them. And...knocks at my door.

That was this morning.

"Jeon, are you in there?"

I heard the heavy knocks and stumbled over to the door. I was too tired to remember my talk with Coach Kan the night before or what it meant between me and Costa. When I threw open the door, I was once again met with the slim physique of my competitor, who came right into my room without first receiving cue. He sidled past me, ignoring the fact that I hadn't even had time to properly dress, and plopped down on my unmade bed. He sat there, staring at me. Absentmindedly, he reached over for my iPod and snoozed the guitar solo of TNT by AC/DC.

I hadn't woken up to my alarm. 

It was 6:35 AM, and I stood there dumbly, feeling oddly embarrassed with his scrutiny pressing me for answers.

"Sorry, Costa...for uh, making you wait." I spoke, cutting across my room to the dresser. I had moved the piece of furniture back to its original spot, by his side of the wall. I moved all my furniture back. Now that I knew he wasn't the evil devil he was amped up to be, I fixed my dorm as it was before. "I didn't wake up to my alarm-"

Costa clicked his tongue. "Let's..." He searched for a word. "Commance."

"Commence." I corrected him while pulling on a T-shirt and sweats. "And we will. We will."

He naturally knew where the English textbook was and dug it out of its spot under the bed. Costa's red aura was bright and swelling, the inherent readiness for the day swallowing me whole. Just being in his invigorating presence made me feel like a new person, like I was capable of anything. Maroon waves sent me to take a seat next to him on the bed. I opened the textbook to a certain page. 

But before I could start the pluperfect tense lesson, he stopped me.

"Before we start, what about-"

Guitars blared suddenly then, cutting him off midsentence. I jumped with a drowsy scare. My alarm--it hadn't been entirely turned off. I reached across him and unlocked my iPod, flicking the alarm off. 

"What about what?" I asked him.

Costa's red aura darkened a bit. Reflexively, I scooted back on the bed, realizing I had leaned close enough to smell his aftershave. He watched my face carefully as if trying to pick something apart. The bed creaked under the weight of its occupants. I patiently waited for him to continue.

"What about breakfast?"

I coughed, entirely dumbfounded. Suspicious. Frozen. I thought about what Kan had said the day before as I peered at Costa's stiff face.

'My enemy.' Kan said. Really, Coach? Would an enemy say that?

~

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"Four more, Jeon. Those last two didn't cut it. They were horrible."

Crossing his arms most instructively, Coach Kan walks alongside the rings apparatus. His head bobs left and right as he examines his patient's body, perfection the only cure for the Jungkook's inherent illness of unpointed toes and closed shoulders.

Jungkook tries again, puffing a harsh breath from his lungs as he tries to maintain a complex handstand hold. His shoulders shake, fatigue creeping into his forearms as he wills the rings not to move too much. Utter control over the apparatus is what the judges are searching for--no swinging, trembling, or bodily jerks. Absolute control over the body. Ownership, and confidence.

"Shaky Jeon! That inverted cross is too shaky! Tighten up your core or I'll add another."

Ever since Jungkook bluffed about not adapting to the Phoenix Power Arena well, Coach Kan has been extra hard on him at practice...when he can. The other coaches and trainers are so frequently milling about that Kan can only yell occasionally. His rude, 'what the fuck was that, Jeon?' has been replaced with diluted constructive feedback. However, Jungkook can see all of the unsaid things in his coach's aura. And they aren't nice. Not in the least.

"Squeeze your ankles! No, come down. Come down." 

Jungkook hops off the rings, out of breath and a bit dismayed at getting called down. He adjusts his grips as he approaches the fuming Korean man who white-knuckles his clipboard. Nearby, performing intricate rings' drills, he can see Costa and Donnell watching him out of the corner of their eyes. 

"Jeon." Coach Kan flickers his shadowy gaze at his mentee. His voice lowers to a whisper. "What the fuck was that! Is this place damaging your ability to do inverted crosses now? What the fuck!"

Over Kan's heated shoulder, Jungkook notices Costa peering curiously at them. Soon, Costa's coach is scolding him for not working on the ring dismount drill, and the Brazilian gets back to flipping. Jungkook blinks at the worry lurking in the maroon cloud above his head.

"I...I'll try again." Jungkook chalks up his grips feverishly, growing unsettled. Costa keeps glancing over at them, and Kan's aura is fracturing with disappointment. In all honesty, Jungkook's incompetence on rings is partially attributed to oversleeping and hunger...nothing serious. "I'll do them better, I promise-"

Kan catches his forearm as he turns to walk to the rings. "You didn't answer my question."

Jungkook nods, clenching his jaw. He can't think up a viable lie under pressure, so he decides on the truth. "I woke up late--didn't have time to eat much."

The gymnast purposely leaves out that he wouldn't have had anything to eat this morning if Costa hadn't urged him to eat half a banana. Mentioning the enemy is a no-go. Kan is pissed off enough as it is, fuming at the mention of Jungkook's failed nutrition regime. 

"Jeon." He growls, using the name to reprimand the gymnast as much as a title. "Why the fuck wouldn't you grab something? Haven't you been following the fucking food schedule? It's not that difficult. Even when you starved in Korea it was always temporary. Is this fucking place getting under your skin, bringing that shit out again! We've spoke about this before."

Nostrils flaring, Jungkook only can stare at his coach. Behind them Costa flashes a quick look in his direction, mouth parted in vague shock. Jungkook is thankful that his coach is using Korean, otherwise everyone in the gym would know the dark truth of Korea's gymnastics champion. His calorie battle, searching for the opposite of gymnastics. Low numbers instead of high.

"I'll try. Again." Jungkook ignores Kan's comments, ignores his blunt and hurtful remarks for the moment. He turns on his heel sharply, cracking his neck to ease some of the tension in his head. 

Despite the weariness of his hungered body, Jungkook feels plenty capable of going back on rings with the new anger pulsing through him. He hops up, toes pointing naturally as he catches the rings. A few seconds later and he's squeezing every muscle in his body, stretched in a long handstand. His gaze burns on the mat below him, eyes decimating the chalk stains that linger from competitors past. 

Coach Kan says nothing as Jungkook finishes holding four more inverted crosses, his body as rigid and controlled as a metal pole.

When he hops down, dizziness crashes into him. His muscles lose their angered adrenaline, and his biceps feel like pudding as he strides powerfully towards his water bottle. Like Costa, Jungkook's aura is now spanking red, bolted with streaks of maroon irritation and black with hunger. Coach Kan frowns at him, tapping his pen against his clipboard.

He says nothing.

From across the mat, a smooth voice peeps up.

"Those were nice, Jeon." 

Leonardo Costa.

Jungkook barely looks over at the Brazilian before draining half of his water bottle and storming out the gym. Coach Kan doesn't follow him.

~

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That afternoon, Jungkook is on his knees gasping between a ring of porcelain inside a locked bathroom stall.

After the events of morning practice, Coach Kan was brutal on him for conditioning. From doing dozens of burpee-back-tucks, sprinting with a weight above his head, climbing dozens of times up the rope only using his arms, pushing stacked mats across the floor, holding a squat for seven solid minutes...the list went on.

When Kan was angry at him, conditioning was the worst. 

Costa and Donnell got out of doing half of the exercises because their coaches pushed them into doing other, more personalized stretches and drills. But Jungkook wasn't so easily excused. His drills included sweating into his eyes, pushing himself to the limit, and nearly collapsing from exhaustion in front of the others.

"S-sh-shit..." Jungkook mumbles lowly, biting down on his lip to prevent himself from throwing up again. Vomiting during hard practices isn't new to him, but it is usually brought on by himself. By holding himself to high standards, by repeating moves countlessly to perfect. Never has he been so worn out by Kan. "Agh no...not gonna, not gonna...fuck-"

Again, Jungkook's measly stomach contents rush up his throat in a choked glue, splashing into the toilet water.

If only he'd listened to Costa and had a little more breakfast. Then none of this would have happened.

"But I'm not s-supposed to be talking with him." A weak whisper escapes his lips and echoes around the toilet bowl. His esophagus twitches again while his abdominals clench, but he provide nothing but dry heaves. All of his stomach has been forcefully pumped out, and nothing is left. His head pounds, bodily aura shifting between black and reddish anger as he gags on air and clutches at the porcelain. He feels stupid, unprofessional. He should be following his coach's orders like any other to-be Olympian would, eating enough. And ignoring his teammates.

But his intuition is telling him otherwise. Something about Leonardo Costa's lively energy and winner's spirit naturally push them together. He can't ignore someone as prominent as Leonardo Costa anyway.

"Oh...fuck."

Jungkook studies the colorless fluids in the toilet with distaste. He isn't even two full weeks into the Road To London training camp and here he is, weak and nauseous in a bathroom stall. It's pathetic--disheartening. It makes him want to punch the stall until his fist is raw and bleeding. 

He wipes the leftover bile on his lips with toilet paper, tossing it unceremoniously into the ring.

The toilet flushes.

~

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"Hey!"

Jungkook exits the bathroom pale, a walking ghost among the gymnasium.

"Hey...Jungkook?"

The voice is eager, adamant. He brushes it off of him like a bundle of stray cobwebs. He needs to get back to practice, otherwise Kan will tear him a new one. The hallway lights seem distant and misplaced as he strides under them, putting the feminine voice behind him.

"Jungkook, are you sick?" McKayla Maroney is at his side, matching his strides. Jungkook barely glances at her. He shakes his head vehemently.

"I'm fine." The words come out pulverized, a weak figment of his resolution. She doesn't buy it. "Really...I'm fin-"

"No, you aren't." McKayla walks in front of him, scrutinizing the whole of his drawn and sickly features. "You're clearly not okay! Were you sick? Did you just hurl?"

Jungkook doesn't understand the word. His mouth forms the syllables, thick on his parched tongue. "Hu...rl?"

McKayla bats her curious lashes. Her bun flops against the top of her head. "Yes. Hurl--did you vomit? Throw up? Puke?"

The Korean shuts his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line. How can she read him so well? Would it hurt to tell the truth? Jungkook fingers the straps of his leotard nervously. Before he can speak, she beats him to it.

"You did. Yeah, you did." Her aura shifts from alarmed to caring. Jungkook stares at the genuine worry pinching her brows. "Tough conditioning? Yes, must have been. Need some water...or maybe...something gentle on the stomach? If you want, I can quick grab something from my locker. I have mini Gatorades in there and some other snacks...yeah, let me get you one of those. You seem really ill and you can't go back into practice like this."

McKayla taps at his forearm lightly, her mind already set on replenishing the Korean gymnast. Jungkook allows himself to be dragged to the locker rooms, too tired to try and fight this force of a woman.

"I have grape and blue-raspberry flavor...and if you want I have some ibuprofen, but that's not the best on a nauseous stomach...or if you need a quick pick-me-up I have a few 5-hour-energies, those aren't really the best. But if you're feeling weak, I would suggest it. I take half a bottle before tough floor drills! Oh but don't tell my coach. He'd kill me."

Jungkook listens to her floating words. A grin twitches on his lips as she talks on about her 'shit-ass tumbling passes'  and how she stumbled out of the floor's boundaries a few times today. They gradually make their way towards the female locker room door, passing through deserted hallways. Most gymnasts are either training skills, stretching limbs, or planning routines with their coaches.

"Wait." Jungkook stops her before she can enter the locker room. He leans heavily against the side wall. She hums, turning and digesting his expression.

"What? You need something more? I'm going to bring out the blue Gatorade and the fruit snacks but if you want more I can-"

"Aren't you supposed to be in practice right now?" Jungkook catches the brown strings of shame twisting against her tan clouds. He brushes a hand through his messy hair. "Are you skipping?"

"No." She quickly raises a hand. "I'm not skipping...I swear. I just take a lot of breaks. I can't...can't stand my teammates. They truly believe I'm all bubbly and happy around them...and think their mean comments don't get to me. But they really do. Those girls are judgmental bitches. So I just leave to use the bathroom a lot, fill up my water bottle...and the sort. Plus, they're working core with the exercise balls right now, so I'm not missing much. I have a solid core." She grins.

A staff member walks past them in the hallway, politely nodding at them. McKayla offers a sweet smile to the man, clicking her ankles together until he passes. If the man wondered why they weren't in practice, his suspicion has been wiped by McKayla's innate charm.

"Your coach lets you use the bathroom so much? My coach wouldn't let me do that." Jungkook finds the idea crazy. Coach Kan only allows Jungkook to relieve himself if holding his bladder will mess with his routine. A minute missed in the gym is a minute he has to make up during conditioning. Kan views training as a business matter, a scheduled process of improvement. 

"For girls it's different." McKayla suddenly smiles cheekily, her eyes finding a potted plant against the wall. She snickers, tapping her chipped fingernails against the locker room door. "Our coaches don't want to risk getting blood on everything. That's kind of hard to scrub out, trust me. You don't want to try to get blood off of a beam."

She disappears behind the door right as Jungkook understands her words in their entirety. He reflects on his own practices, wondering how much easier and harder a menstrual cycle might make his training. As he ponders this foreign idea...feeling slightly uncomfortable...McKayla returns with the Gatorade and fruit snacks.

"Here." No sign of awkwardness is in her voice. She hands them over to the Korean, breathing easier as he takes them from her. "Hey! You're looking better already. More lively. I bet these will bring you to your full strength, Jeon Jungkook of South Korea."

Without thinking, Jungkook unscrews the cap of the Gatorade and greedily drinks it. Sugars and salts hit his tongue, mixing with his gratefulness to form a beautiful blue-raspberry taste. When the entire bottle is gone, he tears open the snack packet and dumps all of the fruit snacks into his palm. McKayla watches as he tosses all of them into his mouth at once, hardly chewing before they get swallowed.

"Th-thanks." Jungkook swallows a burp, pounding his chest a few times. "Really, thanks. I feel a lot better now...I owe you." He uses the phrase he's heard in American movies before, namely in the superhero ones.

"No, you don't owe me anything." McKayla peels the wrapper and empty bottle out of his hand. Her catlike eyes regard his demeanor, study his pallor. "Just wipe your mouth. You have a blue ring around your lips! Hah."

He wipes his mouth, studying the pink roses in her aura. The lip-colored blush is simply a color of physical attraction and passion, of softness and security. McKayla isn't aware that she's radiating it now while standing next to him, yet Jungkook gets a sense that she knows her power of charm.

"Do you..." Jungkook starts, feeling empowered now that his stomach is full. "Have a phone?"

McKayla blinks. She maintains a poker face. "Yes. Do you?"

"I have an iPod. I also have a flip phone." Jungkook crosses his arms. She lifts an eyebrow, feigning confusion for what he's trying to get at. Purposely making this hard for him. "So McKayla, does your phone come with a number?"

"Naturally." The edges of her lips tug up, then flatten out. She likes the challenge just as much as him. Her fist crinkles the empty package of the fruit snacks against her hip while her eyes study him. "I bet yours comes with a phone number too. And with a Facetime app on the iPod. Two great forms of communication."

Jungkook clenches his jaw as an intense, fun-loving fuchsia braids around her chest and lungs. She's enjoying this. He won't admit it, but he is too.

"Does it come with Facetime? Oh, I didn't know. Maybe you could show me sometime..." Jungkook nonchalantly flicks his nails against the wall. "Is there any way to contact you so you could help me?"

There. Now there isn't a way for McKayla to counteract him, to ring around the Rosie of her auric field. But somehow, she does.

"Yeah, there is a way to contact me." McKayla adjusts her bun with a thumb, scooting it higher up on her head. Her smirk is teasing, nose scrunching in good humor. "But only people who like me contact me, so..."

Jungkook silently curses this gymnast's ruse. He swallows his pride, breaking their playful back-and-forth ignorance. "I do like you. Now can you please give me your phone number, McKayla."

She stifles a giggle, biting down onto her lip. "Hmm. I'll think about it."

Sighing in exasperating, Jungkook turns to go. It was worth a shot, anyway. 

"Hang on there, sergeant." McKayla points a warning finger at his chest. He lifts an eyebrow. "Don't go pushing yourself too hard during conditioning now. Can't have all my Gatorades stolen by you."

Rouge pink trickles into the air, and this time it isn't solely her body that's radiating it. Jungkook rolls his eyes before leaving, giddiness following him back into practice.

~

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note from authAURA

Yo there. 

Huh. "Yo there" isn't a very common greeting, is it? I think that makes me like it better. Yo there. Yothere. One word makes it fresher. Yothere, readers...but the pronunciation changes then! Yoethere? Would it be yoethair? Gosh. That just looks ugly--like rotten egg yolks tossed into an Old English frying pan. YUCK.

Anywho, I hope the story is growing on you non-gymnastics folk. If any of you are avid Olympic-watchers, maybe you'll tune into artistic gymnastics in 2021! I can promise you, it's worth your time.

Speaking of time, I don't have much extra of it these days. So I apologize for the uneven update-posting. The balanced life of a young adult seeks sacrifice! My writing time is that sacrifice. Wow...enough about me, gosh. Selfish, am I right? Another YUCK in the book.

Aside from blabbing, I duly wish you avoid egg shell for the sake of your health. Please get enough vitamins and minerals in your diet, and go outside as often as you can! Nature heals. 

Iloveyouwhoeveryouare,

IZZY.