Stovetop Burn~

A slightly faded red that pertains to loss of control, suggesting pent up stress in the tissue. Brought on by challenges to power, a defensive shade of the extending self.

~

~

~

I got my feedback reports today. I'm holding them now, overlooking them before Coach can meet me in the fitness studio.

And I can't believe it. The scores they gave my routines are all in the high 15's, with my performance on rings and high bar receiving 16. Even Costa struggles to get 16's. 

The bulleted list of critiques is much shorter than I expected it to be. I guess even the judges' trained eyes couldn't spot much wrong in my routines. I knew I did well, but for some of the judges to leave remarks such as 'maintains strong control over apparatus' means the world to me! Coach Kan's aura is now spontaneously charged with hopeful chick yellow and excited ribbons of red. Barely any gray in his aura remains. 

He's proud of me. My coach is proud of me. I'm so glad.

Costa's aura is darker red, surrounding him with competitive determination and immense vigor. Yesterday, I could barely make him out after that last routine, he was so absorbed in his own cloud. It freaked me out, to be entirely honest. Never before has Costa seemed so hostile towards me than in that moment. I can tell that my performance fired him up. My existence, my very threat to his spot makes his aura THAT much stronger.

Which is odd.

As I study these score sheets and stare at the changing auras of others, I think I should be feeling joyous. Pleased. Ecstatic that I'm making fast progress and living up to the title as Korea's best male gymnast. But for some reason, I can't find it in my aura. 

If anything, the region around my stomach has grown blacker, spiderwebbing up to my heart. The invisible blockade that I tethered around my body to prevent auric leaks is fraying. My own dark indigo aura is peppered with red. Ever since training started, my aura has been polluted by him, and I can't scrub it off. 

I can't get rid of him.

~

~

~

"Alright everyone! Get into pairs, pick a partner for flexibility!"

Around the floor, heads turn. Eyes pick out their acquaintances. Fingers share points at each other, and understanding smiles widen. Groups of two begin to emerge against the blue of the spring floor, and those who don't have partners wander around to find a suitable match. Male gymnasts seek out those who are at their similar caliber, who compete in mutual scoring brackets.

Thus, Jeon Jungkook and Leonardo Costa go untouched. 

Nobody dares think about being partners with the best in the gym. Even when Jungkook turns to seek out Kohei Fujimoto, the Japanese trainee has already been scooped up by a gymnast from Team Sweden. 

"Hey. You two, partner up."

The trainer eyes the two top competitors, urging them together with a brisk hand. Costa instantly complies, stepping next to Jungkook. His unfazed yet graceful posture next to the Korean tells Jungkook all he needs to know.

Costa has his guard up. Costa is trying to hide his slight displeasure from yesterday. Costa doesn't want to be his partner.

Jungkook doesn't know how Costa performed for evaluation...but something tells him that for once he ousted Costa for the lead scorer on multiple events. It would make sense, given that he spotted Costa's coach walking ahead of his prized mentee down the hallway of the training facility...not speaking to each other. Even when the Brazilian tried to speak with his coach, he was ignored--given the cold shoulder.

"Guess I'm your partner, Jeon." Costa says without turning towards him. Jungkook only nods.

"Now!" The lead trainer walks up to the nearest pair of gymnasts, which happens to contain the vault hopeful of Canada and Croatia's best floor performer. "We're working shoulders today. Luka, lay on your stomach. And David, pull his arms behind his head until they're almost touching. Then slowly, push them forward--yes! Like that."

As the two gymnasts exhibit the few partner flexibility poses that the group is supposed to do today, Jungkook feels himself getting nervous. If sleeping next door to this Brazilian affects him so deeply, then what will happen when Costa is touching him when they have to stretch? Unconsciously, he leans away from his partner, crossing his arms.

"Do a few reps of the shoulder blade squeeze and five more of the tricep and rotator cuff positions. Hold them thirty seconds each. Push yourself to your limits, but don't go overboard. Try to really open up those muscles for bars and rings. When you're finished, work splits. I'm going to peek in on the coaches meeting, see if they've come to an agreement on training groups." 

The trainer gazes upon all of their heads mindlessly, as if his thoughts are already in the coach's room. Jungkook stares at the man's back as he leaves, too flustered by the situation to get a good hold of his exiting aura. Around him, the pairs get into position, some friends jabbering about the upcoming banquet or whispering their theories on the training group formations. 

Finally, Costa turns to him. 

"You want to go first?" He points to the floor. "Or do you want me to?"

Muddied with various forms of auric hostility, Jungkook numbly nods. "I will go first."

He slowly lowers himself onto his stomach so that the cloud of black shrouding his midsection kisses the floor. Carefully, he places his arms above his head. He blinks as two veined feet stand on either side of his chest. Before he knows it, Costa's calloused hands grip both of his wrists, pushing his arms into a deep stretch.

(to get an idea of how they're stretching~)

"Okay, okay, stop." Jungkook speaks up as his shoulders start to tighten and the muscles grow taut. Costa's cold hands pause their movement, holding Jungkook's arms in the position for thirty seconds of pure silence.

Meanwhile, Jungkook struggles to keep a straight face. The outpouring of vigor he feels bashing into him like waves almost hurts with how electrifying the tide is. Costa's cold hands radiate a zingy jolting against his wrists, vibrations coursing through him like loud messages. He can't tell yet if the messages are warnings, red flags, or full blown sirens. All he can tell now is that they're overwhelming...and that he can't understand them.

"Okay. Done." Costa lowers Jungkook's arms back on the floor and briefly lets the gymnast rest. For a moment Jungkook recuperates, his body temporarily relieved of the odd sensations. Laying there, Jungkook wonders what the Brazilian's expression is...wonders if Costa can feel his own magnificent aura mixing and eating away at Jungkook's own. "Next stretch."

Jungkook's arms hinge out to the side, making triangles from his shoulder blades to his head. His nose brushes against the floor, fingers interlacing behind his neck. Costa quickly grabs onto his elbows, squeezing them together. By his light touch, Jungkook guesses Costa's trying to be careful, trying not to overstretch him. 

"You can go farther." Jungkook mumbles against the floor. His shoulders are very flexible; with weak and tender stretching like this, there's no way he's going to improve.

"What?" Costa must not have heard him.

"More." Jungkook says louder, hoping the Brazilian will understand.

"Oh." Costa pushes his elbows in a little tighter, still hesitant to go farther. "Is this okay?"

"More." Jungkook breathes. He knows Coach Kan can almost get his elbows touching if he really tries. And for some reason, his muscles feel loose and malleable today.

Soon, Jungkook feels the feet planted next to his torso change into knees. Costa regrips the Korean's upper arms, fingers squeezing into his biceps. Before he knows it, the Brazilian is chuckling as his elbows touch. The chuckle is close behind his head, mouth only about a foot behind him.

"You are really flexible." Costa says with his thick accent. The words dapple in awe. "The best here."

Immediately, the Korean feels a foreign sense of safety wash over him. From feeling threatened by Costa's presence to being complimented by the same guy makes Jungkook extremely confused. The overwhelming waves of Costa's aura don't feel like sharp jabs anymore, but firm pushes to his body. As if the red has been tamed, diluted from an angry bull to a flaming rose garden. It's beautiful, thorns and all, and Jungkook feels his stress escape his body like a transpiring bud.

"I know." Jungkook smiles while his shoulder blades burn with the familiar resistance of the stretch. After 30 seconds, Costa releases his elbows gently upon the floor.

"My turn?" 

Jungkook rotates his body around just as Costa shifts above him to get to his feet again. The simultaneous motion out of both males results in an awkward bump of an arm to a thigh. Costa stumbles to the side, his red aura trail catching on Jungkook, where it has anchored itself. The Korean gapes as he views the phenomena of auric pull, slightly tugging their energies together. It's like a lasso wrapped around his energy, urging them together, red and all.

He blinks dumbly at Costa's leg, at his hand now on the back of the Brazilian's knee, to steady him. He doesn't remember moving it. It must have shot out on its own accord. His fingers wrap around Costa's leg, dazed digits bending and flexing in a stupor.

Before he can't apologize, Costa chuckles again. "Trying to push me?"

Jungkook tears his hand away from the caramel skin as if he'd touched hot coals. He continues to blink, studying the odd ways that the auric waves are expanding around them, circling, enveloping them both in a steady red. He can't believe it. Never has anyone else's aura acted so commandeering over his own. So inclusive. 

"No. I...I'm Sorry."

"It's fine."

Costa reclines onto the floor amidst the chatter of the other male gymnasts. So far, the trainer hasn't returned. Most of the men are joking loudly while they stretch shoulders and pop tense joints. Jungkook spots the healthy auras of several, although he does see murky blocks surrounding  some. 

He sees pulled sore muscles, performance anxieties, and a few black clouds wrapping around stomachs, just like him. 

"Okay." Costa's muscled arms prop themselves on the floor, waiting for Jungkook to take. With a slight tremor in his hands, he leans down and picks up the Brazilian's nimble wrists. Unlike him, Costa doesn't possess the same level of flexibility in his shoulder muscles. After lifting Costa's arms to three quarters of his own range, Jungkook stops.

"Ow..." Costa groans, and Jungkook immediately relaxes the posture.

"Oh! Sorry, am I hurting-"

"No. No." Costa speaks through gritted teeth. "It's fine, go back to before."

Jungkook hesitates to listen to the Brazilian. Clearly, his twitchy shoulder blade muscles aren't accustomed to this odd position. It seems as if the gymnast is trying to prove that he can keep pace with the flexibility of the Room 333 occupant. Because of this, Jungkook cuts the hold short, tapping out at 25 seconds.

"Okay, you're done."

Costa grunts as his partner lowers his shoulders. "No, I'm not. That wasn't thirty, Jeon."

Jungkook relays a sheepish look, feigning ignorance. "Oh, I counted a little fast I think..."

Without another word, Costa gets in position for the next few stretches, which they do without trouble. Jungkook makes sure to count out every last second of the separate holds, pushing Costa to the point where his muscles contract on their own. The swirling maroon cloud surrounding them both doesn't bother Jungkook as much as it used to. Oddly enough, he can almost breathe easier inside of Costa's energy field than he could moments ago, when they'd arrived in the gym.

Under his palm, Jungkook can feel a solid thump of his competitor's heartbeat. The regular pulse shares the same headstrong pertinency of its owner, vibrating steadily against his hand. For some reason, the Korean feels his heart slowing to match the other's, a sign of domesticity only certain close relationships provoke. He nearly releases Costa's arms then and there, the comforting tap of their synced pulses so perplexing to him.

Hunger tears through his stomach as he counts. He tries to find the old discomfort he used to harbor in Costa's suffocating vicinity. But he can't. Inside his body he senses only ease, only a sharp, red, vivacious pulse. Almost as if Costa put a generator inside of him that runs on the outrageous fuel of strawberry haze. 

Standing there, leaned over Costa's body and stretching his muscles in partner exercises, Jungkook feels the most invigorated he has in a long while. And it scares him.

"Okay." Suddenly Costa speaks up from under him. "You counted forty."

Jungkook immediately sets down the Brazilian's arms. Once he does, the odd feeling of being attached to another living, breathing heart escapes him. Jungkook steps away from the male, casually brushing his leotard off. Costa sits up, turns to look at him, and quickly faces the floor. It doesn't sit right with Jungkook, that fleeting expression of someone who is lost.

Around them, some of the gymnasts lunge into front splits, still gossiping. The ones who aren't included in the tight knit circle of European gymnast-cliques linger by the edges of the floor, focusing on themselves. Jeon and Costa receive curious glances every now and again, punctuated by judgmental glares with double strength since the two gym stars are working together.

Jungkook does well to ignore them, focusing his attention on his partner who now seems offbeat and confused. The Brazilian's eyelashes bat stupidly at his wrists. 

"Splits." Jungkook says, although he doesn't know why. It's obvious that they're supposed to be splitting by looking around the floor. However, Costa's spaced-out haze wouldn't realize that.

"Splits. Let's do splits." Again, Jungkook repeats. The other male snaps out of his trance at the Korean's voice, nodding once vehemently. 

"Right."

Closer than Jungkook would have preferred, the Brazilian extends his right leg in front of him and descends into the splits. Jungkook does the same, side-eyeing the pointed toe and calf muscles of his competitor. Costa has the harsher, more brilliant toe point...and his legs naturally hyperextend a bit at the knee joint, giving him an appearance of an effortless over split. 

In comparison, Jungkook's beefy leg bulges higher in the quadricep. His split doesn't nearly reach the length that Costa's does. His toe point is great, but not excellent. 

Not as flawless.

The blinding red urges Jungkook to lean down, resting his head against his shin for a deeper stretch. Costa consecutively hinges down, his neck stretching to its fullest before twisting gently to the side. Costa's dark brown locks rest against his leg, face upturned in Jungkook's direction. 

With no where else to look, the two competitors stare at each other. Only an arm's length away, Jungkook stifles the urge to brush his fingertips against Costa's calf, to absorb the same fiery energy rush as before. 

But he can't. So he studies the other's face.

Upon close examination, Jungkook determines that Costa's face is one of a champion. 

High, prized cheekbones. Sharp jaw. High nose bridge. Gently sloping eyes that battle against their sharp eyebrow counterparts. Entitled forehead. Stubborn lips. A slight divot in the chin, and dark irises that do not miss even the littlest of imperfections. 

If he had to place this face among a thousand individuals, Jungkook would place it near the top of the pyramid...upon the statue of a leader. Someone that people cherish, that they follow loyally out of a powerful, unmatched dedication within them. Certain faces are just that memorable, destined for glory. Leonardo Costa's face is built to garner accolades, to fight passionately...to rise up over all. To be respected and to intimidate. 

For some reason, this new realization of Leonardo Costa's features makes the Brazilian less imposing in Jungkook's eyes. It makes him more familiar to the Korean--a fully read novel instead of a couple skimmed pages. Jungkook's fingers twitch against the floor's ocean blue fabric, skimming out, away from his leg. Drifting to intercept the other's chiseled leg. 

They drag against the smooth rug surface, and they nearly touch-

"I'm back!"

The trainer's voice cracks into Jungkook's ears like an unwelcome whip. He jumps in his spot, fingers receding hurriedly to grasp his own leg. Costa's wide eyes continue to ponder him, glazed over with some far off emotion brinking on worry. The trainer claps his hands a few time to get the attention of the gymnasts. He has to slap his palms extra loud to break the gibbering of the Western Europe Clique in particular.

"The coaches meeting has ended. I have with me-" The trainer holds out a sheet of paper with black ink smeared across it in barely legible handwriting. "-the training groups which you will be in for the remainder of camp. When you get the chance, check to see which of the eight groups you're in."

Costa nods numbly at the man, and Jungkook does too. 

~

~

The banquet dinner is way more extravagant than Jungkook expected.

Instructed to dress in formal attire, the male and female camp gymnasts have brought only their most stunning styles to the table. Vivid pastel dresses hang off the trim bodies of the female gymnasts, with Team USA wearing matching black-studded jumpsuits. Sparkly earrings dangle against the corded necks of the athletes, and tall high heels accentuate chiseled calves and legs. Jungkook stares in awe at the fancy lace of the dresses, admiring the up-do's and fancy hair pieces meant to amaze.

Most of the male gymnasts wear form-fitting polos with high collars, their normally tousled practice hair slicked back with gel. Jungkook sports an azure buttoned polo, tucked into the slim waistline of his khaki shorts with a leather belt. Tonight his aura is a safe shade of purple with red beams. Internally, he's strangely composed with odd bursts of physical energy. For once, he feels confident, empowered--even though Leonardo Costa is sitting right next to him.

In fact, ever since that shoulder stretching exercise days ago, Jungkook has felt calmer around the Brazilian. Even if Costa's aura shoots red bullets at him whenever he's within radius, they don't hurt. Shockingly enough, his competitor's once draining aura now revs him up, amps him up like a depleted battery on a charger. And he doesn't understand it.

"Jeon, why haven't you touched your food?" Coach Kan reaches an arm over Jungkook's plate to grab another bowl of the chicken alfredo dish prepared for the banquet. "You should try some. Or are you not big on alfredo?"

Since they're speaking in Korean, the other gymnast-coach pairs seated around their table don't understand them. Jungkook shifts in his seat, finally picking up a fork. He'd prefer chopsticks, but when in America...do as the Americans do.

"Eh." He dips his fork under a pile of white noodles. "Not my favorite."

Next to him, Costa eats gradually. His pace is a steady--bite, chew, swallow, bite, chew, swallow--that looks as practiced as his triple twisting layouts on floor. Jungkook even times Costa's bites in his mind, counting down the seconds before the next predictable forkful glides into a ready mouth. 

Before long, he syncs his own biting pattern to the Brazilian's, solely to make his coach happy. He wouldn't typically chase the extra calories or think about breaking his careful dieting regimen to enjoy himself if it weren't for Coach Kan's encouragement.

As each noodle travels down his throat, his stomach upheaves in protest. Jungkook politely sets his fork against the side of the bowl, dabbing at his mouth with a thick cloth napkin. Coach Kan shoots him a pointed look after a few minutes of him sitting there, ignoring his meal. Inside, his stomach is churning with displeasure, the familiar anxiety of filling up on excessive calories making him nauseous.

"Jeon." Coach Kan makes it clear with his eyes. "Don't worry so much about it. You'll burn it off in practice."

The Korean nods, but does not touch his fork again. He turns to face the other tables, where other males and females happily devour the feast before them. Mouths grin as they chomp on the rich noodles, swallowing contentedly. Gymnasts lean forward for more tasteful helpings. The dissonant chimes of forks scraping bowls is a hungry song, one that demands sustenance. One that beats to the drum of gluttony, to the greed of the palate. 

Jungkook frowns as he spots the others managing to consume their meals freely, without the dark anchor of insecurity capturing their midsections.

"You not hungry?" In English.

Jungkook turns to his left to meet a sanguine being dipped in cranberry juice and radiating vigor. Costa's lips continue to move peculiarly while eating. Almost as if he trains regularly to make the act of eating appear graceful.

"Not...really." Jungkook replies, and it isn't a full lie. He was hungry, until he ate half of his noodle bowl. Now, sour guilt fills his gullet. Rotten shame makes it difficult for him to remember his previous voracious appetite.

Costa finishes what's left of his bowl and stares at him strangely. Coach Kan doesn't look up from his bowl, but Jungkook can sense his aura leaning in, hoping to overhear his mentee's conversation with the 'Brazilian devil.'

"Do you not like noodles, Jeon?" The question seems innocent. As easily explained as the question of whether or not the sky is blue. But for Jungkook, the answer is much, much more complicated than that. The answer isn't a yes or no. It's a situational response built on years of perfectionist habit. It's a question of--should he eat more to hurt his body but sate his mind? Or should he eat less to masterfully perfect his body and succeed on the home front?

"I..." He starts, losing his train of thought as the funneling black cloud of his abdomen transcends through his legs. Anxiety starts to mess with his head, making it hard to form words. "I like them, but-"

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" The head coordinator of the Power Phoenix Center, Garcia, stands in front of a tall microphone on the pull-out stage. His voice is loud, confident, and tingling with flecks of sunset orange as he beholds the gymnasts before him. "Good evening to you! It's nice to see you all enjoying yourselves after a good first week of practice. It's been a very productive week of testing and getting acquainted with the fitness center! How are you all liking it? Does it meet your standard of excellence?"

Some crazy male gymnast from Chile stands up and whoops a few times. The others shoo him back into his seat with bright smiles of their faces. A few of the more mature female gymnasts nod, their unbreakably sophisticated poise earning them a 10.0 in etiquette. 

"Marvelous. If any of you have a complaint about the fitness center administration or the way camp is running, you can always come and tell me. I would love to make this experience the most fulfilling for you all, for only the best of the best athletes!"

Jungkook massages his forearms while he blankly stares at Garcia. Every few seconds, he peeks over at Costa. The Brazilian isn't watching the man giving the speech, choosing to examine his hands instead...lazily picking at his callouses. Probably thinking about his routines, or about how he's going to work extra hard on his high bar routine to beat Jungkook tomorrow.

Suddenly, Costa reaches up to scratch at his chin. While doing so, his head tilts just enough for him to spot the Korean staring hard at him. Jungkook bites his tongue but doesn't react. 

"It's an honor to have so many of you here...and for five more weeks! I can't believe we're already done with the first week of training. From here on out, you'll train in your specialized training groups to receive more personalized instruction from our team of coaches. There will be two coaches assigned to each group--but you already know this. You're sitting in your groups!" 

Garcia laughs as if he's said the funniest thing since the foundation of stand-up comedy. Jungkook doesn't get it. His face contorts in bewilderment.

Costa chuckles, a quiet rumble inside of a steady throat. "...funny."

Jungkook furrows his brows even more, not breaking his gaze with Costa. "How is that funny? That's just the truth. We are sitting in our groups."

Shaking his head, the Brazilian points at him. "No, not Garcia. You. Your face is funny."

"Oh...?" 

Jungkook frowns as Costa's red aura reaches out to him. Pokes at his black stomach area. Tries to send it away. If only this native Brazilian could see just what his energy was doing.

Would he continue to laugh if he could see the vermilion claws digging into Jungkook, the lava pouring from his auric volcano? 

Leonardo Costa nods.

"Yes, you're funny." He laughs harder. By then, Jungkook is no longer paying any attention to the executive coordinator on stage. Costa snickers most amusedly, pointing at the frown the Korean has on. 

"Funny." He repeats.

For some reason, his competitor's repeated vocalizations of his humorous face makes him smile. Even if does not want his lips to raise, they do. Next to him, Coach Kan releases a hardly audible tut, as if warning Jungkook not to get too friendly with his competitor.

"I think you're stretching the truth." Jungkook uses the phrase that he learned in his English textbook while paging through it last night. It seems fitting for the situation. 

His face can't be that funny. Maybe a little, but not that funny. Costa must be making fun of him or mocking him in some form.

"Stretching...the truth?" Costa mutters, tasting the phrase to comprehend it. "I don't understand. The truth is stretching?"

"Hahaha!" Jungkook picks up his fork again, fingers spinning it thoughtfully around in flips and twists. "Yes. It is."

"Stretching...yes." Costa still doesn't quite get the idiom, but pretends he does. The feigned understanding makes Jungkook smile. "I'm stretching the truth."

Jungkook snorts. Then he picks up his fork and forces another noodle into his mouth.

~

~

note from authAURA~

Hmm...this chapter. Hmmm...

There's a lot to say about this chapter, but I'll shave down what I want to relay to you guys...to make people a bit more aware of why Jungkook has an eating disorder in the book.

In the sport of gymnastics (although many in the field might not want to acknowledge this) there are high rates of eating disorders. Both from internal pressure to compete well and external pressures from coaches, judges, and the competition, many gymnasts feel a necessity for slimness. On top of the performance aspect of the sport, the aesthetic aspect is equally as important. 

Because the sport is judged entirely on the appearance of the gymnast's body moving through space, athletes are often compelled towards unhealthy eating practices to 'perfect' their body image. Bodies that fit the 'ideal' tend to appeal more to the eye--and inevitably play a role in the judging process whether the judges want to admit it or not.

This isn't only limited to gymnastics of course; in fact, most sports that are based around aesthetic-appeal (dance, ice-skating, and synchronized swimming) tend to have startling rates of disordered eating. To counteract the development of bulky muscles meant for power moves, some athletes may feel the need to slim down to make themselves more graceful. Because both strength and grace are required in such a sport, participants can get caught up in an impossible conundrum, a perpetual issue of their body size...and start to feel tormented--helpless about how to fix it.

On top of this, not every gymnast is built the same way. Sometimes stocky builds are better for balance and power, but lean ones appear more pleasing to the eye. During practice, tight leotards don't leave much to the imagination, and gymnasts are constantly watching their teammates, constantly monitoring themselves in the mirror, comparing their bodies to others, and working to attain perfection. 

In a sport where worth lies in the numbers of a performance score, that pressure gets translated onto the body. If a gymnast gets a bad score, who else can they blame but themselves--but their body? Their body performed, therefore, their body failed. It can be a dark sport of self-retribution, inner turmoil, and insecurity. Not to say all gymnasts struggle with these things, but the majority do once they get to a high enough level. 

So! To make a long story long (man, I guess I really didn't shave that down, did I?) Jungkook's hesitance to eat stems from the demand of a gymnast's high-standard body image. Especially since he's a soon-to-be Olympian. 

Woah, sorry to be a party-pooper and be so serious! Cheer up! I hope your day is NOT stovetop burn and if it is, I urge you to go outside and let the anger simmer out in nature. Trees help all~ fresh air heals. Trust me. :)

Izzy.