Newborn Boy~

Middle turquoise blue that signifies sensitivity and emotional receptiveness. Tends to linger around compassionate people who empathize with others.

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Nobody is as confusing for me to read as Leonardo Costa.

My coach's reading--easy as pie. Currently, he is surrounded by a dirty silver with flecks of murky green. He's feeling insecure and doubts my ability to perform under pressure. He's secretly afraid I'll make him look bad, make all of his effort spent on coaching me look pathetic to the other coaches. His third layer--mental layer--sports brown, the color of greed and selfishness.

As much as Coach Kan tries to appear like he cares about my well being, he hopes that I'll perform well to protect his own image. He's scared that I won't live up to the hours of training that I've put into this sport when the time comes to perform routines.

I can get all of this info about him from a single glance and some ruminating. He's easy to read, as simple as reading a preschool Lexile picture book.

Other people are harder to read, but with enough effort I can get to the bottom of them. With Costa...

Well.

Just yesterday in the bathroom, his first layer was so blinding that I couldn't even focus on the rest of him. An absolute auric stealer, Costa sucks the energy out of others while he commands their entire attention. He's a personality bigger than life, with enough determined ambition and passion for his sport to knock others down with his energetic force field.

And I can't get past the red.

He's ALL RED.

Bright red is the color of competitive spirit, of vitality, physical strength, passion, energy, determination, and desire. Cloudy or murky red indicates anger, anxiety, and negativity.

With him, I can't tell which it is. It's odd, but I can't. The initial blow of his powerful ego defeats my ability, almost numbs my power. I only see the first layer red, but can't decipher if it's good or bad. I know he's a strong, vigorous competitor, but something about his aura puts me at unease. I've never seen a person so red before...he must be overcompensating for the colors he lacks.

He's a mystery. A bloody mystery, as the people in London would say.

London--the place of the Olympics this summer. Which makes me think. I'm nervous about gymnastics camp. Nervous about seeing him again. No matter how hard I've tried to repair the draining holes he made in my auric field, they won't close. His red is still with me, goading me to see him again. But I shouldn't be so preoccupied with a competitor. I have to focus on myself...on my routines.

I have to focus on gymnastics.

Maybe I should run from him like the graffiti in the stall said.

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The breathtaking gymnasium of the six week Road-to-London camp is four times the size of Jungkook's home gym in Busan.

Prepared to handle loads of both male and female gymnasts, the Phoenix sports complex is massive, set up with multiple apparatuses to maximize training capacity. There are two full-size floors, four vaults, double sets of beams and uneven bars for the women on one half of the gym while rings, pommel horse, parallel bars, and single rail bars dot the opposite end. Circling above the training area is a windowed balcony with a running track, made for both exercise and spectating.

Connecting to the main gym is a series of aerobic studios, a lifting room, stretching area, and lounge room. Weight machines, treadmills, and ellipticals decorate the fitness studio along with mats, resistance bands, and dumbbells. Water coolers frequently dot the entire gymnasium, their disposable paper cups designed with blue flowers.

As Jungkook is led around the vast space that he's going to train in for the next month and a half, he feels inspired, invigorated. His coach seems equally as revived, the area around him briefly pulsing with a hopeful yellow.

The locker rooms are even better. The spacious locker rooms have power jet showers, a refreshment area, a handful of massage chairs, and private changing rooms. It's everything Jungkook has dreamed of...it feels like he's already at the Olympics. Yet this is only the training. It makes him jittery in expectation of the real deal.

"Alright. You can pick your locker. Whichever one doesn't already have a lock on it, it's yours, sir." A lanky, fitness arena staff member speaks to Jungkook with clear respect. The gymnast can tell by a quick evaluation of the man that he's a bit nervous to be around a well-known athlete like him.

"Thank you." Jungkook bows, giving the man a small, reassuring smile. The grin only serves to shake up the poor boy's aura. Spikes of nervous reds slice atop the faltering, murky brown of lost confidence.

"Y-you're welcome." Quietly, the worker skitters from the room with a lopsided smile. Jungkook shrugs, blinking to refresh his vision. With his gym bag in hand, he studies the lockers in front of him, trying to place where the best one might be.

Should he pick one closer to the exit? That way when training is done he can hurry out to get to back to the dorms. Or, maybe he should choose one that's next to the showers so that when practice is over he can hop right in to wash his sweat off? Or perhaps he should pick the one on the very end, closest to the gym entrance? That way he won't have to associate with the other gymnasts before practice starts, and he can be the first one in the gym.

Jungkook decides on this one.

Lucky for him, the closest claimed locker to his own is five lockers away, which will give him plenty of space. He likes it that way. High traffic areas always upset him, with his sensitivity to auras. Space allows him to think.

A few seconds later and the entirety of his gym bag is deposited neatly in the locker. He places his grip bag, athletic tape, roll-on menthol, and fruity air freshener atop the shelf, ordering them exactly as they would be placed in his Busan locker. Call it superstitious, but if his sanctuary of a locker isn't exactly how it normally looks, he knows he'll perform worse.

If things aren't spick and span in his personal life, then there's no way the chaos won't register in his routines. Everything--from his diet, to his organizational methods, to the brand of his lotion, to the position of his pillow at night--has to be perfect. Everything has to be pristine. Perfect. Perfect.

Gymnastics demands no less.

"Ready for the first meeting?" His coach greets him in the hallway outside the locker rooms.

A few stout females in high ponytails walk by him, sporting German brands on their athletic tees. They must be the female Olympians, Jungkook thinks, readying themselves for the long training weeks ahead.

Of course, the men and women will train separately, using the gym during different times of the day. Jungkook stares at the areas surrounding them and spots bright lemon yellows. It makes him smile.

"Yes, where is the meeting?" Jungkook walks in step with his coach, down a long hallway. Framed pictures of successful veteran gymnasts line the walls with captions next to them. Jungkook can't read them fast enough as he passes, but he catches a few words. Champion, talent, gold, all-time. The words get under his skin, make him awfully excited to be in such a surreal place.

"Upstairs, in the atrium." Coach Kan also seems to take an interest in the hallway frames. "This place is grand...don't you think, Jeon?"

"It's something else." He agrees, climbing a set of gray stairs. Distant chattering floats down the stairs from wherever the meeting is being held. He can make out the static energy in the air, taste the excitement on his tongue. It makes his heart race, feeling the anticipation of others as if it were his own. People want to be here. The training athletes are healthy, able, and enthusiastic to improve. They are all on the pathway to London, only a few months away from competing on the world stage, where it really counts.

Rows of purple chairs precede a short extension stage underneath the atrium window. Morning light from Arizona's hot sun beats down on the stage, a makeshift spotlight of white. Male and female gymnasts and their respective coaches mill around, studying each other curiously. Some engage with familiar competitors. Most choose not to interact with their competition, talking in hushed voices with their familiar coaches and teammates.

Before he can look around the room and get caught up in the competition, Jungkook decides to pick a spot in the front row of chairs. That way, he won't have to see the auras of all the people sitting in front of him. He'll only have to see the event coordinator and other speakers. It'll be easier for him to comprehend everything.

"Let's sit, why don't we?" His coach asks, glad to sit in the front row where he'll feel a high level of importance. On their way, a few coaches shout out in greeting to the Korean gymnast. Jungkook is well-known in gymnastics circles, a tough competitor and rising star from Asia. To their greetings, Jungkook smiles politely, bowing as is custom for his culture. They wave back with goofy grins painted on their faces.

"Yes, let's sit. I don't want to talk to anyone." Jungkook says bluntly in Korean, rolling out his neck. They swiftly sit down, engaging in gym talk. Coach Kan briefs him on his meal plan, how he'll have lights out at 9 P.M, and how he must start everyday with their specific stretching regimen for his hip flexors.

"Of course, coach." Jungkook replies to most of his Coach's concerns, too distracted by the buzzing energies in the room to pay the man much attention.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" A loud English voice booms onstage. Gymnasts quiet their impassioned laughing and routine comparing down to murmurs. "Welcome to the 'Road to London' gymnastics camp! We're glad to have you all!"

Claps sizzle behind him like a live wire. Jungkook claps along, blinking heavily to push out the strong urge he has to turn around. To search for his competitors among the crowd. To search for Costa.

"My name is Philip Garcia, and I am the head gymnastics coordinator for the Phoenix Power Arena. For the next six weeks you all will get to know me well. After each week of your training there will be a banquet on Saturday nights in the atrium of this building. I, of course, will host them."

Surprised murmurs thread throughout the crowd. The Olympic trainees clearly did not expect to get celebratory dinners for their toil and sweat. It's a welcome surprise though, and many coaches are on par with the idea of socializing and eating portioned, yet delicious foods. Next to Jungkook, Coach Kan taps his shoe on the ground. In the gymnast's peripherals, flakes of doubt enter his coach's energy field. Kan isn't big on socialization.

"Now, let's get you all acquainted with the directors of the camp and some former Olympic judges who will be offering you advice and supervising your training."

Aged men and women of all races step out onto the stage. Jungkook senses from these people a buried competitiveness that has degraded over the years because of life's demands. He picks out a certain wisdom in their astute postures and reads in their wrinkled foreheads the keen abilities of concentrating closely and marking fine details. They intimidate him as much as they fascinate him while he picks their rainbows apart.

If he's to be successful, he needs to know which judges will appreciate silent hard work over constant questioning--which judges prefer graceful movements instead of powerful ones. Their rainbows tell him a lot about their expectations for him. Mentally, he notes them down.

The rest of the introduction meeting is filled with various speeches about how things will run in the fitness center, who the athletes can go to for muscle care and medical inquiries, and where to find the routine specialists and mental health staff. The whole range of professionals will be present at this training camp, Garcia says, since soon-to-be Olympians deserve nothing less than the best.

Jungkook nibbles at his lower lip as a few of the judges spot him in the front row. They watch him with a knowing gaze. Undoubtedly, they recognize Jeon Jungkook by the way that their auras lean forward. A few of them nod respectfully when he makes eye contact with them. Under their scrutiny, the Korean gymnast has the urge to point his Adidas shoes and sit up straighter, but decides a comfortable cross of the legs will make him look less uptight.

"If anyone has any questions, be sure to meet with me or one of the camp coordinators before you leave for the dorms." Garcia holds both hands out, a universal welcome of open palms. "Without further ado, I'd like to officially salute you all for making it to this point. Here at the Phoenix Power Arena, we do not just train gymnasts, but create champions. Good night, and sleep well for your first day of training tomorrow!"

Tension is audible as the ceremony comes to a close. Gymnasts and coaches begin to realize that the people surrounding them are more competitors than friends. Mouths call out 'goodbyes' and 'good lucks' with sour undertones, hoping to beat the receiver of their false words in practice the following day. Jungkook stands up while the crowd breaks apart, gymnasts scattering towards exits with auras that trail giddy colors.

"They have everything here. Amenities, trainers...the whole gamut." Coach Kan comments, following close to Jungkook's side. Coach Kan shuffles closer to him as Leonardo Costa's coach crosses their path. Jungkook almost flinches as his coach firmly touches his elbow, forcing him towards a different exit.

Jungkook knows that his coach means no harm with the close protectiveness over him, but at times it scrapes against his nerves. Jungkook pushes out his aural forcefield, a round, invisible field meant to keep out energy pollution. Meant to keep out his coach's jealous aura and performance anxiety. "Aren't you excited, Jeon?"

"I am." Jungkook reveals, feeding off of the clouds of rich tangerine oranges and chick yellows that pour from the new recruits. "There isn't a better place to train."

Coach Kan nods his agreement, leading them out of the large hall. Jungkook purposely keeps his eyes down, wishing to not only avoid confrontation with his other competitors, but to make sure he doesn't spot Costa. The Brazilian has to be somewhere in the room, probably garnering crowds around him. Jungkook can sense the itchy tug of Costa's presence, but doesn't dare move his head to look.

They file down the staircase whence they came, female gymnasts chatting about their room-and-board accommodations. Since the apartment complex is right next to the training facility, they won't have to worry about transportation. An underground tunnel connects the two buildings, making it easy to go from gym to dorm in a matter of five minutes. However, Jungkook and Coach Kan choose to take the outside path to the apartment complex, to get some space away from the majority of competitors who prefer air-conditioning.

"You're staying on the first floor, right?" Jungkook asks, able to lift his eyes from his feet once they exit the main building. Hot Arizona sun brings sweat to his brow. He pinches the chest of his training tee, fluttering it around to get air flow to his chest.

Arizona's arid climate is way different from Korea's and much drier. The air quality in the city is similar to Korea's though, with a high fine particle count. It definitely won't be good for Jungkook's training lungs. He'll make sure to wear the masks his coach packed whenever he travels to the city. He can't be too careful.

"Yes. I'm on the first floor with the other coaches. In Room 135." Coach Kan fans himself with a thick hand. Squinting against the sun, he peers over at Jungkook while shading his eyes. "The women's gymnastics team is on the second floor. Men's, the third. The fourth floor is where the coordinators, judges, and other faculty members are staying."

The Korean gymnast licks his dry lips. "Okay...what's my room number again?"

Coach Kan tuts. "Room 333."

Alongside the bleach white path that they follow, Jungkook spots a tiny lizard sunbathing against dusty mica. He blinks at it, watching as its tail flicks before disappearing under a rock.

"Room 333? Are you sure?" Jungkook's voice comes out grainy.

"Yep." Coach Kan reaches the side entrance to the apartment complex, holding it open for his trainee. Jungkook gladly steps into the blast of air-conditioning, nodding at his coach in gratitude. "You're in 333, right next to Costa in 334."

The door to the complex shuts behind them with a gentle click. Coach Kan lifts his eyebrows at the crestfallen expression on Jungkook's face.

"Costa's rooming next to me?"

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note from authAURA~

Just so everyone's aware, there is no real life Olympic training camp in Phoenix.

Usually, elite gymnasts train in their home countries at their home gyms, although a portion of them do attend rigorous training camps to work on harder skills. Camps are commonplace for getting outsiders' perspectives on training methods and routine tips--and they give the competitors insight on their comrades' abilities.

By the way, whenever Jungkook is speaking with his coach in the story, it's in Korean. Since many of the gymnasts come from out of the country, they speak in their native tongues with their coaches. They probably use heavily accented English when speaking to each other and the staff.

English ties them all together at the training facility, given that much of the world utilizes English and accepts it as a bridge between languages. Plus, the Olympics are in London! What better than to get a brush up of English before entering the heart of England!

I hope you're extra compassionate to yourself and others today, wrapped in clouds of newborn boy.

i.z.z.y :)