After The Games

Octavio Silva: Quiet

The light flickers several times, an electric buzz disturbing the fridged silence of his empty apartment, before settling into its usual steady glow. Octavio digs through his vest pockets, pulling out used stims and recklessly discarding them on the nightstand next to his bed, making a mental note to get them refilled in the morning.

His gaze falls on the bathroom door, shut tightly as he efforts his way towards it; casting off his clothing one by one. He tugs at his goggles first; pulling them off, along with his cap, in one practised motion followed by his shoes, vest, and mask. His electric green hair sticks, wet, to his forehead with sweat and dust from the day.

He misses the burn in his calves after a day like today, the sick sort of pleasure he got the day afterwards as he stretched in the morning and everything ached; a twisted reminder that he'd actually lived. At least his hands feel the bite of cold steel as he presses down on the handle, gaining entry to the room; although the lack of sting in his feet as he transitions from the carpeted bedroom to the cold tiled floor, once again, leaves him with a sense of something missing.

He flicks the switch on the inside of the door frame and, unlike that of his room, the light comes on instantly, filling the room with its dull white illuminations. 

The Metronomous click of metal on tile fills the small room, then silence, then the rush of a faucet.

Octane sits on the edge of the tub, breathing a heavy sigh before pulling off his right leg, running his fingers over the soft metal, and hydraulic components, looking at the days' wear and tear, and placing it next to the sink. He takes off his left prosthetic and repeats the process, placing it down on the floor next to the other. He cranes his neck to the left, careful not to lose balance now that his two main points of stability are no longer an option, his toned arms keeping him steady. The bath was almost full. He lets it run while he strips the rest of his clothing, discarding them in a pile before slipping backwards into the tub

He winces, the hot water biting into the raw skin on his elbows before easing up, allowing the warmth to claim his body.

Finally, a moment to breathe.