Jeon Jungkook is Korea's next gymnastics hopeful, preparing himself for the 2012 London Olympics. With the competition months away, Jungkook's coach pushes him into an American training camp in the state of Arizona where he will train alongside only...
The red around him no longer burns my weary irises, but gently heats them up--incites my urge to keep going. His aura is now the maroon battery that continues to seek me out, wanting to transfer its shimmering goods to me. And so far, it hasn't failed to amp me up in a positive way.
It's all connected somehow, and I don't know how yet. Neither does he. Costa seems almost wary around me, as if suspicious of his body's continuous flocking to my side during warm-ups.
And we start training together tomorrow.
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Swallowing the last of his meager breakfast consisting of half of an apple dipped in peanut butter, Jungkook is startled by a loud knock on the door of room 333.
"Coach? Is that you?" He yells out in Korean. He wonders what business Coach Kan would have at 6:32 in the morning. Probably to make him start practice an hour earlier than the others...to urge Jungkook into adding a few more rotations to his flair on floor.
"But my flairs weren't even bad last night..." Jungkook muses as he skims over the floor to the door. "I was doing them well! Even Costa couldn't spin as fast as I was getting them last night."
Again, a trail of tapping knocks flutters against the door.
"Yes, coming!" Jungkook would grab a shirt from his dresser, but it's not like his coach hasn't seen him shirtless countless times. It gets hot in Busan over the summer, and even the wide ceiling fans don't do much to dispel the humidity in the large gym.
The door gets tossed open. Jungkook opens his mouth to ask, politely of course, why he knocked so early in the morning and what business Kan has for his mentee. But the man standing there staring at him from the doorway definitely isn't his coach.
"O-oh...um..." Jungkook switches to English, which takes a while to kick in. Especially so young in the day. "Hi Costa. Do you need something?"
The Brazilian's red aura leeches into the room energetically. Jungkook tries not to let his eyes avert from the curious face of his competitor while the blushing aura trails waft off of his body. They remind Jungkook of the scent radiating from a hot stovetop during dinner...spreading and coiling and tossing steam spirals into the ready air.
"Did I wake you?" Costa's hands fiddle with a watch on his wrist. His dark eyes blink guiltily at the semi-bedraggled Korean in nothing but shorts, with a smear of peanut butter on his lower lip.
"No, you didn't." Jungkook feels his heart thumping in his chest, to the beat of red coals.
"Okay, good." Costa brushes his dark hair back. Over Jungkook's shoulder, he stares into the interior of the room, rolling his shoulders back and forth casually. "Can I come in?"
