Easter Grass~
A lime green highlighting a communicative healing ability. Present in creative souls who are heartfelt in their visions.
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We followed Mr. Garcia down the hallway.
At first, he took no obvious notice of our presence. It was as if he were enjoying a prompt, administrative walk by himself, zooming down the halls with the innate purpose of a leader.
Step after step we recommenced the poise of two internationally known gymnasts, pushing the issue of Costa's family issues to the back burner.
Until Garcia led us to his office.
"Gentlemen."
The statement was shockingly formal compared to his normal welcoming banter. Costa instantly took the seat that was presented to him, a wobbly leather seat that groaned under his muscled legs. I followed suit, mentally preparing myself for a lecture on the boundaries of camp and how certain rooms were off limits. I thought Garcia was going to reprimand us for trespassing into non-gymnastics affairs.
In Leonardo's aura, I could see he was doing the same. Anxiety started to dominate the room in thick reds only slightly dampened by the relief I had provided him by halting an unpleasant paternal quarrel.
I inhaled, meeting Garcia's knowing gaze.
"Listen, we're sorry for-"
"If you two need to share something with me..." Garcia broke through my apology as coolly as a swan out of water. "I'm all ears."
Leonardo stiffened. "Um, no. Jungkook and I have nothing to share."
Mentally, I winced hard. On the outside, my smile promenaded in the office lights. "He's right, Mr. Garcia, sir. Everything is fine. We were handling a minor dispute between our coaches is all."
Garcia straightened his shoulders. His curious eyes examined each of our seated forms in turn, calculating something intensely behind his irises. On his desk sat a few framed photos of what looked like his children, closely mirroring their father in standing tall and proud amidst the Phoenix skyline.
"Nothing to share. Alright." Garcia sighed. "If you decide to change your minds about sharing, or care to explain why I was used as an emergency excuse in this 'dispute' of yours, by all means, do not hesitate to come to me."
Costa faintly nodded, his mouth drawn in shock.
So Garcia HAD listened outside the doorway to the administrative room, recognizing the tension choking the inside. Somehow, he sensed the danger lurking in our eyes and stiff postures, stopping the argument before it could thicken. For that I am grateful to him, yet unsettled beyond imagination.
If Mr. Garcia could sense the issues between us...who's to say more people won't?
We have to be more careful. Leonardo has to be more careful.
I have to be more careful.
I have to protect him.
"Okay Mr. Garcia, sir. We'll keep that in mind." Costa finally answered, getting up from the chair. He glanced briefly at the frames lining the edge of the large office desk and grinned widely. His red aura shifted from anxiety to an endearing purple. "Are these your children, Mr. Garcia? They look just like you."
The Road to London coordinator chuckled gently as he regarded the faces of his bloodline. "Really? I always thought they looked more like their mother."
At the maternal mention, Leonardo minutely clammed up, tensing around his aura like a stress ball.
"Oh." Was all he said.
As we left Garcia's office slightly miffed and partly afraid, I set a mental reminder to ask Leonardo about the enigma of his mother later on.
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The third banquet of the Olympic gymnastics camp came to an uneventful close.
Dinner was mediocre, and Jungkook's tense company was worse. The only ray of light inside the stuffy atmosphere of formality was his view of McKayla when he dared look her way.
Throughout the banquet, Jungkook did his best not to look at Leonardo in front of the atrium's other spectators. Especially with Coach Kan breathing down his back the entire time, making sure he consumed enough of the banquet's fish platter. There was no leeway to mess up, no room for breathing.
A few tables over, McKayla Maroney's low-cut purple halter top paired with tight black pants caught his attention several times. If he weren't so aware of the eyes on him, he'd sit and stare at the intersection of her chiseled collarbones with the thick shoulder muscles that gracefully sat under the halter top's thin fabric.
But alas, Kan stood in his way of freedom.
After Garcia made an uninteresting speech about the halfway point of the camp, the gymnasts were left to eat and talk. Almost every table sprouted fresh conversations about what to do in Phoenix, dabbled in the topic of homesickness and family affairs, and spoke of their muscle aches or routine additions.
One table of female gymnasts even boasted an intense competition of who could mimic the best London accent. Inevitably, a short-haired German gymnast won after several spot-on 'ello, gov'nors.'
But Jungkook, Leonardo, and Donnell's table was painfully silent. Every tinkle of silverware on plate and forced swallow was terribly loud among the quiet gymnast-coach pairs. Jungkook wanted so badly to strike up a conversation about anything to dispel the awkwardness surrounding them, but found his coach's constant watching a solid reason not to.
"So! How did you like the banquet? Personally, I thought the food was delicious, and I loved the table centerpieces tonight—who would've thought that red-gold carnations would look so beautiful next to the black table cards? And tonight this girl at my table spilled her food all over her lap! Sauce and fish chunks were everywhere...and oh! It was hilarious!"
McKayla rattles on as her and Jungkook approach the same isolated elevator that they'd used last week.
With the banquet's close, Kan was more than happy to get away from the stifling atmosphere and readily believed Jungkook's lie of needing to 'use the restroom.' Leonardo Costa walked out of the banquet hall the instant it ended, hurrying out before his father could catch up and rope him into a heated conversation.
So that left McKayla and Jungkook alone.
"Eh, my banquet experience wasn't as entertaining." Jungkook squeezes her warm hand in his as they hop into the elevator. "Plus, I couldn't even look at you the whole time, and I really wanted to. My coach was watching me like a hawk."
The elevator smells faintly of cleaner and excitement as they enter. McKayla draws him in against the metal bar running along the elevator's perimeter. Slowly, as if the elevator doors detest the hidden rendezvous they are unintentionally supporting between Jungkook and McKayla, they crawl to a close. McKayla sidles up to him.
"Well, look at me now."
Before he can ever begin to understand the wildfire burning in McKayla's pupils, she closes the distance between them. Jungkook's back presses harshly into the bar as she smashes their lips together, her hands raking unrestrained through his hair. He battles to repeatedly meet her lips over and over, his body reacting to her violent arms. The kiss is long and intense, drawn out by the wait of being together again.
"Mmm."
The tang of her sticky lipstick melts on his tongue and he bites down on her lower lip. McKayla snickers as their teeth clash messily. When she pulls away from him, her cheeks are rosy and pert, a wide grin on her pleased face.
Her aura envelops him whole, a feminine desire wrapping them both in a fuzzy cloud of heated pink. His mind spins with the lingering sensation of her lips on his, and he finds himself picturing her doing it again...wishing that she might rise up on her tip-toes and reconnect their warm lips once more.
"Jungkook." McKayla stares at him, standing so close to his wrinkled polo that Jungkook can feel the heat radiating off of her body in passionate pink waves. "Jungkook, I was thinking..."
"Come to my room." He finishes the statement for her, abandoning his caution entirely.
"Okay."
She doesn't question him, doesn't mention the amount of danger they could be in or the consequences of what getting caught might entail.
Jungkook knows that McKayla's middle name is risk—and it's what makes her such a domineering gymnast and powerhouse in her sport. A formidable gymnast on the floor and an unbeatable girlfriend in-
Jungkook blushes hotly, wiping at his cheeks.
"First I'll need to take this dress off. If we're to do this correctly, we have to do it carefully."
He blushes harder at the double meaning of her words. She laughs as she realizes what she's said, slapping his arm with joie de vivre. An equally intense red hue fills her cheeks.
"I mean...um, I'm going to need a disguise. If women aren't allowed on the third floor, I can't have anyone thinking I'm a woman. Good thing I packed big sweatshirts and bulky sweatpants."
The elevator dings at the second floor: McKayla's stop to get off and prepare her disguise before visiting his room. Suddenly, Jungkook is squeezed by the halting grip of reality, buzzing nerves settling in the pit of his stomach. What they're planning is outright dangerous.
"What time are you coming—a-and what time are you going to leave, McKayla? Maybe we shouldn't be doing this-"
"Shibal, Jungkook." McKayla spins towards him, planting a kiss on his lips. "I have you for three more weeks, I'm not wasting a day with you. I'll be over in five minutes. Expect a burly-looking guy at your door. Haha!"
She slips off the elevator before he can contest her. Jungkook's mind swirls with a multitude of clashing feelings. Danger is the most prominent of them all, trampling over excitement, giddiness, and joy to the front of his emotional assemblage. He scampers out of the elevator to room 333, unsure of this little get-together with McKayla.
"Okay...okay...I have five minutes."
When Jungkook gets inside his dorm, he gets to work.
The shades close harshly to block out the dwindling daylight and prevent any onlookers from spying into his room. Rock music gets played at full blast from his earbuds, acting as white noise in the quiet space. On the counter he pulls out the few snacks he has in case McKayla is hungry, and for good measure he spritzes on another layer of cologne.
Everything else in the room is tidy as per usual. Jungkook's immaculate cleanliness regimen guarantees that much.
As he's screwing around with the parting of his hair, restless with worry, he hears a faint knocking at the door.
Immediately, his heart rate soars. It won't be that difficult to keep suspicion away as long as they're careful, but the nerves get to Jungkook regardless. Even though keeping secrets is his forte, another one added to his long list is never something for him to be proud of.
Jungkook hurriedly twists the door handle and pushes open the barrier between him and danger.
"Hurry and come inside, it's—Leonardo?"
"Hi." Leonardo Costa walks past Jungkook into the room casually with a loose red tie hanging around his neck. A tired smile wilts against his tanned cheeks.
Jungkook examines Leonardo closely for the first real time that night.
A sheer white dress shirt strains against Leonardo's thick biceps, and a few buttons are undone on the front of the wrinkle-free fabric. Black pants hug Leonardo's buttocks and thighs, crisply plaited down the center to meet shiny dress shoes. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled to the elbow, revealing beefy forearms from years of bar training. His dark brown hair is gelled to a chic coif to give him a slightly wet look, complimenting the neatness of his jaw line and straight posture.
Overall, Leonardo is undoubtedly dapper, clean shaven, and smells like meadow hand soap and home.
Jungkook chokes on his words.
"Uh...Leonardo—you can't um...I have something to do. We can't hang out tonight. Sorry."
The Brazilian plops down on top of Jungkook's comforter, examining the snacks on the table with a curious eye. Lazily, he stretches out his arms one after the other, yawning as he regards the time on the microwave clock.
"Eight forty one. What do you have to do at eight forty one?"
Panicking at the laxness in Leonardo's body language, Jungkook hops at the first lie that enters his mind. "My coach will be here any second. He wants to speak to me about something. You have to leave, Costa."
Something fretful sparks behind the Brazilian's eyes at the mention of Coach Kan. "Oh. Oh, shit."
"Yeah. You should go." Jungkook blinks as the swear word registers. Leonardo rarely swears in English, if ever. "He can't see you in here."
"Right." Leonardo scrambles from the bed, crossing the room to him. "I know we can't hang out tonight, but I just wanted to thank you for earlier today. With Garcia and...my father."
The memory of the administrative room and Garcia filters through Jungkook's mind again. He winces reflexively. "Ah, it was nothing. I sensed danger so I acted."
Normally, Jungkook would be more careful with his word choice but now he doesn't have time to think about semantics.
The only thing plaguing his mind is the image of McKayla storming to his door and seeing him with Leonardo Costa. Scratch that—Jungkook can only think of Leonardo Costa seeing McKayla Maroney at the door. That would just about kill Leonardo.
He can't have that happening. He has to protect Leonardo from getting hurt more than he already has been. At least for tonight.
"You sensed danger?" Leonardo repeats, taking his hand. Jungkook's calloused hand is clammy in Leonardo's own.
"Uh. Yes." Jungkook would sit here in Leonardo's waves of red gratitude all night if he had the chance, but with the pressing situation, he must put it off until later. "You better hurry, Leonardo."
"Okay. I'll leave." Leonardo stares at him for a moment, studying the dip of Jungkook's V-neck polo. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Leo." Jungkook nods at the door, not even realizing his use of Costa's shortened name. The Brazilian releases Jungkook's hand with clear reluctance.
Jungkook's heart thumping and the tinny drone of What I've Done by Linkin Park are the only sounds following Leonardo's back as he gradually walks to the door, slowly lifting each foot up into the air and placing it down upon the soft carpet-
A scratch and cough sounds behind the door.
Leonardo turns and faces Jungkook with wide eyes, acting instantly.
Before Jungkook can comprehend what's happening, Leonardo whispers that he'll hide in the bathroom until he can slip out later.
"No, wait!" Jungkook reaches out for his arm before Leonardo can lock himself in the bathroom, but the other is too fast for him. The bathroom door closes with a dull thump.
Under his breath, a trail of Korean swears emanates behind gritted teeth. It wasn't supposed to work out this way.
Jungkook heads to the doorway, bracing himself to cover McKayla's mouth before she can giggle to expose them. He opens the door quickly, revealing a hooded, burglaresque figure clad in heavy clothing and a low-tipped black cap. If he didn't know what to expect, he surely wouldn't have known this was McKayla Maroney.
"No words." He grits out, putting a finger up to her lips. Under the rim of the hat she lifts an eyebrow but says nothing.
For the next few seconds, he briefly pantomimes to her that another gymnast is using his bathroom and she'll need to come in quietly and sit on his bed until the person leaves. Her sharp wit allows her to gather most of the story, and she nods with a prepared grimace hardening her jaw.
Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief at her determination. She will not blow this for them.
As she quietly shifts into the room, he makes an effort to obscure her sounds with his own heavy footfalls. However, she's as quiet as a mouse, ambling towards the bed as unnoticeably as a snake moving across the sand. He doesn't have to do much.
Suddenly, Jungkook speaks up loud. "We'll talk in just a second, okay Kan? I have to use the bathroom first. Wait here."
Confusion morphs McKayla's button features, but she doesn't ask about it. Like Jungkook predicted, Leonardo takes the cue to go. As Jungkook approaches the bathroom to switch out with Costa and provide him some cover, he spots the Brazilian's still face in the crack of the door.
"Okay." Jungkook mouths to him. "You can go now. Quietly."
Leonardo nods, as serious as ever. He wastes no time slipping out the door on high-toe, moving his large body gracefully as he grips the door handle. Jungkook follows behind him, both to obscure "Kan's" view of Leonardo as much as Leonardo's view of "Kan."
If the Brazilian merely turned around once, he would see a burly thief curled in a neat, silent ball on the bed. He'd know Jungkook was lying.
As the door to room 333 creaks open, Jungkook's heart rate tapers down to a soft lull. Leonardo leans forward to slip out behind the wooden pane, a sign that everything will work out. A sign that nobody will get hurt and life will go on as usual in the Road to London gymnastics camp in Phoenix, Arizona. A sign that Leonardo will go back to his room ignorant of the female guest in Jungkook's room.
Jungkook almost grins.
Then, McKayla sneezes. Multiple times.
Not only are the muffled sneezes poignantly loud in the quiet complex, but terribly feminine. Her sneezes so happen to be the high-pitched whining kind that sound like bratty cats getting pulled off of scratching posts. They're shrill and spiking, wheedling and horrible. Jungkook hops in his skin at the sudden sneeze attack, yelping against his will.
Leonardo freezes in the doorway.
"Jungkook..." He starts, turning around like a man who is experiencing a crucial dawn of realization. And not a good realization at that.
"Um." Jungkook's panic is palpable as he tries to shut the door on Costa's face. "Goodnight, Leo, see you tomor-"
"Stop."
Leonardo catches the door frame before it can be shut, forcing his way back into room 333. Jungkook follows, his heart sinking to his feet. Thankfully, McKayla is no where to be seen—she at least had the good sense of hiding after the intrusive giveaway to her real identity.
But Leonardo doesn't calm down. His red aura is heightened with dull anger and growing disbelief.
"Come out, McKayla." Leonardo demands, crossing his arms over his loose tie and examining the furniture. Eventually, his gaze lingers on the area underneath the bed, where loose stirring sounds prevail. A bang echoes out from under the sleeping apparatus followed by a groan.
"Jungkook." McKayla's voice is upset, a decaying strand of hope. Her arm swings out from under the bed helplessly. "A little help here. My fat sweatshirt got stuck on your bed frame."
Leonardo gets there before Jungkook can. At the foreign sensation of Leonardo's warm, beefy hands around hers, McKayla shrinks back. The Brazilian sighs, urging Jungkook forward with the curt formality of a shopper waiting to get checked out at the register. A swat of a hand, nothing more than a bland wave.
The mood shift turns the Korean's mouth sour.
"Sorry, McKayla." Jungkook presents his hands to her and this time, she takes them gratefully. A few heaves later, McKayla's cocooned black form wriggles out from under the bed.
"Listen here." McKayla speaks up at once, facing Leonardo Costa with no shame or hesitation as she stands.
She points an accusatory finger at his chest, mouth working before she can tame the boldness overflowing. "If you rat us out to the gymnastics board, I will find a way into your room and make you regret ever leaving Brazil in the first place."
Leonardo stares into her eyes, not backing down to her challenge. He crosses his arms, squinting down at her with his mouth parted.
Jungkook is sure he's going to tell her she's not scary, that he'll definitely report their wrongdoing to the board, and scorn the bratty ground she walks upon everyday.
But when Leonardo opens his mouth, Jungkook is nothing less than befuddled.
A thick, warm laugh lights up the room, although it doesn't carry to Leonardo's eyes. "Of course I won't tell. Do you really think I would hurt Jungkook?"
McKayla blinks at him, utterly surprised. She plops down on the bed, her hands fisted in her sweatpants. "Oh, I...didn't um, think about that."
Jungkook finally comes to his senses, stepping forward. "McKayla, you should probably leave...we shouldn't have risked this. Obviously, it's too dangerous...someone found us out right away. You should sneak back to your room before-"
"No."
It takes Jungkook a few seconds to realize that the negative statement didn't come from the bed.
It came from Leonardo.
Despite the swirling, troubled red aura wrought with painful lines of jealousy, Leonardo's face is calmer than a spring pond. The only outward signs of his pain are tensed forearms as he hugs his body with crossed arms.
"McKayla can stay. You'll be fine here tonight, nobody comes to visit Jungkook other than me. I can even keep watch over the door so you don't get caught tomorrow when you leave. Yeah, you should stay."
Jungkook's heart lurches, aches to reach out to Costa and stop him from doing this to himself. The Korean knows it has to be utterly painful for the Brazilian to deny his feelings everyday, but this level of self-agony is the arrow in the bullseye. A direct hit to the heart.
"Leonardo, you don't have to do that." Jungkook unconsciously sets a hand on the taller gymnast's shoulder. "We were being stupid-"
"Would you really, Leonardo?" McKayla stands from the bed, looking at Leonardo with a hopeful glint in her eye. "Would you? You would do that? Like, seriously?"
Leonardo ignores the hand on his shoulder, choosing to look only at McKayla. "Yes."
"Great!" McKayla hops up and down like a child, smiling brightly at Leonardo Costa. "You know, Jungkook was right in saying that you were the best gymnast here—no offense to Jungkook's talent—but what a friendly and talented man you are, Leonardo! I can't thank you enough for keeping our relationship a secret. It'll only be for the next few weeks anyway."
Leonardo's eye minutely twitches.
"Well." The Brazilian breaks away from the duo who continue to stare at him. He quickly strides to the door, trailing a long vermillion rope of disappointment with him. "I have to go to bed soon."
Jungkook starts towards the door after his competitor, nausea creeping into his gut. Leonardo's pain is his own, and it's shockingly strong. The Brazilian grips the door handle too harshly, throwing the slab of wood open to bang lightly against the wall. Jungkook winces.
"Leonardo, wait a second-"
Costa spins around, staring at him with hard eyes. "You two have fun."
The door slams shut.
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note from authAURA~
hiya.
biya.
oh wait, i forgot my color motivation line, sorry.
please radiate easter grass, you creative fiends reading this. creation has no limits and should never be swayed by the folly of mortal judgements. just do what you want in terms of art, and as long as it hits a heart strand in yourself, it is perfect. never bow down to the misplaced opinion of others regarding your masterpieces, mmkay?
thanks, you're all G's in my book.
sending infinite adoration and chocolate missiles your way,
izZY.