▹　❛ gym

@❛ john k。 The “henhouse”. Midas loved code names, and she’s known him long enough to pick up on them. It’s appropriate, she thinks, considering that they can’t openly speak about their supposed-to-be nonexistent job. Not especially in such a close-knitted community like this. Cocoa spheres dart around the room in search for cameras, and sure enough, there is one planted in every single corner of the gym. Even in the secluded areas hidden away from them, she’s sure to find one. She takes a careful look, noticing the position of the devices, and thanks the stars that it’s positioned at their backs and not facing them. Regardless, the individual apartments are the only safe place for them, but she’s sure that headquarters can pick up on her sneaking into his apartment, or vice versa. Lest she wears a disguise, they’d get into trouble either way. Her perturbed gaze returns to the mirror ahead of them. “You searched for a new place and landed in ol’ town Lavande. Small town, easily missed. Wonder how you managed to pick the one place I thought people wouldn’t find me in.” A wry chuckle escapes her stoic mein, and she’s reaching out to press on the upwards arrows as to further incline the machine. Her breathing becomes heavier. “Dia.” She’s quick to correct him, knowing full well that code was far too risky to utter even if it was shortened to a single letter. “Tired. Same . Sore. Bad idea to be in the gym, but can’t break routine. You?”

@❛ john k。 The echoes of gunshots ricochet in her head, deafening her own thoughts until it becomes a piercing screech. She vividly remembers it all—helps that she just returned from the jungle not 24 hours ago. One blink of an eye and she’s replaying moments that were far too close to call. A single mistake and her head would have been blown to pieces. And it almost did—if not for Midas’ touch. That’s what she liked to call it, at least. The man is a decade older than her, so it’s obvious that he’s wiser. More experience on his belt, which much more skill in his fingertips. He’s the jack of all trades, really, and she’s one to put her life in his hands. And rightfully so, because if it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be staring at herself in the mirror today. 



The gym is the last place she needed to be, but she found that running and lifting weights were a remedy that would keep the ghosts at bay. The beep of the machine is loud enough to muffle the thundering whisper of an desert eagle in her ears. Her own regulated breathing eased her, reminding her that she’s lucky to be alive. For a moment, she attempts to focus only on this: the fact that she could hear only her own footsteps and shallow inhales, rather than pairs of boots clamoring in synchronization with one another. Focus on the fact that she’s here, not there. She reaches out to press on the buttons a couple of more times, the obnoxious beeps followed by the increasing speed of the belt. She sprints for a couple of minutes, relishing in having her own controlled environment until the speed comes to a slow for cool-down. She rejoices in this mini accomplishment, until her attention is pried away and brought to a familiar voice. By instinct, she turns her head, but she’s quick enough to catch herself and bring her gaze forward. “They probably already know,” she murmurs, maintaining her stride. “I’ve been here for three weeks, how are you here?”