“i was super pissed so i went to the gym even tho it’s really late at night so i was the only one there and i was at the punching bag listening to music and you surprised me by tapping me on the shoulder, holy shit i didn’t mean to punch you, i’m so sorry, but srsly why the hell would you sURPRISE SOMEONE WHO IS ANGRY AND PUNCHING THINGS” au
@no-zomi
Muscle that’d once been present had begun loosing their mass, months of neglect had brought him to this point. As much as it was to be avoided, Iseul knew that putting off going to gym, or participating any workout for that matter, wasn’t going to help. Slacking on his own physical honing, Iseul knew that it was probably best to maintain his cover as nothing more than inter this way. Song Jae wasn’t one that attend gym often nor one much for fight. He’d learned that when male had met his untimely demise at hands of fellow comrade. There is no time for regret nor remorse in life he lead, one that really wasn’t his own. If anything Yeong Iseul was nothing more than an empty shell, a blank slate of man who followed order and became whatever was needed of him at time. He knew this was to be his fate, after all, it’d been what he’d trained toward practically his whole life and eventually he’d end up just like one he’d stolen year beforehand. Dead and gone without trace or proper funeral.
Upon entering gym, Iseul takes note of emptiness, it was better this way – allowing him to avoid conversation best he could with those stranger that always seemed to find him friendliest face. Amusing how it wasn’t even his own. That of which he bore was nothing more than knockoff, product of several painful surgery, chiseled feature far from natural. No one said this mission would be easily done, nor did they state it’d be painless. Kneeling down now, Iseul goes to tie shoe lace, making sure it’s adjustments are proper before heading toward treadmill; his prowess residing in running. He adjust speed accordingly and gets to work, jogging to build pace before going into full run; breathing steadied out.
It’s only thirty minutes into his state of blissful solace, does he notice door opening from corner of eye and unknown male entering without single word or glance tossed his way. Normally Iseul doesn’t pay mind to such things, focusing his attention elsewhere, but, male bore visage he’d never seen. One that brought forth a state of intrigue if not mild weariness. Continuing his run, however, he does nothing more than occasionally watching latter from reflective surface of window adjacent to himself. Only slowing speed of treadmill once he feels lung burn and sweat dripping from forehead, another glance cast to stranger as back of hand is used to wipe away beading sweat.
