training wings || constantin & corbin
[When he and Ana had first returned to Earth, Constantin had accepted that his body was fubar. They tell you the impact of space on the human body before you go up, though they don’t account for five years being spent there. So he’d known it would be bad, and when the doctors had said phrases to him like muscle atrophy, spaceflight osteopenia, and balance disorder, he’d just nodded and accepted that he’d be bedbound for a while.
But he’d done the bedbound thing, and then he’d spent some time using a walker, and then he’d used the walker less. Now he’s not used it at all in weeks, and he’s slowly integrating into AP training – though he’s self conscious of how many breaks he has to take compared to the rest of them.
It’s more frustrating now, because he’s stable enough to go about his life relatively normally. He still moves a bit like a geriatric, but it gets better each day. His appetite is improving, he’s beginning to fill out his clothes better. But everything just feels so heavy. He’s healthy enough to live his life, but still too impacted by his experiences to do so completely normally. He leaves AP training feeling frustrated and unfulfilled, because he’s a shadow of who he once was. Rather than heading off to shower with the rest of the group, he takes himself for some laps around the training field. He doesn’t physically have much energy left to burn off, but mentally he is becoming intimately acquainted with the phrase ‘stir crazy’.
He even manages a few laps, done with careful regard to his form, before he falls. He doesn’t trip, or slip, his legs just give up. Muscle atrophy doesn’t repair itself overnight, or indeed over the course of several months. Constantin hits the ground with a grunt, and rolls onto his side with a wince. He realises, as his face relaxes from its screwed up expression, that someone has slowed down near him.]
Futu-i … Nu, sunt bine. [He mumbles, feeling frustrated and embarrassed – particularly as he realised he’s not even used the right language. With another groan, this time of frustration rather than pain, he says:] Don’t, I am fine. [Usually he’s not too proud to accept help, but he really hates being seen like this. He feels helpless, and he hates it.]
[He’s only come back onto the field because he’d forgotten to take his archery gloves off again. He’d peeled off the leather with a sigh once he’d gotten to the locker rooms, and tried to leave them on the bench, but as he’d been stepping out, Biceps Donovan called his name and when Corbin turned around, the trainer pitched them at Corbin’s chest. ‘Put them away, Ealy,’ he’d ordered. Beside him, Elly had snickered, and Corbin threw her a sour look, then, rolling his eyes, he headed back out towards the field the way he came.
He’s sort of surprised to see Astronaut Man still running laps. Usually if someone is running laps after the session ends, it’s because they’d been a jerk off during the class and Donovan had forced them to as punishment. Like military-detention. Pfft. It’s odd though, because the Torren Corbin only knows as ‘Space Man’ is always perfectly obedient in training, from what Corbin’s seen. He does as he’s told, even if he has a hard time keeping up, and he never complains. Corbin, on the other hand, is quite often a victim to Donovan’s fitness detention.
Corbin’s just finished putting the gloves back in the equipment lock up, when he turns around and sees the man drop. Corbin frowns, and he’s not necessarily the overly-helpful type, but he’s like, the only one here and walking by he’s so close—he figures he’d be a total arse not to help. But just as he gets close enough, Space Man mutters a bunch of shit Corbin doesn’t understand, and then a few words he does: Corbin backs off, hands up.] Woah—sorry mate, sheesh.
[He already feels bad for being so curt. It’s obvious that Corbin is bristling -- and he’s well within his rights to be. Constantin tries not to be rude or aggressive, very aware that with his limited English skills it would be all too easy for him to seem like an unpleasant person.
His reputation has gone the other way, and somehow people have come to view him as a soft teddy bear. It doesn’t feel like a true reflection of who he is, but it’s better than people thinking he’s rude. Unfortunately, that’s probably exactly what this person thinks of him. And it wasn’t even remotely Corbin’s fault, he’d just had the misfortune of being the nearest when Constantin felt a flash of anger.
It’s himself he’s angry at. He’s angry at his weak body and his slow recovery, and he’s angry at his anger. He sighs, a disgruntled huff, and hauls himself into a seated position where he rubs his face.]
Sorry. [The word is gruff, but he means it. His head is still down, long strands of hair curling protectively in front of his face. He hopes Corbin can’t see that the anger is borne more of embarrassment than anything else.] The anger is not for you. I do not mean to snap.
