A continuous cycle of inhaling and exhaling took place throughout the youth’s respiratory system. His heart pumped nonstop in an almost futile attempt to keep his mind and his body afloat, his ears were filled with nothing but an incessant thumping of blood couriering oxygen to wherever it was desperately needed. Bones ached and muscles creaked, as if they had been rusted over, and frankly, they probably had been by the second time around the course. It may have just been his mind playing tricks on him, but the equipment strapped onto him seemed to be gradually increasing in weight with every half of the track he covered. Wind couldn’t be stopped by many things, but Zephyr wasn’t named after intense gusts of air, but gentle breezes that affably caressed the body into a peaceful state. He valued endurance and speed over strength, but everybody had their limit, especially a person whose torso was nearly entirely enveloped by the gear pulling him more and more towards the rough ground.
”Don’t stop ‘til you drop, Zeph.” The boy thought to himself, a paltry attempt at trying to encourage himself. By the time he had completed half of his third lap, the weights felt like they had nearly doubled, or maybe the exhaustion was just getting to him. Beads of sweat were flowing rather than subtly slinking down his forehead, how much he wanted to have had the chance to engulf a piece of bread this morning. Zephyr remembered telling his mother to pack a slice before their departure, in hopes that he could reenact the legendary
Late for School trope, and sprint his way into class with a slice in his mouth while screaming
”Kyaaaaaaaaah~” But unfortunately, Sachi merely stared daggers at the product of fifteen years of effort and through his ass into the company helicopter.
Zephyr’s ears picked up obnoxiously shrill complaints coming from where Itsuko-sensei was standing. Taking a moment to focus more on his peripheral vision rather than the people struggling to jog in front of him, his eyes honed in on the loquacious individual. A girl wrapped up in enough bandages to supply a whole entire clinic. Her argument was that if she performed any of the tasks set before her today, she would ultimately cook like a barbecue under the not so irradiating sun. Now, this predicament could have easily been remedied with apparel suited for such an occasion. She could have worn aerated clothing that would allow air to pass through while equally protecting her from the sun. The fact that she was wearing a petite t-shirt and shorts, which simultaneously exposed her bandages to the very orb of rejuvinating light she was complaining about, just seemed counterproductive. Maybe if she spent more time regulating her breathing rather than machine-gunning words at their instructor, she might’ve possibly been in a better state to attempt either exercise.
At least, that’s what Zephyr
would’ve thought, if he wasn’t such an carefree and optimistic person. Instead, his mind went along something like this.
”MOTHER OF COFFEE, IT’S THE PHYSICALLY WOUNDED AND TIMID HEROINE TROPE, HOW I HAVE LIVED TO SEE THIS DA-”And then Zephyr tripped on something.
The world suddenly went into slow-motion, his head turned in lethargic time to take in the scenario he had suddenly walked- well, now
flown into. To his right was a young boy… girl…
”MOTHER OF COFFEE, IT’S A TRAP- Wait. Zeph. Focus. Something’s in front of you.” He shifted his gaze from the boy with locks of lavender to the other figure idly standing directly in front of him. His eyes took a deft moment to focus, from what he could see, a girl of nearly equal height to the bystander was before him, and was only realizing that a person was on a collision course with her. The look of surprise slowly coming into fruition was almost entrancing, but the fact that eighty kilograms was about to crash into her was enough to send Zephyr into action.
The boy had grown up working on the fly. He wasn’t an opponent, but an advocate of living, breathing, and thriving in the moment. Concepts such as past and future bared no meaning to him, except they were things to work from and towards. But neither could be accomplished without taking a stand in the present. In one fluent motion, Zephyr undid the equipment and held his arms out towards the girl. He of course collided with her, but instead of having her take the brunt of the solid ground, the boy twisted his body and placed himself as such a role. Both Zephyr and his harness hit the ground at the same time, collectively producing a loud commotion that drew the attention of more than just a few classmates.
The white-haired boy gritted his teeth throughout the whole duration of the crisis, which he had managed to barely avert.
”Owie....” The whimper gravitated from his mouth as he sat himself up and released his arms from the girl. Zephyr made sure to account any damage from the fall by keeping her tightly pressed to his chest, albeit it wasn’t much of a cushion, it was better than getting a faceful of rock. The only thing that really seemed to be in permanent disarray was his clothing, now covered in dirt and despair. He sighed and meagered a smile while helping the girl onto her feet.
Now they were face to face, Zeph took the chance to take in the person he almost gravely wounded. She was undoubtedly a westerner. Not west-west. Just west. Europe, probably. Far west side of it. In conclusion: west. The first facet of her he picked up on was her eyes. He was expecting the iconic azure irises, but to his surprise they were golden. The orbs seemed to absorb all light around them, adding to the incandescent shimmer they gave off. Her blonde hair was woven with speckles of dirt, she didn’t seem too peeved off about what had just occurred. Actually, it was basically impossible to tell what she was thinking. Her facial expression had as much fervor as lullaby.
”Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry!” The boy energetically proceeded with a repetitious volley of bows and apologies. This was, in fact, quite the eventful first day.
”Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorr- ow my toe, sorry!” Ok. This was getting a
tad bit pitiful.
”Oh, I’m Zephyr Quix! What are you names?” And just like that, Zeph changed gears, glancing between both of them. His English was surprisingly fluent, after all, his mother had taught him the language alongside Japanese. Why she never taught him Russian though, well, he might just never know.
-It doesn’t seem I’m as strong or as weak as I thought-
@liferusher @White Feather
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