𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 ᵃᵃʳᵒⁿ ʷᵃʳⁿᵉʳ

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

Left fist, right fist, spin, left foot kicking the punching bag to the side.

I don't know why I was angry.

I wasn't angry.

I knew I wasn't.

I was... upset.

But I didn't know why.

But as I took out all my anger on the now ripped open, black punching bag, I knew there was something bothering me on the back of my mind.

I found myself in the lower grounds of the sector building, a large training room open for the guards. It was empty, due to the fact that everyone was on their shift and it was the middle of the day.

The only reason I was here, was because Warner insisted on accompanying Juliette to her room, leaving me a break of an hour. He allowed me to go, leaving with the typical cheeky grin on his face, which I noticed only I would receive. Weird. Yet my decision was to brush it off.

My feet took me to a bench on the side by a light grey painted wall, sitting down. I unwrapped my hands from the white, now bleed through bandages, red dots sitting on the once clean fabric. Some brown strains of my hair were falling into my sweat-drenched face, which I had tied back into a small, messy ponytail. The guard uniform was tight, heavy and extremely inelastic, meaning I couldn't work out or move really well in it. It was pretty stupid, to be honest. None of the soldiers was able to really defend the sector when the material was sticking to their sweaty skin. So I was always wearing something else when training.

My legs were covered by dark blue track-pants, combined with a white top and black converse, which once were my fathers from the time when he was young. I didn't remember when he died.

Back in the gym, my eyes wandered around the large room, bringing my legs up to my chest, resting my head onto my knees. Like I knew, there were no security cameras placed inside here and so far I didn't detect any.

The gym consisted of a small boxing ring, a bunch of treadmills, punching bags and weight-lifting benches. All were colored the same, grey. Everything inside here had the color grey. It was so... dull. Emotionless.

My gaze moved back to the punching bag that I had used earlier. This was the third one I broke. In one month. Since... Oh.

Since I got my new position.

Since I've known Warner.

Oh.

I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms around my legs, placing my wounded hands on my thighs, the music blasting through my eardrums changing from BLUE from Billie Eilish to Apocalypse from Cigarettes after Sex. Spoiler Alert: It's Kenjis Walkman.

As the music wandered through my ears, resting my eyelids, I didn't notice the familiar blonde man stepping into the room and slowly heading over to where I was sitting, stopping in front of me.