𐔌 | pomii : ⏜ׅ ✶

ignore any grammar / spelling / punctuation mistakes, it’s 11:54PM for me right now bruh.

 TO THE GYM, NOLAN GOES!!

I DID NOT USE AI. I HAPPEN TO LIKE USING EM DASHES. 

—

It’s not everyday Makarov isn’t slaving Andrei away, but it seems as though today prevails to be an exception, although that doesn’t exactly mean Nolan will let himself get rusty even for a moment. Dingy, familiar fluorescent lights flicker overhead, they cast a sideways shadow of Nolan’s looming form onto worn large aggregate flooring. His footsteps near hushed, a habit he’s picking up ever since his brutal days in the ADF, habits were always to persist, a familiar dance he finds himself doing over and over, — like cleaning his gun obsessively, no room for potential jamming during critical moments, no room for grime on his trigger, no chances for failure, just what Makarov wanted in his subordinates. He had grown rigid, experienced in his old days, a prime example of Makarov’s standards, a textbook case of unyielding fidelity for Makarov to hold his other soldiers up to,— like a mutt vehemently protecting its owner. 

Nearby Konni soldiers shiver briefly, stood aside to make way for Nolan. He had never really liked special treatment, but he had developed a strange pleasure for recognition, to be acknowledged for his obliging to Makarov’s heeding demands. It had always brought him a strange rush of adrenaline, a reason to push himself to strive,— to stand out in a sea of indifferent soldiers. His thoughts digress from his initial thought, right, he was heading to the communal gym. It’s not that he liked feeling sore after exerting himself, (he’s not a masochist, at least he thinks he’s not.), but he liked seeing results,— whether that be another vein in his biceps or thicker muscles trained to pave the way for progress within Makarov’s questionable plans for the world.  He neared the communal gym, its bulletproof glass segregating the nearby mess hall glinted at him like a tempting vice. The gym (oddly enough) was vacant as of right now, practically begging for Nolan to abuse the equipment in the name of ‘exercise’.  A brief smile graced his wrinkled face, albeit dissolved as soon as it appeared. His hand clutched the metal door handle, the familiar feeling of its cold material a pleasant sensation as he gently closed the door behind him.

The vast room reeked of sweat and good sportsmanship (because even in a terro organisation, you have to have mates.) he was never one for small talk, but he would always engage in a shallow conversation or two with his mates whilst he worked out, he liked the exposure rather then just being a war machine. His half lidded eyes snap to a nearby bench press, his usual go-to, it didn’t take too much out of him and was fairly comfortable to him, maybe even a favourite piece of equipment in his books. He approached the bench press, settling himself down upon it as he pressed his back against the cushion as his hands found their way to the bar of the weight, maintaining a should width because Nolan isn’t a rookie to this, the numbers engraved on it read a fairly heavy 290 (because I like to think Nolan is at least 181 in BW).  

A faint grunt emitted itself from his mouth as he unhitched the weight, slowly lowering the bar to the middle of his chest before thrusting it back up, his biceps flexing whilst. Sure,— Nolan was a scary, stoic dude, but he wasn’t soulless and unable to experience joy. I mean, even right now, the way his body would flex and cock as he worked out, that alone would make him overcome with a sense of proudness. His drilling fell into yet another familiar metronome of effort,— the time seemed to speed up, five minutes of work out became one hour, the window that let sunlight bleed into the gym room now casted an almost domestic moonlight (if you can’t tell, yes this is a time skip.) 

Beads of sweat clung to his toned skin, trickling down onto the black gym mat below him. His muscles worked through one last heave, shoving the weight upwards before holstering it upon the little ledge meant for weights on the bench press. His laboured suspiring filled the otherwise quiet air as he slowly brought himself to sit up, the cushion that had been previously comforting his back now retaining its original shape as he grunted. He yawned faintly, his eyebrows knitting with exhaustion as he glanced sideways to the little window that spared an overlook of the hills that ran for miles, taking note of the midnight sky that had long begun to seep in the gym room. It always seemed like the time passed easier in this room, or maybe he just likes to exercise. He doesn’t know, he has better things to focus on..— like the food he’s probably missing out on right now in the mess hall, that thought alone gets him up and walking out the communal gym.