rose-colored boy

dawn hardin. 40. he/him. district 7 the capitol. stylist to district 7.

just let me cry a little bit longer i ain't gonna smile if i don't want to hey, man, we all can't be like you i wish we were all rose-colored too my rose-colored boy

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HC END:

It was just so so good to be around him again. It had only been a few days that they were absent and Slate used to go so much longer without being around Dawn but this was different. Since he lost his sight, it was so different. Now they were one. Now they were married. And how was Slate supposed to thrive without him present?

When Dawn mentions not getting on the air craft himself, Slate slips his hands free, and dares to take hold of Dawn’s face in both of his hands, bringing their foreheads to touch. Damn the consequences, his body was vibrating with the thought of them being pulled apart. “You will not get the chance to sacrifice yourself for me. I wont let that happen, you hear? Because that’s incredibly unfair if I can’t do it either.” He tries to make something of a light joke, and then follows it with another. “I’d say I wont let you out of my sight either but I supposed you have that advantage.” And was probably incredibly crucial, having someone nearby to make sure he got there. Slate probably wouldn’t be able to figure it out on his own without his sight.

...

He can’t help but let out a little sigh, almost of relief when Slat takes his face in his hands, brings their foreheads together. That’s enough to make a few tears slip past his lashes unbidden, because this closeness is something that he’s missed so much, something he wants to hold onto. His hand moves to Slate’s arm, holding on, silently telling him to stay in place for just a second longer, despite how dangerous it might be. They need this moment, just as much as he needs to be near Slate after this to make sure they both make it to the meeting point. And he hears Slate’s pleas, how desperate he is, too, that they both can make it out of here together. It’s more than enough to make Dawn determined to make that happen.

“Fair is fair, then. Neither of us are allowed to play the hero on this one. We’re going to walk out of here together, and I will be using my sight to my advantage,” he mutters, teasing just slightly along with Slate’s joke. But he means it wholly. He’s going to make sure Slate makes it, and he’s going to make sure he’s there with him. He’ll do it as carefully as possible, wait until the last minute to break the illusion Slate’s created, but he’s going to make it happen. He can’t imagine leaving all of this, potentially finding safety at last, without Slate. “I’ve already thought I lost you once, I’m not going to let it happen again. We’ll make it there, together...I love you, Slate.”

There were many friends Slate had abandoned in this choice, but nothing hit quite as hard as having to pretend that he and Dawn had parted ways. Even if the two of them had made their secret vows. Even if he was now a secretly married man, he ached and he grieved for what he might have ruined forever. But this news of leaving, it felt like his chance for something. Slate had lost so much, been put through so much, maybe he wasn’t perfect but he felt he deserved to see his marriage through with Dawn. To be the husbands he dreamed of. He wasn’t going to let this slip from their fingertips.

“Help how?” He squeezes again, feeling Dawn trace the ring on his hand. “I would never turn down your help but how would that not raise suspicion?” He’s taken a step closer and his voice gets lower, but it’s oh-so comforting being this close again. “I would rather you be close, and not help me, and guarantee we walk out of this place together. Can we agree to that? We play it safe until the last moment, I don’t want to risk it.” Not if it means losing Dawn. He’ll avoid every risk possible if it means Dawn’s safety is guaranteed.

...

The relief that Slate isn’t willing to do anything that might risk this opportunity doesn’t fully outweigh the panic and worry that something could go wrong so easily, even if they do everything they can to play it safe. But he knows that it’s the right choice to be careful until the very last second. He wants to offer to talk to anyone that Slate needs, to be a second pair of hands, but he knows that Slate’s right in the end, it’s too risky even if he’s not helping him at his side to do anything that could be interpreted as being in this together, that might raise suspicion and give away the truth behind Slate’s charade. It doesn’t make it any easier to accept, though. At least Slate understands how necessary it feels to be close, though, that even if they can’t be side by side, just being near will make them both feel better about making it out together in the end. He squeezes his hand back, savors this momentary closeness. 

“Okay, I know you’re right...I’ll stay close, but I won’t help. We’ll be careful, but you have to work fast, we can’t risk not making it. As soon as you’re finished, we’re leaving together, even if that means just keeping you in my sight until you make it through that door, and I can follow,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. He can’t help but move a hand to Slate’s cheek, let his fingers brush over his skin, savor that warmth, even if he shouldn’t, but it feels like the moment to take it, before distance is theirs again, for fear of something going wrong. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, Slate Hardcreek.”

The touch of his hand is familiar. Skin he missed so terribly. But he knew it instantly when it reached to take hold of him. On instinct, almost frantic, his second hand reaches up to take hold of the hand, both of his hands now gripping Dawn intensely. He squeezes, hoping that it can say more than he can out loud.

“I’m not thinking that way.” And neither should Dawn. He doesn’t plan to be left behind. He has hurt far too long for them not to reach the better life together. Whatever it looks like, he can’t give up. “But I can’t go there yet. I still have things to do. I have to—… I have to show them that I’ll fight to get these kids out.”

...

There’s no stopping the tears that fall the moment that Slate redoubles his grip, when his other hand comes up to hold on tight, squeezing, saying so much without the risk of words put into the air. It feels like the hope for escape is only now truly becoming something real, now that he’s allowed to touch Slate again, to hold onto his hand, to be close enough to smell that familiar scent, to be able to look at him without having to look away. And it’s an enormous relief unlike anything he could imagine to hear that Slate isn’t thinking that way, that he doesn’t plan to play the martyr and risk being left behind. That gives him true hope, to know that, for all he’s been put through, he still wants something better for himself.

All he wants to do is to lean forward and kiss him, but he worries about who’s watching, how much that might put Slate’s safe escape is jeopardy, when coming to see him in Seven is risk enough. So instead he joins his other hand with his, covering his hand, fingers moving to trace over the ring Slate’s wearing, the ring to quietly symbolize their private vows to each other. “I understand, I know you have to do all you can...but let me help you. We don’t have to stay side by side, but let me stay close. Let me make sure we both make it in time,” he says quietly, and he hates how desperate it sounds, but he is. It reminds him too much of all of the other goodbyes he hadn’t realized were goodbyes. If he keeps Slate in sight, at least they won’t have to have that moment, even if something goes wrong. “Fight for them as long as you can, and then we go together. Please.” 

Dawn’s drinking tea. If Twig was thinking about anything at all besides this harebrained scheme unfolding in front of them, he might have guessed that. Dawn was a creature of habit, always comforting in his familiarity. He probably could have guessed what Dawn would say next, too: there are probably those, in the Tower, who would make the trade of Twig for Harbor with barely a twinge, but not Dawn. Dawn’s always been on Twig’s side. Dawn’s always been Twig’s person.

He listens to Dawn. Leans into the weight of his hand and stills, for a moment. But—his first reunion with Harbor was nothing like he might have dreamed it would be. There was no forgiveness. There was no recognition. There’s no reason to think that a second reunion would go any differently. If they reunited once again. But his guilt goes deeper than that. “He was the one who wanted all of this. Who wanted to fight for it. And I—I didn’t believe it was possible.” And he left Harbor over it. Robbed himself—robbed them both—of time they could have had together. Time they’ll never get back, not now. Time that he mourns, but doesn’t think that Harbor does. “How is it fair that my way out is guaranteed, but his—we’ll just have to put it someone else’s hands and wait and see.”

...

It’s rare to see Twig so outwardly off balance. He’s always been a strong constant since they met all over again in the Capitol twenty years ago, even in the quiet, private moments that he’s held onto him through his pain, he’s still been immeasurably strong, even if Twig might not have felt it himself. And so it breaks his heart to hear him talk like this, but it’s not a surprise, considering the way things have gone this year, the cruelty that the Capitol has put him through in particular, personalized and weaponized through Harbor’s own pain. He’s right, it’s not fair that the one between them who wanted this isn’t even guaranteed to make it that far, but Dawn knows how those who put their heart and soul into causes bigger than themselves are, it doesn’t matter so much if they manage, as long as others do, as long as things keep pushing forward. 

He knows Twig doesn’t need to hear that, either, though, just in the way there’s no denying that their second reunion still might be hollow, too, if they both make it that far. What feels desperately imperative here is making sure he knows that, even if it’s not fair, they have to survive to give those like Harbor who won’t what they’ve been fighting for all along. “None of it’s fair. It’s never been fair, for him, for you, for anyone,” Dawn says emphatically, shaking his head, very aware of how warm tears are brewing behind his eyes, things truly hitting now, maybe, as he talks with Twig about the reality of it all. “We’re all in unknown hands, but at least we can do everything we can to make what he believed is possible a reality, and set him up to meet us there. And to do that, we have to do what he wanted. If we can’t guarantee safety, the only thing we can do is make sure it wasn’t all for nothing. And that means we keep going until we can’t anymore, doesn’t it?”

There’s a sigh of relief when he hears Dawn’s voice. If he were more certain, he would rush to be held in the other’s arms, but as it stands right now, Dawn gives no indication to whether they’re truly alone or not, so he holds his ground. “I appreciate the caution.” He nods, sticking his cane under his arm and turning to face closer to Dawn’s voice.

“Seems we are both up to date on the state of things?” He asks carefully, turning his head to ‘look around’ as if to silently inquire if they were the only ones in the room. He needs to gage just how safe this conversation should be. If he should remain a safe distance away from the man he secretly married, which is proving to be rather difficult.

...

There’s no possible way to stop the feeling of warm tears looking at Slate, a small part of the fear gone briefly before new fears set in. “It sounds like we are...it’s okay, we’re alone,” he says quietly, although he doesn’t mention his fear that they might still be being listened to, the caution that he hates they have to have even in moments like this. But Twig is off looking for last minute sponsorships, and Ivory is likely coming up with a recklessly brave plan, and he’s terrified that Slate might be planning to do something that won’t give him the chance to make it to the meeting point on time, too, to try to keep his cover as long as possible. It’s dangerous, but he can’t help it, can’t help the pull he feels towards Slate. He hopes that if anyone’s watching, his actions can be put down to his over-emotionality, nothing more. 

Dawn steps closer, and reaches out, taking Slate’s free hand, unable to stop himself, giving a squeeze, even as he keeps his voice low. “I was worried it wouldn’t get to you fast enough, I couldn’t imagine you not...” he trails off, not wanting to indulge that thought, wanting Slate to know he wouldn’t allow it. “I’m going to go talk to Emerald, and then I’m done. Let me help you, and then we can...find our way.”

As soon as Robyn finishes talking to Ivory, Dawn immediately takes her into his room, seeing how ready she is to fight, and tells her not to do anything stupid, to be safe and careful. But he can tell from how she’s reacting to the news that nothing he says will stop her from doing everything she can to make sure the others are safe first before even thinking about taking care of herself. Still, he tries to calm her down, to negate some of the rage that’s bubbling up for her, ready to let it out, he reminds her how much he loves her and that he needs her around. She seems willing to humor him for a bit, they have a nice moment in his room like they did during her Games prep, he brushes her hair, the braids it perfectly, and gives her a very tight hug, none of the worry lessening, knowing he has to accept what she needs before they leave. He gives her one last hug, and a kiss on the forehead before leaving to find Emerald.

Nelly wasn’t really close to Gage. He felt distant, and could sense how much she adored Wren, it seemed clear that he didn’t want anything to do with her, as much as she tried to make him comfortable and successful, too. He seemed turned off by it all.

Her hands rub together, and she looks down at her chipped nailpolish. She’s forgotten to touch it up for days now but she’s not going to fix it. She can’t. As much as she wants to wave her magical little escort wand and make it all better, she can’t.

“I wish that were the case as well.” She sighs, looking down at her lap. “But it’s one thing after the other and it feels like there’s no chance to breath or make the right choice. We’re just stuck, having to watch it all happen and hope that they do alright. Which, not all of them are.”  And that reality is beginning to haunt her, the true helplessness of this year.

...

It’s been twenty years as a stylist, but no amount of time witnessing the Capitol’s unique brand of horrors could have prepared him––or any of them––for what this year has been. He can empathize with what Nelly must be feeling about Gage, even if the circumstances in Seven weren’t quite the same. But there was clearly a favored tribute, and while he did his best to give Nettle what she needed before the Games, it still wasn’t enough to change her fate. He’s had tributes like Gage before, distant, angry, perhaps selfish, and he can only imagine his position felt a hundred times worse, for believing he was past that risk, for leaving family behind, and then for being second to another family member, in a way, in the end.

None of that understanding for either side of things makes it any better, though. He wishes that he had something to say to Nelly to make it feel less horrible, to make it feel less hopeless, not just the situation with Gage, but all of it, but he’s been having trouble keeping his own head up.

“You’re right, there’s no moment of peace for any of us, and yet it feels as if there’s nothing to do,” he agrees with a frown. “I think all we can do is keep going, anyway. Try to be here for those we love, and try to do all we can to get help for them. It feels worse to just sit around watching, I think, even if we can’t help them all.”

Nelly hums thoughtfully when Dawn explains what had happened for him back there in the game room. It was all pure chaos, in her opinion, it doesn’t shock her that his team was scrambling to do what they could and provide for Harbor. They all wanted to see their loved ones make it through this hiccup.

This whole thing, really.

“I don’t really know what we’re doing, what we can do. I think Fava’s trying to get something for Wren but Gage…” She trails off. Would they even want to help Gage? None of them want to see him die but he’s actively working against them. But it also seems cruel to favor one over the other. She knew that was so much of the young man’s grief anyways. It was a terrible place to be put it, and it felt awful.

“I just know that I don’t feel good about myself.” She frowns, looking at her hands. She tends to see herself as a good person. But how can she be when she’s picking and choosing who lives and who dies like this. Why do they get to put more value in Wren then in Gage? How is she supposed to walk away feeling like she’s the good one here.

...

He can only imagine how horrifying things have been for Twelve after those last few moments of the broadcast of their tributes. It had been horrifying enough to watch the attack, to see Bire killed, but then to see them immediately walk into a stand-off against Fava’s own brother-in-law, someone who everyone would hope would be willing to do anything and everything to help little Wren through this all, who would be on the right side of things, seeing what his sibling had gone through and helped start with it all... Dawn can hardly fathom what Twelve must be feeling right now. 

After twenty years as a stylist, even if he doesn’t know what it feels like to be thrown into the Arena, he’s seen over and over the way the circumstances can change people, or make them make choices that seem completely unfathomable to the outside. He’s seen what the weeks of training and primping leading up to them do, and he has to imagine that Gage had a rough go of that, when even from the outside it was clear most were focused on Wren over him. But it’s still horrible to see, and Nelly’s fear is founded, he’s afraid. He’s not sure how possible it would be to get Gage help, even if anyone wanted to at this point.

“It’s an impossible situation, none of you should have to be in, in or out of the Arena,” Dawn frowns, shaking his head. “I don’t know if it’s possible for anyone to feel good about themselves when the Games are what they are this year. We shouldn’t have to choose. I wish we could help them all somehow.”

She’s not going to deny the company of Dawn. Hadn’t they said something about being there for each other just yesterday? Or something along those lines. She can hardly remember, but what she does know is that she’s struggling, and Dawn is known for his support in times like these. She doesn’t want to deny that.

She gives a shaky laugh at the joke he made. It’s not that she thinks it’s that funny but the light air is appreciated, at the very least. Everything is so dire, a joke or two would not be terrible in these times.

“No, no. Your company is comforting, please stay.” She reaches to give his arm a squeeze. “Seems you’re fleeing the scene as well, then.”

...

He’s not expecting her to say no, but he won’t be upset if she does. Even if he doesn’t know Nelly as well as he probably should, he’s fairly certain they’re a little alike in a lot of ways, and being alone, especially during those particularly low moments, isn’t something that Dawn can ever really manage to take easily, always needing to be around someone to ground him. Her little laugh at his joke is shaky, but he thinks it’s a good sign she’s able to manage it at all considering the way things are going right now. 

It’s such a small thing, the way she reaches out and gives his arm a squeeze as she tells him to stay, that he’s a comfort, but it means the world to him right now especially when it feels like nothing he can do or say has enough impact to help anyone in the ways they all need it. It all feels too enormous for any of them to take on well, so to know he might be able to help just by being around and offering support is motivating.

“Thank you, Nelly, that means a lot,” Dawn says softly, giving her a gentle smile. “Everyone in Seven scattered to try to find sponsorships, I figured I should do the same...and I needed a little break after seeing all of that, too.”