#princeandrci

WIDE  PALE  HUES  ARE  FIXATED ON  AN  INDIVIDUAL, head  tilted  slightly and  brows  furrowed.  luke does  not  want  to  call  them  a  stranger  because of  the  dizzying wave  of déjà  vu  that  coincided  the  sighting,  but  he  cannot quite  place  where  he  has  seen  this  face  before.  he’s  seen  that  height,  those  weary eyes,  dark  hair,  pale  complexion somewhere.  could  it  be  a  mere  look-alike? and  if  so  who  has skirted  from  his  memory,  leaving a  mere  wisp  of recognition?  he’s  been  staring  quite  a  while  but  his  thoughts  are  not  in  what  awkwardness this  might  create, but  if  he  knows  this  person.  who  were  you? do you  know  why  I’m  watching you?

@princeandrci

illness has nestled within him, and he has not allowed himself the comfort of finnick’s prolonged touch since it has begun. he has let each cough shake him without support. let himself sweat and suffer and tremble in shallow sleep without the aid that he sorely needs. all to protect his love —- to keep him from catching the same ugliness against which andrei fights a losing battle. the feeling that he will not get better has crept into his thoughts, and he will not subject his love to it. he has brought this upon himself, through wretched choice, and must suffer what the bullet through his side has done to him. he hateshimself. he hates himself, and everything he has done to the man he lovesmore than anything.

and so at these words he shakes his head, as he always had, and tries in vain to turn away —- though the wounds of closed on the outside, they remain painful and infected within, and when he bites a swollen lip, it is cold and sore. “you shouldn’t. ” his voice has settled into a constant whisper. it is all that this weak body can offer. “ i might get you sick. you know that. ”

BRILLIANT  HUES  ROLL  AT THE  RESPONSE,  disregarding it  entirely  as  he  stoops to  climb  atop  the  mattress. “  hush.  ”  movements are  slow  so  as  to  disturb his  dearest  the  least  he  can  manage as  knees  dip  into  plushness and  arms  snake  around  his  beloved.  eyes  close,  and  he  places a  slow  kiss  within  dark  curls  dirtied  with sweat.  one  hand  lays  flat  at  his  chest.  the  beating  heart  and  breaths, however  labored,  that  occur  beneath his  palm  are  reassurance that  after  months—  after heartbreak  to  fill  lifetimes and  anger  and  hurt—  he  is  back.  he  is  back.  he  is  back.  

( he’ll  have  a  hard  time  LEAVING  again with  a  bullet  hole  in  his  side.  )  

tips  of  digits  lazily trace  his  love’s sweater  collar,  familiarity still  existing  even  in  the  fabric  and  of  course  across his  skin.  finnick’s touch  is  as  gentle as  it  has  ever  been  and  always  it is  guided  by  love.  but  the  hurt  hasn’t left.  it’s  as  if  he’s  been  carved out  and  left  hollow in  places  that  never  used  to  be  painful.  years  before  when  love  had  existed  for  finnick  only  in  quick  tastes like  sweetness  upon  his  lips,  perhaps  he  had  thought it  could  fix  him,  but  now  he  knows  love  can  never  be painless.

he  left  you.  the  thought does  not  scream the  way  it  had  months prior,  and  it  does  not  break  his  bones  and  shake the  foundations  of  what  he  had  assumed was  unshakeable.  nonetheless,  it  is  now  a  fact  that  has  been  carved into  stone  and  haunts  a  reunion  equally bitter  as  it  is  sweet. andrei  left.

his  emotions  are  not  a  swirling  molotov  cocktail .  if  she  touches  him  she  won’t  be  turned  to  ash .  queenie  is  so  careful  when  she  hugs  him ,  not  out  of  fear  but  instead  compassion .  she  worries  about  the  newness  of  the  experience .

❛   you  don’t  have  to  say  anythin’ .   ❜

she  tells  him ,  it’s  a  promise .  she’ll  do  all  the  talking ,  or  none  at  all .

❛   it’s  okay .  it’s  gonna  be  okay .  i  got  you ,  sweetie .   ❜

[SMS: Andy B] drinKNIN WHTA ARE YOU???

     ‘ how are you ?  —— no, don’t answer that. stupid question. rather, how are you holding up ? ‘

     ‘ no. it never gets any easier. ‘  she answers the question he didn’t ask ; no NEED to, with how it’s written all over his face.  ‘ but you do get used to the stares. have a drink. ‘

“ what? oh. ” andrei’s hands are balled in his pockets as his weight shifts to his heel, and his eyes drop downward, his expression unable to rid itself of its vexation. he is, for someone who can act with stunning arrogance at times, quite humble to take gratitude. and though perhaps some of this is the result of awkwardness, of not knowing what to say when people thank him for even the smallest things, it is as well out of disbelief and bewilderment. not being a constant failure, after all, feels at times a new sensation, and though he has largely always been successful in school, these matters of secondary life ( because his education, as his father has always said, comes before all else ) have always been challenging. but this feels better. not good, never good. but better.

“ it’s no problem, really, i just … never mind, don’t worry about it. ”