astral trajectories

Wyatt adjusted his tie for the umpteenth time, his cheeks still flushed and hands slightly trembling as he stood out on the front step with you next to him. You turned towards him, brows furrowed in concern. "Are you alright, my love?"

Wyatt spins around to face you, a sweat forming on his brow. "Yes." You raise your eyebrows. "No– It's just– I've never… done this before. Meeting the pa– uncle?" You hum and turn back to the door.

"I'm aware," you reply drily. "But he isn't all bad! He'll love you, actually. And Lenore Dove will too, especially her." Wyatt hums, the tension in his shoulders receding. You open the door and a creak follows, as expected. Wyatt has to slump ever so slightly to walk through the frame and his foot catches on the loose plank in the foyer. You glance back with your gaze sharp and piercing and Wyatt freezes for a second. He's only seen that look a few times, and never pointed towards him. He makes himself look tall and follows you further inside.

"Clerk Carmine!" You shout, "come down, I've got a guest." You stand at the foot of the stairwell, impossibly still. Wyatt watches you, and then looks around the room, fiddling with his thumbs.

The heavy footsteps on the second floor alert you of Clerk Carmine's arrival before you even see his figure. He grimaces at you. "A guest?" he says, like he can't believe your words.

"A friend."

"Friend?" He draws the word out.

"Something more than that."

"What, still undefined?"

You guffaw, "fine, my boyfriend." There's a hint of a smile on his lips, and he steps down. Wyatt's heart does a little jump when you call him your boyfriend.

"Get him to the yard. I'll make some sandwiches."

"Aye." You turn around in a flash, already ushering Wyatt outside before he has time to question you. Wyatt stumbles a moment as he steps down the last step, boots landing in the soft, green grass. The wind blows in his face and rustles his hair. You fix his hair for him.

"You alright?" Wyatt asks, albeit sheepishly. He feels out of place in the yard, which is overgrown with foliage and trees that were a rare sight in District 12. You nod vigorously and lead him further into the yard before sitting him down in a rickety chair.

"Of course I'm alright!" You chide, sitting down across him. "Clerk Carmine can be a little judgemental, that's all." Wyatt furrows his brows.

"Should I have prepared more?" He glance down at the clothes he was wearing. A scruffy dress shirt and straight legged trousers. Maybe it wasn't colorful enough for the Covey. He suddenly felt very exposed among the beds of vibrant wildflowers.

You sigh, "no, of course not. You're perfect the way you are." Wyatt's heart eases a little, "I just hope Clerk Carmine thinks you're perfect too."

"I hope so too," he replies. You give him a smile. You loved Wyatt when he was like this, with a boyish glint in his eyes and his broad shoulders trembling from nerves. Any hint of emotion was a welcome change to his usual stoic look. "The flowers are… they're really pretty," he stammers. "Colorful, like you guys." Your heart jumps and you smooth out your clothes.

"Gee thanks, Wyatt," you hum. "I planted some of these. But I forgot to water half of 'em."

"Oh," Wyatt pauses, "they're still pretty. Just… like you."

You laugh, "how cheesy. But I appreciate it, doll." You plant a kiss on his cheek and lean back just as the door to the backyard opens and Clerk Carmine walks out with a tray.

Wyatt jumps to his feet. "Let me help you." Clerk Carmine shoves right past him, fixing him a glare. Being the recipient of many such looks whenever you went to the Hob to barter, you feel a chill course through your spine.

Wyatt glances at you for help. You sit up, blinking, "My, isn't that heavy. Clerk Carmine? You should let Wyatt help." You bat your eyelashes. To Clerk Carmine, it just looks more brutish compared to your usual methods of manipulation.

"I'm fine, sweets," he assures you pointedly and sets the tray down with a thud that would've made u flinch if you weren't Covey. It wasn't any worse than boots thumping along to music on wood floors above your room.

"Well that's great," you deadpan. Clerk Carmine gives you a wry smirk. Wyatt gingerly walks back to his seat. The chair creaks and trembles a bit under his weight.

Clerk Carmine pours out tea and gently places the cups on their respective flowery porcelain saucers. "So, Wyatt," you sigh, "what are your intentions with my niece?"

Wyatt blinks, eyes as wide as the saucer he has in his hand. "Erm,"

"What? You wanna marry her? Give your kids a miserable life in the Districts?" Clerk shoots back. To be completely honest, Wyatt hadn't thought that far. He didn't know if he wanted to marry you either. He loved you to death and probably spent half of his salary getting you colorful trinkets. But he's seen what happens to District kids. Seam kids, in particular. He shuts his eyes before he could think about them. Caved in stomachs and sunken cheeks for children who shouldn't even know how hunger felt like.

"No, of course not…" Wyatt scoffs, "I'd never do that to ou– my kids." You raise a brow.

"So you aren't willing to sacrifice anything for her?" Wyatt freezes, dumbfounded.

"Yes I am," he answers immediately. "I'd do anything to protect her, really."

"She's Covey, she doesn't need a protector." Clerk Carmine dishes out sandwiches, but you've left your tea untouched. He looks up at you, furrowing his brows.

You huff, "does MY opinion not matter? I think he's a damn fine boyfriend, I don't care about marriage or kids or– any of this stuff!" You throw your hands up, "I'm Covey, I don't need a provider."

"Don't take that tone with me," Clerk Carmine scolds you, albeit lightly.

"I'll take whatever tone with whomever I want. Even if it's you ACTING LIKE A CHILD!" You scream the last bit, and Wyatt flinches. Clerk Carmine however, is used to this.

You exhale and close your eyes, expecting the conversation to ebb and return to its previous strained atmosphere.

What happens next however, is completely new.

"You're grounded."

Your eyes open with a start. "What?"

"Grounded."

Wyatt suddenly feels incredibly out of place.

"You can't ground me, I'm eighteen!"

"And still living under my roof. Grounded." Clerk Carmine finishes his sandwich. What a mundane thing to do after he takes away your freedom. "For a month. No singin', no nothing. You go outside with me only."

"Are you kiddin'?!" You screech. Wyatt flinches again. "Where's Lenore Dove? She does a lot of stupid stuff but never gets grounded."

"She's not getting you out of this one either. Forget about it." Clerk Carmine gets up, stretching his back out.

"Where're ya goin'?" You yell, getting up yourself. Your skirts flutter around you, matching the flowers behind you.

"Inside. Clean this up," Clerk Carmine deadpans. Now that was the weirdest thing he's ever said in the last five minutes.

"What?"

"Clean this up." Clerk Carmine stops walking and turns around to gesture to the table full of plates and mugs.

You grimace, "I don't know how to." You and Lenore Dove have never even crossed paths with a dirty dish in the sink.

"Figure it out." He makes his way to the backyard door, takes his time and stops in the doorframe. "You're still grounded." The door shuts behind him with an entirely unremarkable thud. Not nearly dramatic enough for your life-ending predicament.

Wyatt watches your eye twitch. "Are you… okay?" He says. A rhetorical question, they're called. His brother told him about it. They're stupid, at least to him. Theres a zero percent chance you are okay, and therefore there's no need to question it. He did hear that it was basic courtesy, so he might aswell.

You sniffle, nose burning up as you stand. "I've never been grounded before." Made sense. In twelve, most parents don't have time to watch their kids. Or a full enough stomach to waste energy on them. The Covey were different though. Food came second, freedom first. For his beloved to be grounded… even if it was a juvenile punishment due to be revoked, was equivalent to a bird getting its wings clipped.

"He'll come around." Wyatt gets up and sits you back down on the lawn chair with a gentle hand on your shoulder. He gathers up all of the plates and glasses, like clockwork. You sit and watch.

"I don't think he will." You sound so glum, it breaks his heart. You let out a long sigh, throwing your head back and looking up at the sky. "This is so unfair. Lenore Dove can do whatever she wants, and I'm older than her."

Wyatt hums. "I'm sure Clerk Carmine is just joking. He doesn't seem like the type to hold grudges for long." He hopes he isnt, anyhow. He'd only known Clerk Carmine for the last hour, but he could see the love he had for you. "I'll put these away." You nod in response, watching him walk back inside with his hands full of cutlery.

You stand up from your chair, wiping your hands on your skirt. You look around the lawn, with its overgrown grass and unkempt sprawling weeds, and begin picking away at the dandelions. Voices come from the house, one of which you recognise as the floaty, sharp voice of Lenore Dove. The other being the quiet mumble of Clerk Carmine. You head back inside, wiping your feet on the crochet floormat. Lenore Dove greets you warmly, planting a kiss on your cheek. "What's wrong?" You ask as Lenore Dove heads upstairs into her room.

"Your boy left," Lenore Dove yells from the second floor. Your ears tense.

"You're kidding?" You shout. Clerk Carmine nods, mumbling under his breath. "You kicked him out?" You spin on Clerk Carmine who was washing dishes in the sink.

"You can meet him once you're ungrounded."

"Which will be when, in five years?"

"Don't be so dramatic. And don't look at me like that, please. Good– go upstairs."

You purse your lips and do as you were told.

It has since been three days since you were grounded. You couldn't go to the market, to the bar, to the wilds– anywhere that wasn't in the vicinity of the Covey residence. Most of those three days were spent looking after the lawn and picking weeds, much to Lenore Dove's dismay.

Someone threw something at your window. A rock, you assumed. And then again. You close the volume of the book you were reading and walk to your bedroom window. You pull it open right as another rock soared through the opening and landed on the floor beside you. Who, you thought, as hair blew onto your face, could be seeking your attention so furiously? You looked down and saw the unmistakable broad-shouldered outline of Wyatt Callow. He beamed up at you, his features just barely illuminated by the lantern hanging from one of the walls. Wyatt looked around him, and stopped upon seeing the magnolia tree the size of the house. You heave a sigh, already expecting the next sequence of events. Which were attempted many times before by other Covey paramours. Wyatt pulls himself up on a thick, sturdy branch, sending birds flying from the tree. The creaking and chirps made you wince. You rest your head against the windowsill, watching his silhouette scamper up the tree with the grace of a newborn deer.

You remembered watching Haymitch Abernathy do the same in an attempt to be romantic and make Lenore Dove swoon. It was a rather pathetic attempt. He was even less nimble-footed than Wyatt, and made it up three branches before his coat snagged and he fell all the way down onto the grass. You remember bursting out into laughter at the sight, doubling over with stitches at your side. The sound echoed through the residence and caused Clerk Carmine to wake up with a huff. And, as he entered your room still in his night-gown and night-cap, he ushered you back into bed and turned out the lights. But, as you laid in the darkness still giggling, you heard the rustle of grass against fabric and the sound of running beneath Lenore Dove's window.

You and Lenore Dove never suffered the same difficulties. That tree was as old as the first Covey tombstone in the wilds, so naturally you knew every route down from it like it was the back of your hand. Many nights were spent giggling and shushing one another as the two of you snuck out to the lake in the Wilds, or to a bar, or to the Hob, or to meet your friends, clutching bundles of clothes under your arm. Every branch of that magnolia felt like an extension of your arm, yet none of the Covey paramours possessed the same gift.

Wyatt makes a wrong step, and the branch creaks and dips mournfully beneath him. He pulls his foot back at the last second, heart beating out of his chest. Maybe he should've brought a ladder. He takes a deep inhale, remembers what his brothers told him and tests another branch, sinking his weight onto it and then levering himself onto another. Only… twenty more branches to go, he assumes. He sinks into a crook of the tree to catch his breath, before continuing to climb.

"The only way into her house is a tree, I think."

Wyatt did not expect the laugh that came from his brother when he said that. "Well, then, Wyatt— my unathletic, footsteps -that-sound-like-a-bear Wyatt— you shall have to climb."

"Stop hitting my shoulder– thank you. And anyway, wouldn't it be easier to take a ladder with me?"

"That's not romantic enough," he replies, "people like the Covey hold everything dear to their heart. You can't do anything the conventional way with them– I mean it, Wyatt! Your brother wants the best for you–" he drinks from his mug– "And you can't carry a ladder all the way from here to the Covey residence." He pats Wyatt's shoulder again. "Goodluck, boy."

Wyatt sighed, looking at the moonlight leaking through the leaves. Your gaze is fixed on the moon and you sway gently. Your nightgown billows around you and Wyatt stands transfixed, watching every blink, every inhale and every sigh. He snaps out of it when you look at him and smile. With his cheeks now red, he heaves himself up onto the last branch with a grunt. His arms shake. "You made it," you gasp, eyes widening. There's sweat beading on his brow, dripping into his collar and his cheeks are flushed red, his breathing erratic. You clear your throat to break the silence. Wyatt inches closer to the window, just barely balancing himself. "This is your worst idea yet," you said, your voice dripping with amusement. You step away right as Wyatt tumbles forward onto your bedroom carpet, the floorboards creak beneath him and you wince.

"Sorry." Wyatt sucks in a breath. You help him up from the floor. "Not the most graceful, right?" You shush him, and he sinks his head onto your shoulder. "I'm surprised it… worked−"

"Why'd you risk it? You could've hurt yourself," you furrow your eyebrows. His legs are beginning to buckle, "you know that, right?"

"I needed to see you." One of his arms drops from where it's wrapped around your shoulder to fumble through his pockets. You groan, prying Wyatt off of you. He looks at you like he's done something wrong to make you not support his leviathan weight, but recedes to sit down on the edge of your mattress.

"What's the occasion?"

He stops, blinking up at you. You raise your brows. His normally stoic face breaks into a smile, like the clouds parting for the sun. You smile despite yourself, breaking into giggles. "What? What is it? You're in my room at three A.M., there must be something important, right? What's in your hand, Wyatt?" Wyatt hesitates before holding his fist out to you. You pry his fingers open one-by-one to reveal a tiny little gemstone, fiery red like a piece of the sun was embedded at its core. Not a chip in sight, unlike the rest in your collection. The pieces at the Hob had been passed through too many hands for them to sparkle like this one, to gleam like this one. "Wow…" You don't feel like you should be looking at this. "Where'd you get it, Wy?" He turns his hand over so the gem drops into your palm. Your fingers tighten around it, feeling its perfect ridges.

"Guy at the club bet it on a twelver," he yawned, leaning back and stretching his arms out, "lost it, chances were like finding a needle in a haystack."

"And you pocketed it?"

Wyatt pauses. "Wouldn't you?" Yes. Wyatt didn't respect the club-goers and neither did you. Stealing a gem from them doesn't matter. Wyatt chuckles, receiving his answer in your silence. "You like it, right? I didn't sacrifice my spotless record for nothing."

"Of course I like it, I−I love it," you've only spun away to place it on the perfect spot on your shelf, "gorgeous," you swoon, observing it from afar. "Thank you, Wy." Wyatt nods and you turn around to face him. "Why'd you climb the tree? No one's done that, y'know."

"It's the only way in," he concedes.

"You risked your life about six times climbing it."

"The success rates weren't zero. And, I wanted to see you," he whispers in the quiet. You feel your cheeks warm, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a hug. He deflates, bringing his arms around your waist, albeit hesitantly. You sigh, relaxing your body, your tensed jaw and mildly furrowed brow. That is, until you hear the creaking of floorboards outside, followed by the opening of a door. Heavy-set footsteps, a gait you know very well to be Clerk Carmine's. Wyatt bristles like a cat, pulling away from you instantly.

You jump, mind already beginning to race. "Oh– Wyatt, you need to get out!" You whisper-shout, ushering him over towards the window with bated breath. He doesn't resist, allowing himself to be pushed to the window-sill. He's as silent as a mouse, his otherwise weighted footsteps subdued. He turns to face you once he's at the window, wind blowing through his black hair and rustliDng the fabric of his shirt. You thumb your fingers over it, feeling the shabby fabric before coming back to your senses. You raise your brows urgently at him, trying to get him to climb back out of the window, "we'll get caught, hurry up already, Wyatt!"

Wyatt giggles, despite himself. He's already leveraging himself onto the branch he came in from, but right as hes about to turn around and make the climb, he turns back for a split second and plants a kiss on your cheek. You cough and sputter at the suddenness, brain short-circuiting. But Wyatt's already too far for you to say anything. The footsteps outside your door get louder, and you quickly shut your window, pulling the curtains closed and running to your bed. You land on the mattress with a soft thud and the sound of springs creaking, and pull yourself under the covers right as the door-knob turns and the wind blows the window open again.