the golden fire escape brigade ; cedric & ruby

Over the course of the hour, something about me changes. The grimy air goes sweet in my lungs, the heat of strangers is no longer suffocating.

Common sense begs I slip away, I'm good at that. Finding shadowy corners where eyes glaze over the pleasant-looking boy with his pleasant-looking smile. I could hand over the memory card and go back to the hotel. Soak these memories in vinegar and pretend not to find his name in the ruddy light of red rooms.

"Come on, come on, follow me."

About to exit, stage left - I don't account for the fact that Ruby might come looking for me.

Isn't his smile tired? He's got so many of them.

I've stolen the strangest ones, finger-smudged polaroids shoved in the waistband of my jeans. The band will be none the wiser and tomorrow I will be gone. The kindest lies are truths you never have to tell.

Over the course of the hour, I must have become more daring. Holding half a grin as I let him unravel me; the further he pulls me into a writhing crowd the more it's just the two of us. The wool he ruins is red too.

"Look." Ruby tells me. So I do. At the glitter clinging to his lashes, and the way his sweat slicked skin glows under light pollution. Carving out the corded muscle in his bicep, barely there, to the tangle of veins on the back of his hand. I wonder if he's impatient, if he expects adoration to be on his own time.

It's obvious he wants it. I recognize staving, even if it isn't the kind that clings to bone.

And I'm obviously good at taking photos. A flush burns up my stomach, settling somewhere on my chest. I pull my collar away from the scratching heat, and try to disguise the gesture by picking up my camera. He knows he looks good through a viewfinder, and I've told myself I'll never waste film on pretty things.

If I had my way, I'd pick him apart. Capture every inch of him that hides pent-up honesty. He wouldn't like that very much and loathe to admit, I'd really like him to like me. The breeze that takes his place when he leaves my side is somewhat taunting.

I scowl and and snap a quick photo of the rust on the balcony's railing, flaking off like rotten skin. From now on, that is what longing will look like.

It goes on like that. I put my feelings in the wreckage he leaves behind. The way the clouds embrace the moon as he shouts. A beer bottle teetering on the edge of the balcony, plummeting onto asphalt in a cascade of foam and glass. A silhouette against yellowed curtains, hand held over their formless heart in surprise. The half-moons my nails wear into my palms from clenching into fists. The moment worry melted into reverence.

His boots hitting asphalt, a clover crushed beneath his heel.

"So?"

Finally, Ruby. What he looks like when he's seeking me. So out of sorts that his voice gets stolen by the distance between us and is still one the most beautiful things I've ever heard.

I don't answer, because I'm stubborn and I want to know what happens if I take my time. I pick a careful path, quiet save for the metal creaking under my feet and the breath hissed between my teeth when I slip on a stair and catch my shin on a nail.

Then we're face to face again, so close I could reach out and touch him.

I don't.

It takes me a moment to figure out what to say, so I'm just smiling. A split skin, scraped knee kind of smile. So he can catch the adrenaline rush raging in my veins. Red, red, red too. "For the record," I huff, blowing hair out of my eyes, "The show's over. You can't tell me what to do."

I take a few steps back, still facing him. I hold up my camera and let it swing from its strap, "And they're mine. You can't have them." I grew up playing these kind of games, did he? "Unless you can convince me. Or catch me."

I was raised around crowded tables, rubbing elbows and clipping ribs. Through voices overlapping in incongruent pitch, fighting off fingers that creep onto the edge of dinner plates to steal last bites. There are not many things that I could ever call - "i did say so." - completely mine. It makes them all the more precious, something to hold in colorless knuckles. Unfortunate that the grip breaks most fragile things. "and i'm keeping as many as I want."

His words have melody because he's still performing them. Tone deaf as I am I capture the tune, curling my lips into a broad smile in an attempt to sing along. "Not the photos you're paying for, they'll be perfect unfortunately." They'll look nice, of course. Silhouetted against simple backdrops to capture motion, to flatter the lanky lines bodies draw when they are thrashing about a stage. I scrunch my nose, "Such an uninteresting thing to be."

In fact, I've ruined all my best work. Frames off center, smudging fingers over lenses, letting oil ruin polaroids or running magnets over their backs until the image warps. I tell myself there's meaning in something that could have been but isn't.

But refuses to be.

He shows me the place I've scrawled my name, ink still smudged from the pad of his thumb. I decide I like it more like that. Hopefully he'll pretend not to notice the sound of my shoes scuffing against asphalt as I stumble a couple of steps in my haste to catch up with him. He speaks of fine print, "Next time you should read it to me." I lean in, until I can feel the heat of his skin raise goosebumps on my jaw. My best attempt at puppy-dog eyes, "If I said please?"

There's a sticky mist on the night air, clinging to the inside of my lungs. I feel bolder free of searching spotlights. We've left the concrete playground, skyscrapers thinning into more open architecture. "Woooooooow," I didn't know the Capitol cared for keeping gardens. "Wow!"

We've reached a park of sorts, sprawling grass tufted by fuzzy white... clouds? "Ruby, I think the sky is falling." Delighted by the idea, I take off at a run, catching a low-hanging limb of a tree and swinging. The toes of my sneakers kick up fluff, and it sticks in my hair and on my shirt and between my lips as I laugh.

I hang, for a second, looking over at Ruby to make sure he's still watching. As if I might stop stop existing when he looks away, "You didn't tell me you were taking me to the end of the world." I accuse, pulling up over the branch and sitting atop it instead. I hold out a hand, "Looks even better from up here."

"I've got you." In a voice so warm it scalds my throat. Breathing careful, free arm bracing the space between his shoulder blades to keep him upright. Ripped calluses catch on corduroy where I press my fingers into the notches on his spine, "it's a bit tricky if you're not used to it."

Perhaps I should have figured, his touch was too soft. Hands more like accessories than tools, for adornment and adoration. "Besides" I tug the collar of his shirt back into place, gone askew in his graceless scramble, "falling only hurts a little."

Seeds are not as cool as broken skies, but moving mountains is a good consolation. I pout regardless. "All that travel to end up in an engineered playpen." I don't think I could disguise my disdain, even if I cared to. Something wistful settles in my gut as I look out at the patch of manicured land, missing the buzz of summer pests and thorny weeds which marred One's landscape. Homesick, unfortunately.



I'm torn from my brooding to find Ruby already looking at me. His undivided attention aches, I settle under it with wide eyes. There's nothing subtle about a boy dressed up in shiny things and clawing his way toward the stars. I like the way the words are a punch to the gut.

We're utterly alone, under the cover of rustling leaves, and I'm forced to consider for the first time tonight that he may actually mean them. He uses a forest fire for emphasis like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"You're insane!" I leap up, it's not an insult. The match falls in slow motion, and I scramble onto the thinner end of a bough to get a good look. It teeters precariously under my weight, as I use one hand to reach toward the flames creeping away from where the match had fallen. Feather-light, the most gentle I've ever seen destruction be.


It eats away at the seeds leaving the grass beneath untouched. I watch the flames lick themselves into a frenzy, laughter following its pace. In my haste to return to Ruby's side the branch snaps halfway, diving into open flame. Pity, I've ruined the Capitol's careful enrichment.

Mischief settles in the bark under my nails, my palm thuds against the trunk, "That's got a knife, right?" I coax the lighter from Ruby's hands - some sort of multi-tool plucked straight out of an arena. "Perfect."

I make sure to carve a c deep enough into the wood that it'll take effort to remove. "Any requests?"

Let me linger here, in more than memory.