I'm Done With Compromise {Christoph

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight,
lie still, close your eyes girl, so lovely

July had taken notice of the red head too. All curves and wild hair. This was precisely why she needed Christoph. He would be a disguise, a beard. That was pretty clear from her end. But what did he need her for? Sure she was one of the prettiest girls in her year, and she had the gossip girl wrapped around her pinky finger. But would that be good enough for him? For the first time in a long, long July considered the idea that someone might be out of her league. The mere thought of it flushed her with adrenaline, made her feel like a coiled spring, or perhaps a lion or one of those other muttations, ready to pounce.

Certainly she looked it as she approached Christoph, her back turned to the buxom red. With only Christoph in her sights, and a new challenge thrumming through her body, she could almost forget the white hot flash of desire she had felt upon seeing the other girl. Almost.

And there he was, looking elegant despite the heat, almost tempting it. Who wore a suit in the middle of summer? Christoph Konig, that's who. She gave him major props for that. Looks mattered to July. Not in a passing lust-born sort of way, but in a I-will-not-even-acknowledge-you-if-you-do-not-pass-muster sort of way. This was much the same for her friends as for anyone she would consider dating. Looks mattered. They indicated pedigree, but more, they indicated how much a person cared about their figure, how time they took into considering the stares of others. Because if you weren't concerned with society, there was something seriously wrong with you.

This, clearly, would not be a problem with Christoph. It was a relief. Although she liked to buy things for those closest to her, she didn't necessarily like to do complete makeovers. She'd grown out of that. But no, there would be very little work to be done on him. And July quite liked the way her name rolled out of his mouth, longer and fuller than it truly was. Also it was deeply gratifying that she - taking a risk by announcing his name - was in the same boat as him. Maybe they were in the same league after all.

A wink and the taking of her arm. Ah yes, maybe he did need something from her. While many girls might have swooned at these gestures, July just tightened her smirk until her dimples showed, carefully tucking her arm around his own. "I think you're on to something there. I'm a little bored of wandering the street myself. It's so... pedestrian." The smirk eased up a little softening around the edges. She thanked Gaius silently for his vocabulary and verbose nature. Honestly, there was no other way July could ever produced such a word.

Her gaze flickered down the street. Where to, where to? And then she struck it, as sure as lightning. July looked up at him, and positioned as they were side-by-side, it felt like an intimate gesture. "Let's go to the tattoo parlor. I'm desperate to see what the summer's latest trend is." And the way desperate dropped from her lips, slipped past the gloss, it was clear that July had other things on her mind, too.

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight,
lie still, close your eyes girl, so lovely

Ah, that gaze. It was little wonder Christoph was so popular, so desired, and so fear. It seemed to slice right through her, to devour her, to compliment her and to subordinate her all at once. That's what women wanted, right? But she felt him study her, felt herself rise to the occasion. She lifted her back, straightened herself, tucked her hair over her shoulder, walked with purpose and ease, just the way she had been taught. A dog on the end of a leash, but at least she had put herself there.

She that smile when he spoke, even if they launched her into further turmoil. PROPERTY OF JULY JACQUEZ. The words flashed across her mind, a brand she had given Gaius not a few days before. And yet, that had been in sharpie, not permanent ink, and surely he had known it was in jest. Surely he did not think of her that way. Surely she did not hold his heart in her hands. And after that atrocious display at Janice's party... well, she was practically damaged goods.

But there would be no repeating of such a thing, and definitely not in permanent ink. July walked ahead of him just a moment, to give him a view of the full sway of the short skirt, and then fell into easy step at his side. Very easy, actually. They were well matched that way, she realized, and what was a better indicator of compatibility than the speed at which you walked, the length by which your feet crossed one another? She gave herself two seconds, a dip on the sidewalk, and planted the spike into it so that she wobbled and touched his arm, not catching it, fingers light as a breeze.

She offered a shier smile, tugged down the side of her dress nearest to him, and then continued smoothly on. "Just looking," she chided, and then leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. "Of course if there's something your heart desires, I won't tell." Because a tattoo, well, that could be a very private thing. It was always wildly popular to have strange things marked on the inside of wrists, around the eyes, up the arms. But oh the body had so many secret places. The heart, too, as it turned out.

"I'll tell you what. We can just scope things out, but I'll jump, if you do." July lifted her heavy, dark lashes up, looking into those eyes that offered and threatened so much. By now they had the attention of their peers on the street, a slow and growing murmur of gossip. This was what she wanted, had better want, because it was already too late. If he rejected her, not only would her ego collapse, but whatever power she'd had all these years would be a bust too. All because of one stupid drunken slur that was catching, and catching.

And what was some little tattoo when compared to the entirety of her social life?

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight,
lie still, close your eyes girl, so lovely

No, this was no cat and mouse game. Neither was playing by the same rulebook, so it couldn’t be a proper game at all, could it? July narrowed her gaze at him, studying him. Did girls fall all over themselves for Christoph – was he that sort of desirable? Or did they play coy, to make sure he knew just how badly he was wanted? She should’ve paid more attention, studied up a little, before she approached him on the street. Too late for that now. If she’d been a little younger, or perhaps a little lower on the social ladder, she might have been willing to trip herself again and land in his arms.

But she was July Jacquez, damnit, and she had a lot more to lose than him.

She managed a practiced flutter of her heavy, black eyelashes, and a broad smile. Within his reach? She gave just the slightest hint of a shrug, her near shoulder rotating into his own, hip brushing against his. Ambiguous, but also just as suggestive. They seemed, at least, to be on the same page physically. His arm dropped to her waist, her hips rolling with each step so that they were both constantly reminded of the contact. It was exciting, but not the way it should have been. Dangerous, but not natural.
She pressed her glossed lips together, tried to block out such thoughts, while she pondered his question. There was a right answer, and there was an honest answer. July looked one more time to him, to that memorizing gaze. She knew with every fiber of herself that what she was about to do him was the worst thing she had ever done. Didn’t she owe him, even just a little?

“Quod me nutrit me destruit.” She said quietly, which was hardly appropriate, given the noise of the street. They had come within a block of the tattoo parlor, and July fixed her gaze on it. “That which feeds me destroys me. It’s not a language I’m familiar with… I don’t think I’m supposed to know it at all. But my mother has some antiques and there’s one with a lot of strange words and translations on it. We keep it in the basement.” She spoke quickly, so quickly, although at an even tone, the smile playing on her lips just enough to ward off any suspicious glances from strangers. Of course anyone looking at them would hardly care what she was saying.

It wasn’t a flirtatious answer, but she felt that there was chemistry enough for that. No, this was her way of being something else, something more. She wasn’t just some silly girl with a crush. She was a woman who had plans. “But listen to me, going on like that,” she said, back to her usual polished self, one hand at the ends of her curls. Walking side by side, when she looked up to him now, her gaze carried directly past his shoulder and into his cheek. From this angle he was still handsome, but somehow more boyish and approachable.

“What about you? What would explain such a fine gentleman as yourself?”

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight,
lie still, close your eyes girl, so lovely

Ah, those eyes. What she was going to do with those eyes? Already she felt like a traitor, although the thought was still fetal, curled around itself instead of weaving its way through her. She brushed only the edges of it, kissed the shape of it, tasted it. What would it be like, to date without any intention of feeling? Because this was a new revelation about herself, that she might not like what she should like. She had always dated because she had crushed, and really she hadn't dated at all. But now, July wondered. Could one date just because of the thing itself? Would that be satisfying? For her? And what about for him?

Did she have to care at all?

And yet when his saucer eyes caught hers, she knew that she wouldn't be totally immune to his charms, could not be so cold. Maybe that made it okay. Or maybe it made it worse. July shook her head at the title of the poem, drawing a blank. Then again, she'd never really paid any attention to the arts, and she got the feeling that this particular piece, like the quote she had produced, had no business being in school, or Panem at all. What did that say about them? Living the life of leisure, of conformists, while seeking out rebellion in words.

A shiver went up July's spine. She pressed ever closer. It was awkward walking this way, but luckily the tail end of his explanation drew them to the corner of the tattoo shop. July slowed and then stopped, listening and considering. What a strange poem. But then, had hers been any less fatalistic? As they came to a halt, she twisted so that she stood slightly in front of him. This opened a gap between their hips, their chests, and yet it felt distinctly more intimate, looking up into his eyes.

And his smile split the clouds, filled her with sunlight. Oh this was a dangerous game, the kind that cut both ways. She found her expression faltered, a twitch at the corner of her mouth, before she smiled slowly, briefly, shyly. A real July smile. One for one. "That sounds... really perfect. Because it means so much to you." She felt her heart flutter, which seemed entirely strange, but then this was a dangerous conversation, and he was intoxicating, even if she felt no heat in her blood. More like the deadening of liquor. "Are we ready then?" Her brow lifted, quirking her smile into its old self, as she canted her head towards the shop.

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight,
lie still, close your eyes girl, so lovely

It was strange to be in the middle of such a tornado of emotion. At least, it was strange for July. Usually she felt bored or petulant or triumphant. But to feel at once warm, guilty and confused - that was more than a week's worth of oddities. She batted her eyelashes at him, slowly moved her curls over her shoulder and then back to the front as they approached the door. Little movements that she did now naturally and which had taken time to develop. None of it distracted her from the knot in her stomach, from the thumping of her heart.

She decided to focus on what she could control - her thoughts. She knew absolutely that she was not attracted to Christoph, at least not the way she ought to be. July felt no heat in her veins for him. And yet, he was an excellent match, and he was more than good company. He seemed to care, and the rapid beating of his heart made hers want to echo. Strange to like someone and feel nothing for them, because July liked so few people. At least there was no harm in it, not yet. She had to hold onto that.

The cold air hit her like a punch to the gut. She sucked in a sideways breath, the air conditioning stinging her lungs. July shuddered involuntarily as he took his seat. She was genuinely grateful for his touch as he drew her into the seat. She was careful to bring her knees together, to cross her ankles daintily, before lifting her eyes to his.

And if she had never before seen danger in her life, she saw it there, in the recesses of his eyes. She looked away as he undressed, taking his shirt and folding it neatly in her lap, just the way her mother had showed her. Strange that she had never taught July how to fold women's clothes, only her father's, but it came in handy now. The shirt would be crisp as new when Christoph needed it next. And maybe her shyness would play off well. She kept her gaze on the floor for as long as possible, lacking the courage to look at him. She knew what she would see - muscles and strength, veins and sweat. All the things that boys were. She wanted to see softness and curves.

July blinked and forced her gaze up, her lips rolled together. She squeezed his palm, careful not to dig in with her nails. "It doesn't hurt?" She looked at the artist, smirked at him, before looking again to Christoph. "Tell me what it feels like. I - I don't know if I'm ready." For oh so many things, but for a tattoo as well.

i want to hold you close, skin pressed against me tight,
lie still, close your eyes girl, so lovely

It was a mistake to be dressed as she was in a tattoo parlor. Not that it didn't suit; certainly the other ladies in the shop were dressed similarly, if not more scandalously, and wasn't that a feat in the Capitol? No it was a mistake because it gave her so little room to hide. She'd never been particularly squeamish; she liked watching the Games too much to fall for such silly, girlish tendencies like swooning. But it was hard, when there were needles and color and just the hint of something crimson, something too liquid and too vibrant to be paint. She swallowed, looking to the floor, breathed in through her nose, out through her stomach.

Her abs felt like they were feeding on her, pressing inward, trying to run away. She put her fist to her chin, gripped the bone there to center herself. She was not going to faint, damnit. What an embarrassment that would be, in front of anyone, and in front of Christoph Effing Konig - well that would be the end of her. It was more, though. She could be strong for him. It didn't sound pleasant from his description, although he was clearly handling the stress of it in a superior manner. She admired that.

And when his hand reached over, July immediately flattened her fist and pushed her right hand into his, fingers and palm flush with his own. The heat of his hand, the reality of him, immediately banished the lightness. If anything, she immediately felt heavy, in her stomach, in her heart. This was guilt, and curiosity, and feeling in a way she'd never know. After just a second of contact, of being sure he was really there, July looked into his eyes.

He was brave, and he was not all bluster. She could read him well enough for that. So, even though they were in a tattoo shop, and even though there was someone else laboring over him, July stood slightly, still bent at her hips, and kissed his cheek, oh-so-close to his lips that perhaps the stain of her gloss got a little on the corner. She leaned back, just enough to look at him and grinned that confident grin of hers. "For being brave enough to do this." To get a tattoo? To be seen in public with her? She left that up to him. All she knew was that he deserved a thank you.