When words aren't enough [Kay]

This is my December, this is me alone, and I just wish that I didn't feel
Like there was something I missed

It had been surprisingly easy for me to slip away from Mace. I suspected that he wanted more time with his son, my nephew, which was understandable. I didn't want to be any more of a burden than I already was. So when I told him that I wanted to practice a little on my own, just to test myself, he conceded and mumbled something about giving Aranica time to rest. It made me lift an eyebrow now and again until I remembered that Mace had always been excited about new children in the community home - well, excited as Mace got about anything. Interested was probably a more accurate description.

And I realize that it's a relief to see Mace interested in his son. Certainly I was eager to meet Kieran, but it was hard to read Mace on that front. Sometimes he seemed eager and others totally aloof. To watch his day to day involvement in the boy's life insofar as he can be involved... it's rather endearing. And I wish I had more time to witness it.

I carry that thought in my throat now, so heavy that it steals my voice away more times than not. I'm not sure I'll be much of a conversationalist for Julian, but as always I look forward to seeing him, to hearing him. It's still a little strange to have the visual of him after so long studying the emotions in his voice. He gives more away through talking, I've decided. He's worked so hard on schooling his face to be free of expression that I might as well be talking to him on the phone. For the most part. His distracting features aside.

I do my best not to chew on the side of my thumb - already sore from all of the worrying I've done lately - as I return to the dining hall. It is transformed by the lack of bodies, by the sheer space in between. Julian would be easy to spot anywhere, though, crowded or not. I walk towards him, head cocked slightly to one side, curious as to what this summons means. As he's already seated, I scoot onto the bench beside him, an arm's length of space between us. It seems too formal to sit across from him, although there is a certain awkwardness as I settle in, and then drape one arm across the table so that I can turn towards him. And I really want to do it put my head in my hands and cry.

The lump in my throat is thick, making my Adam's apple bob ridiculously as I find a few words. "Would it be possible for us to not do this?" I ask haltingly, trying to find some mental escape from this torture. I wish I could be like Mace, the way he seems to shut everything out, to just forget. I have a feeling this is a conversation I'm going to want to block out, but I know I won't be able to. I could never forget anything Julian has said to me.

I exhale with purpose, trying to breathe around that obstruction, before I start anew. "We can't. I know that. I've got to stop - stop lying. Does it have to be goodbye though?" I smile, and it is the expression that undoes me, ironically. The tears that had been glossing over my eyes begin to gather and I know they'll fall at any moment. "I'd prefer something along the lines of: it doesn't matter. Right now, that's what matters. Right?" And it's advice I constantly give Mace. Remember the past, consider the future, but live in the now.

This is my December, this is me alone, and I just wish that I didn't feel
Like there was something I missed

As always it is Julian's emotion that undoes me. My chest constricts as the light catches the tear rolling down his cheek. And then I can feel the wetness on my own face, so much less elegant than his, just tears chasing after one another to reach my chin. I wipe them away with the back of my palm, try to get a grip on myself. I'd just ask him not to do this, but I knew better, and it was only going to be harder if I turned into a blubbering mess.

So instead, I laugh, and it tangles somewhere in my throat, comes out harsh when I meant it to be light. "Those poor horses. At least Mace can be good with them, when he wants to be." And it's the first time I've thought of Whicker and the others we board, and how I didn't even think to say good bye. I'll just be gone, and how will anyone explain to them that I'm not coming back? But maybe it's better if they don't know. Then, at least, they can hope. And it's nothing in Julian's voice or manner that betrays, but rather the fact that I know him so well. I'm sure he's already assessed me, because it's in his nature, and realized my days are numbered.

And I want them to count. I look at Julian - really see him - as he cleans up the tears as mine dry up. I don't want to cry and mourn; I want to live.

"I don't mind being here, seeing you. I wish I could be more out in the Capitol though. I'd liked to have seen it all." I smile without thinking and it feels strange against the tightness around my eyes. There are still so many things on my bucket list, although I'd crossed a good few off in the last two years, it just always seemed to get longer. No time for that now; now I needed to buckle down and prioritize. And I thought that maybe - just maybe - Julian would be able to help me take one more thing off. "I don't want you to go in for me, Julian. Once was enough," I say gently, scooting forward into that space between us. I want to reach out, to take his tears for myself, but I don't because I feel something fluttering in my chest.

And it's hope.

"But there is something you could do, to help me. I mean, it's not going to help me survive necessarily. But it's something I'd like to try." I cant my head to one side, try not think about my brother and how much he is going to pulverize me for this. But then, I think, maybe not. Even he might find forgiveness in his heart before I'm gone. "There's just so many things I never got to do, you know? And I realized that life is more about what you've done, what you've seen, where you've been. If you think too much about everything that hasn't happened, then you leave wanting. I don't want to feel like that. Not ever."

I take a deep breath, roll my shoulders back, and look right up into his clear-as-sky blue eyes. "I want to feel like I do right now, with you. And I want to know what it's like to really show someone how much I care about them." And the words aren't enough, or at least, they aren't as long as I keep avoiding it. My freckles blend together as my cheeks grow rosy, and in one burst, I finally say it: "I want to kiss you." And my heart goes still as I stare, and as I hope.