your {love} is my {drug} // norian

So far, Pyrian had discovered two things he could appreciate about the Capitol: one, the amount of flammable toys they stored carelessly in easily-accessible areas, and two, the delicious food they served him each day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, he indulged himself every hour with platefuls of food and desserts, and despite his scrawny stature he could devour a large amount of food in a little amount of time, a privilege he was never awarded back in district six where poverty lurked within every nook and cranny in the Keeni household. So when the hours for training ended (during which Pyrian was either injuring himself with knives or building flaming skyscrapers at the fire-making station) and the Avoxs appeared with plates of scrumptious delicacies, Pyrian did not hesitate to rush past the sweaty tributes and steal his spot at the table to spoil himself silly. It was a poor choice, really, swallowing so much when in the games he would be practically starving, perhaps to death. But did Pyrian Keeni ever think of the consequences? Never.

When he felt the sliver of warmth flutter in his stomach as if a kindling flame were blissfully and painlessly toasting his insides, he thought nothing of it. He figured it was the natural sensation of enjoying a meal after a day’s worth of diligent work fighting and taking shit from other tributes - a sensation he rightfully deserved. He inhaled nearly two platefuls of food before the mischievous substances began to diffuse into his limbs and brain like a terribly wonderful disease turning his blood numb and driving his four senses into euphoria. Okay, this was definitely not normal, but damn if it didn’t feel like heaven on a platter. He leaned back in his chair, arms dangling over the sides like limp noodles as his eyes unfocused and the glimmer of awareness in his pupils faded into a hazy wall of black marble. When somebody touched him, he felt as if the world had tilted. When he tried to analyze the moving lips of a fellow tribute, he sat dazed and confused and silent without answers. Finally, wishing to bask in this bliss in his own company, he unsteadily rose from his chair and nearly toppled over attempting to stagger out of the room. He was leaned against the wall when a pair of arms dragged him away, and made no attempt to protest or escape as the dining hall disappeared from his view.

He found himself staring at a white ceiling. Sluggishly looking about the room, he recognized it as his own chambers and noticed that he was not alone. Noah Ripley was sharing his company, and with a vial of clear fluid tipped back between his fingers. He was gulping whatever the substance was, and under normal circumstances Pyrian would be threatening him with fire right about now - silently, of course, since he chose never to speak to the bastard. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Pyrian was too lethargic to move, too overwhelmed with bliss to actually care about the boy’s presence, and too doped up to even think clearly. There was a misty cloud lingering between himself and his judgment, even his bitterness smothered by whatever had infected his veins, and he just smiled like a giddy fool, arms splayed out and eyes directed at his intruder. He still didn’t know why Noah was there, or what he wanted, or why he was drinking what he guessed was alcohol, but he couldn’t find the energy in his system to ask. Instead, he merely parted his lips and uttered a word he rarely ever spoke to anybody (not that he spoke often), especially somebody he despised.

Pyrian was at peace with the world. The eternal scowl, the burning in his dark eyes, the contempt he held for everybody that decided he should be a target because he was struck with a disability - they had vanished into the depths of his strange mind as if they were a flame extinguished by the heavenly powers of water. This water, of course, being Noah and whatever damned drug he had slipped into his meal earlier that evening. The realization that the bastard had probably spiked his food was lingering somewhere in his clouded head, hiding beyond the blankets of fog and euphoria and overwhelming pleasure that numbed him to the bone, though he did not acknowledge it. Such matters would be saved for a later time, when he could actually gather his thoughts in an organized manner rather than being caught in the web of every tiny stimulation that touched his senses. The way the shadows danced across the walls in a sequence of elegant swirls and twists, the way every color seemed ten times more vibrant than usual each time he blinked, the way the walls seemed to ripple when he tilted his head - all were distracting him from the issue at hand, that issue being Noah Ripley standing as an intruder in his private quarters.

Invasion of his personal space was always cause for an unpleasant reaction. Pyrian was no solider, nor was he trained in the art of combat or wielding weapons, but that didn’t make him a harmless butterfly. Play with Pyrian, and you play with a flame; play with a flame, and you may just get burned. Noah, however, despite breaking these boundaries created by the stingy pyromaniac, was in no immediate danger when he invited himself into his bed. At this point, Pyrian’s grip on reality was too weak - about as thin as a strand of his unkempt hair - for him to muster the anger or energy to care that perhaps his biggest rival was now sharing a bed with him. In fact, he hardly squirmed at all when Noah crawled onto his stomach and fastened his wrists to the blankets with a firm grip, not that he possessed the strength to throw an entire body off of him anyway. His lips began to move, then, a series of motions that would likely be familiar if Pyrian was actually paying attention to them rather than letting his eyes wander.

There were intriguing details one never noticed before when examining a face up close - so close he could actually feel puffs of breath against his cheeks - and Noah had several. The first detail he registered was the aroma of ash tainting the boy’s clothes like an invisible stain, an intoxicating perfume that burned his nostrils and drove his senses into a frenzy of bittersweet confliction. Everything about fire was addicting to him; the smell, the sight, the warmth, its creation, its destruction - yet it was his enemy that wore the scent, as if he had been sleeping in the devil’s bed (perhaps the same bed he had roasted not two days ago). This only further confused the fire-obsessed maniac, who wanted nothing more than to hate the figure that was looming over him and speaking soundlessly to his mouth like he expected Pyrian to taste the words that were tumbling out. Color spread to his cheeks, though whether this was from the close proximity or the drug was unclear. What was clear was that he could feel his heart beating against his sternum as the seconds passed and the space closed between them. Pyrian could only register the two eyes - like black coals, glazed and shimmering with luster and the heat of a kindling flame - staring into his own before inches shrunk to centimeters and centimeters turned to absolute zero.

Somehow, for whatever reason, under this powerful influence of exotic drugs and invisible allure, Pyrian Keeni was kissing his worst enemy, and he was making no attempt to stop it.