til death do us part }} beck x lys

Slowly but surely he’s watched her unravel. Thread by frayed thread Lysander Mae has torn herself to pieces and begged him more than once to pick up the needle and start sewing her back together. He’d come to love her with a knife against his throat, though in recent months he’s realized he doesn’t need the cold kiss of steel to admit he cares for her. No, he can feel it in the way his chest starts aching whenever he finds her like this.

In some ways he’s grateful for it. She makes it easy not to worry about anything else. Her fingers squeeze his too tight and he recognizes the agony behind the gesture so he squeezes back. Beck refuses to answer any interview questions so they move on from him quickly, eager to sing the praises of more agreeable victors. ”It’s okay.” He lies through clenched teeth, running his thumb over the back of Lysander’s hand because it’s supposed to be a comforting gesture.

And sure, it’s performative but that’s the only affection he’s ever known how to give.

Lysander is halfway through a blackout by the time they reach the filming location. A completely organic picnic date in the middle of an open field, with just enough natural lighting that it’s for a perfect photo-op. The expensive blanket he spreads beneath them still manages to be dreadfully uncomfortable. He’s scowling at the gaudy fabric when she speaks, ”Sickening isn’t it?”

”Cliché, maybe. But I don’t want to throw up yet.” He still hasn’t looked up, he knows exactly what she’s looking for at the bottom of that basket. Beck can’t bring himself to watch her kill herself. It’s a personal matter that’s definitely not any of his business.

He loves Lysander in a different way than he loves the others. It’s not playful like with Nico and Mackenzie – where he’s the one pushing to see just how far they’ll watch him fall. It’s not painful like it was loving Enzo, the kind that consumed his every waking second until he cut off that part of his heart completely. It’s deeper than it was with Sophie, it’s had years to mature.

Beck wants to help her, but knows it’s not his place. Even though he loves her he doesn’t love her enough.

So instead he swipes the champagne bottle from her hands and drinks just a deeply.

”Why do you ask? Planning to propose?” His laugh tastes bitter, in sharp contrast to sweet champagne,

He lays his head in her lap, wincing at the sound of camera shutters clicking. Affection is not allowed to be genuine, they’ve never been able to seek comfort from one another under the weight of the Capitol’s gaze. Who knows if they’d have even become friends without it? ”I think it’s something we have to do and I think there are worse people to be stuck doing it with.”

He grins up at her, only managing to hold it on his lips for a couple seconds before his expression melts into something uneasy, ”We’re friends for as long as you’ll have me. What else do you need to know?”