echo in the canyon [Toulouse x open]

Panic pounded in his chest. Toulouse could still feel the ghost of the kiss on his lips; his mistake haunting him still in the minutes that had passed. What a fool he had been. The boy had come into his life, bringing a new warmth Toulouse had never felt before. He had tasted the thought of someone to care about him, and carelessly let himself bathe in that warmth. It finally gave him the courage to go in for a taste, pressing his lips against the boys, only to have the warmth torn away as the boy backed away from him. The cold rushed back in with the look in his eyes.

That's what he gets for thinking he could have someone care for him, for once. Now he had broken his own cardinal rule; he had stepped out from the safety of the crowd, and now he's naked in the spotlight.

He needed to get out of here, go somewhere, do anything to tear his mind away from the dominos falling towards the carefully built house of cards that was his life. He didn't know what the boy would do, what he could say. If he let himself think of the possibilities he knew he would shatter into a thousand pieces. He made it to his dingy room, grabbed the aged bicycle propped up against the cracked plaster, and hurried back through the halls. The faces that he passed unchanging, eyes gliding onto him and back off without a second thought. So far he still had the shield of his averageness; word of the kiss must have been spreading slowly, seeping from the source into the tepid waters of the orphanage's social matters. He wanted to get out of there before the eyes landing on him stuck, and the whispers began.

He heaved the heavy oak of the main doors and climbed the metal frame of his escape, halving the time it normally takes to reach the wrought-iron gate. He sang silent praises that it had been a Saturday; he didn't know what he would have done if it had been a weekday filled with schoolwork and chores and a plethora of tough questions screening anyone trying to leave. Today the gate was unmanned and open, the older children free to come and go as they wished.

Toulouse fiercely blinked back the tears that he could feel threatening to creep into the corners of his eyes. No crying, not yet. The old pedals whined their protest as his feet danced their quick steps, and he sped off down the uneven roads of District Eleven. He was letting his body guide him on its own, his mind trying to scrub the memory of the boy's disgusted face from his mind.

After a few minutes, the panic began to dissipate. Toulouse found his body had guided him out between the vast fields of crops. On either side of the dusty trail lay Capitol corns and wheats, growing tall in the late summer warmth. Toulouse just kept peddling on, careful to stay on the beaten path.

He couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed irreversibly. Something that had been bubbling within him had finally come to the surface, and now that it was here he couldn't push it back down again. It stained his every thought, tainted his perfectly curated life of always blending in, always being another face in the crowd. It coloured him as different, pulled him from the safety of the crowd and dropped a veil between him and everyone else. He could see through the thin threads at the lives everyone else was living. He wondered if they could look back and see him there, alone on the other side. He desperately wanted to find his way back to the other side, before the boy had a chance to pull the veil up and announce to the world just how different he was.

Toulouse wasn't sure how long he had been pedalling before his eyes lost the battle against the tears, and their blur obscured the road ahead of him. He knew he had biked far enough; through the brief respite of his blinks he could make out the cluster of small roofs further down the road from him. Finally, he let his feet stop pedalling, and he tossed himself to the ground and let the tears wash all over him. Toulouse had no idea what to expect when he got back. He feared the worst. Nothing good has ever come from standing out.

All that he could do was let the tears run their course on the side of the dusty road. Hoping beyond hope that nobody finds him here.