petrichor | {abraham/erron}

"You smile so beautifully, Abraham-" 

It was his crown, more so than the rustic one of his last name, Zodiia bleeding into his hair. He was a dinner party's dream - handsome, charismatic and political - and of the 13 chairs they sat, he was at the end holding his mother's hand. There was a smile on his face, out of habit nearly after the first few hours of faking it, but a king carries his crown regardless. 

"Great day it is, Mister Auger, oh and how lovely you look Miss Auger. Yes, the early loss of Draco was tragic, but Heather has been doing wonderful lately, correct? The last few games have been- oh, yes Miss Auger, your lasagna is always to die for-" Everything nicotine between his teeth, it was practically laced with cancer. 

His mother believed he loved it however, squeezing his hand under the table as he tried to draft family allegiances and the opportunities of their sponsorship with the Zodiia's business. Small talk turned to words over Merlin and Ebony's young heads and ("why Abraham, how are you only 18?") he picked the important bits from the fluff like he did with his dry lasagna. 

"You know Miss Auger, mother has been practically begging me for your cooking advice-" and his mother shot him a look strong enough to kill. Dinner politics were easier when it was only between Abraham and the Auger's father, everything else was fluff.

The corners of his mouth burned with a three-hour smile - "oh, if only Erron was more like that."

Sitting thirteen made it near damn impossible to focus, with his twin sitting next to him, Terra holding her breath and Abraham trying to figure out why she didn't try to get out of this like usual. The underlying chatter of Marley's sharp words and the clear ones of Jezebel scratching at every other word the father said - Abraham always hated dinners. 

Of course, he couldn't get out of them like his Terra; these occasions were forced on him like his father's blood in Abraham's veins ("and Abraham, my son, it's something you're actually good at.")

Besides, being showcased was the job description of "Trophy Child," he reminded his impatient self and his tapping fingers. 

("We have guests, I've been planning this dinner for weeks and you decide to show up late? And absolutely soaking wet?"

"I'll change then.")

In between talking about who to bet money on in the Games (Mister Auger put his words behind Septys, while Abraham never actually bet) and whispers of business licked with whiskey, his mother left the table behind Miss Auger as her last child walked in, soaked and handsome. Abraham's focus barely shifted as Erron took the seat across from him, "Sorry I'm late."

Thank god. 

Something about the weather, "Abraham," slightly less of a mess than the rain at your service, and a quick handshake with a smile - more authentic than the slight grin of the past few hours. He hears his mother's political laugh from the kitchen over something about quiche and Ally excuses herself from the table and at least Erron was something not political. 

Thank god, something that's not fucking scripted. 

Erron had an arsenal of lies on his tongue already, of course, he and Abraham were always charismatically creative and ever-so, "cute." He snickered through his teeth while picking at the last bit of dinner, and it carried on for a few minutes. Small talk and teases between shady smiles; oh no, the war wouldn't start until their parents were at least out of the room. The Augers had a dream Abraham would be a good influence on their son, and his mother just hoped that Abraham wouldn't come home with a face tattoo - no matter what else she knew Abraham would find success himself. 

"Come on, we need to get some of this plastic night washed off of you." and of course, success he did find. 

It came naturally to him, their mothers left to their dinner talk in the room adjacent, and with Erron, he always had excuses to leave for once. And with Erron, they usually left as soon as possible, but that was "okay with me-" and he told Terra not to hold his seat with something along the lines of him striking up a dinner plan with the Auger's father. 

At least he had all night to think of one.

Once the door unlocked, Erron immediately began removing his clothes and Abraham choked on his lungs almost before the other boy started talking about swimming - "we have an indoor pool, but it feels too" - while he wiped the sweat forming on his palms into the lines of his slacks. This felt too-

"-synthetic." Nope, not quite the word, "fake. Plastic, if you will." Not exactly, and he caught his nerves again while Erron threw him a pair of charity swimming shorts; "I guess I've had better plans than swimming in slacks," mostly under his breathe before looking back up to Erron, still finicking with drawers and swim pants.  

"So we are swimming outside, that way it's okay if we get wet from the rain." And with him semidistracted, Abraham swallowed the blush in his cheeks and shed his skin of plastic and folded the remains into a pile next to Erron's bed, a mess like him, he smiled and threw the shoes on top. Looking back, he was shorter than Erron - I don't think I've always been - and paler, just generally pale. 

It was probably all that responsibility; it's not like Erron had any of that to deal with growing up. "Ready pretty boy?"

And Abraham nodded his head, turning to grab the doorknob before hearing the latch of the window click, and then looking back to see the lackiest Auger one foot out the window - "I'm assuming Mommy and Daddy would be most displeased if they knew what we were up to, so this way you don't have to worry."  He gulped, trying to catch his feelings again like his father always did; it's been a while, huh. With growing up at eight and running a business at ten, he never got the chance to be free like Erron, and ever since the long, long time of childhood with him he's just not ready. 

Erron took out a cigarette, "unless you're scared?" And Abraham could've fell out at that point exactly; I'm a business man! "Me? Scared? Ha!" It would've been that easy, to say he was a political figure and he couldn't blow that reputation, or that he had to talk to his father instead and leave at that moment. At any point he could've left Erron in the past again while he went back to playing in tuxedos and files, "ha." And he wiped his palms against the lining of sleek shorts and breathed while Erron held out his hand through the window - ready pretty boy?

Fuck reputations. 

Abraham swallowed his reputation and the blush in his cheeks once again before breathing once, twice, and then grabbing his friend's hand and slinking through the window. "It's just one swim, what's to be scared of?"

The roof's cold against bare feet, textiles scratching at his soles as he climbed through the window with "what's to be scared of" stuck to the roof of his mouth. He felt out of his nature, in nature, with the treeline visible and humid air sticking to his bare chest in between goosebumps in this night air - petrichor in the brain. Erron's hand was still gripped to his, strong, as he smiled and Abraham did too.  

"For me to know and you to find out. Ready?"

Cold winter air bit at his skin as he shook his head before they inched to the corner off the roof, still holding onto each other and balancing with their other arm - Abraham's was never the best. He was a grounded person, head to heart, and all five feet of him liked staying that way but with Erron it was at least different, around him he could just laugh it off and get back up.

It's such a vague concept to him - mistakes weren't in his history. In his blood, nor was it in the blood of the man he had to live up to, and with his fingers laced with Erron's he was still trying to figure out whether coming back to him was one or not. He was a boy built on cosmos of impulses, and as kids they were a better duo of adventurers.

(But we're not kids anymore)

Abraham bit his lip as they reached the edge, the darkness of the ground looking more like a void with his exhale of fog portrayed against it, (cosmos of impulses) he thought to himself - "there's a ladder right here somewh- oh, there it is." He half wanted to take the jump, not a running jump or anything, just dangling from the edge and falling into the black earth below, he was just a white boy after all. Besides, cosmos have to start somewhere, Erron could be his big explosion and all he'd have to do was keep the stardust forming.

He still took the ladder.

They walked more side by side in silence through the damp ground, mud between his toes and he half-stomped the way over, just to cover the silence up more, while Erron finished the last few puffs of his cigarette - that's one impulse Abraham could live without. He didn't want to ask questions, the silence was the same conversation they had for the ten years they grew apart anyways. Abraham was used to knowing when to keep his mouth sealed.  

Erron tossed his cigarette and Abraham swallowed spit in his mouth, the empty space between his fingers feeling like ghost limbs rather than how they always feel, and he smiles at him and Abraham blushes in the dark before looking the other way and sticking his hands in his pockets.

And the rest of the walk was partially the same awkward, blushing unnoticably and more light-stepping than stomping in the mud with satisfying splashes and he felt nine again with him almost, or at least it was easier to pretend that he wasn't a father of twelve. It was like picking up an old book right where you left off, back when ten years ago he had just hit eleven siblings and his teeth fit like jigsaw puzzles before the rest grew in better than he had. 

It was like revitalization, picking up a cosmos of impulses right back at the dog ear'd page he left it off on. 

The pond was bigger than it had looked from the window, from the start of the night and the top of it fogged up like his fathers glasses and "sometimes my parents are reckless as fuck with their money."

Cosmos of impulses - "I couldn't notice." He let out a chuckle through grinning lips and the grand Abraham-brand smile as Erron opened the wooden latch to the pond - "time to show me what you're made of Zodiia." And suddenly his body felt completely unhinged, he noticed every joint in his body from the roll of his shoulder to the sway of his hips as he walked, the cosmos of impulses in every freckle on his skin. 

"Don't expect too much, my talents aren't anything past looking pretty," and he feels the way his knees shift as he walks and the reflection in the water always seems prettier than the reality, crystalized in the moment like a still and I hold my hands for a second exhaling before looking back at Erron - "okay."

And he inhales, holding his breathe like the cosmos of impulse and feels it in cheeks as he bites the bullet, cold water up to his knees at first and it surges through his body in the likes of a single shotgun wound. A weak, gayboy howl is let loose as the water reaches his upper chest and the reflection of moonlight ripples as goosebumps tattoo his arms - "it's cold as fucking hell in here," - and he goes deeper until the water tickles the bottom of his chin. 

"Lordy," it smells crisp, "this sucks, your turn."