the { k e y } to happiness . muffin . blitz

Fearless on my Breath

Scarred knuckles rest against the door as he strokes the smooth wrapping of the package, a frown pressing into his countenance. It's been quiet all day, for the first time in a while and he's rather hesitant to disturb the quiet slice of peace the boys made for themselves, but it has to be done and like ripping a bandage from a slightly-healed wound, he'd rather get it done now.

The Aurum household had more than enough rooms for the newest additions to pick and chose their place, and unfortunately, that meant he had to traverse the staircase just to have a quick conversation with any locked away in their own quarters.

Out of breath, he leans lightly on the mahogany, massaging the aching limb. Ever since last week's snowfall, the pain coupled with grief from loss nearly kills him any time he steps outside. "Hey, Quadrys-" he starts quietly, taping the door gingerly.

The palm pushing heavy against his cane clutches a beige colored package, smaller than the lump in his throat. He didn't open it yet- he didn't need to. Mohs knows what's inside. "Mom... Mom said there was a package for you. And... I think it'd be a good idea if you opened it with me."

He bites his lip, cringing away at how... brother-ish and ordered it sounds. He curses himself, low, quiet enough to be muffled by sturdy walls. Mohs definitely isn't trying to replace the fallen tribute in any way, and knew he could never come close, but hearing things from Octys and Pentys made him apprehensive about leaving the youth alone for too long.

"Can I come in?"

It's Easy to Lose Yourself, I Know

For a moment he's worried, yet hopeful he didn't hear or didn't want the company but it's too late to take anything back and he almost regrets not throwing the damn thing in the back of his closet with dulled knives and axes and instead braces himself for the inevitable. The hand pushing open the door trembles slightly as he limps inside, looking awkwardly around the once bare guest room. His mother struggled and found some worn and stained blankets for the three boys.

"I like what you've done-" he says, gesturing to the nightstand and carefully easing himself beside the male, his snow-coated shoes hanging off the edge as he falls onto his back, gaze lifting towards the overhead ceiling. The only thing he bothered to take off was his jacket, hanging heavy on the coat rack downstairs.

His fingers flick the edge of the papered package, shivering. Mohs wants to hold the envelopehim and never give it to the sixteen year old, keep this moment light and curious and hopeful.

Instead, he offers the package to the youth, keeping his eyes locked on the ceiling. It has no 'From' address- it doesn't need it. The Capitol logo circling the entirety of the paper is more than enough. It's adressee is crossed out in crimson, and their new address is hand-written, sloppily in blue ink.

"Yeah you don't have to open it now, but... I'm here if you do." He struggles with the ebony scarf around his neck, pulling it across his crimson flannel, frowning skyward.

God, please open it now.

It's Easy to Lose Yourself, I Know

He feels the tension in the air before he glances at Quadrys' fingers, and shifts his own weight upwards, turning his torso to the male. "I know. No one does." he responds, peeling away hand-knitted, ebony gloves from his palms. He rests them gently on the nightstand next to the photograph, and inhales as his hands dip, clutching the boy's palms in his own rough and calloused fingers.

Mohs offers a slight pressure, his gaze lowering to the damning package. How can something so tiny cause so much pain? His breath catches and he says it- "Quick, yeah? Just open it and dump everything out."

Wounds need oxygen to heal, and Quadrys has been bandaged for too long. Though he's never had a younger brother, Fault doesn't fucking count Mohs feels compelled to comfort the young male, and as his shoulders slump, he carefully withdraws a hand to shove off his boots. His form scoots closer, gaze pushing down on the offending letter.

None of it sounds right, until he settles-

"... Together then?"

He has to open it today. Now. Mohs can't live with himself otherwise, and he doesn't want Quadrys haunted by the packaging either. "Yeah, let's... Let's do it together."

It's Easy to Lose Yourself, I Know

Oh god what have I done- Other things flicker out of the envelope, the sponsorship page torn out of his notebook for the med kit the four of them sat down to write, the mysterious note from '29,' Opal's short letter. His throat closes, and he struggles to gasp for air as the token is launched across the room, slamming hard into the wall, falling to the hardwood with a small 'Ping'.

Mohs can't bring himself to say anything, but the same flight and fight response he felt in the bar a few days ago bubbles below his flesh. He freezes as Quadrys turns and suddenly, he understands.

Burning hot palms clutch the boy tight, his chin resting atop the kid's skull. Mohs says nothing- what is there to say? But his fingers grip just as tight, body trembling against the sixteen year old. He could say things like- 'It's okay,' 'You'll live' or 'Pain is natural' but he knows none of those things will help because it's not okay, and he doesn't know if this is going to be enough to break him but Quadrys is a Lexig and Lexigs are strong- Septys proved that.

So instead he clutches the boy close, and trembling lips whisper ghosts of words and phrases that mean nothing. All he can do is hold together the pieces of the mangled boy until he can manage to stitch himself whole.

It's Easy to Lose Yourself, I Know

Mohs stays like that, a statue holding fast against tidal waves of torment, allowing his own grip to relax while Quadrys' clenches tighter and tighter, like a lifeline. He knows he can never replace what Septys was to them, what he still is, but Mohs knows he can help them find themselves again. He himself stared death in the face and greeted it well. Quadrys might do that someday, and hell would freeze over before Mohs was away again.

Gently as the pain begins to win, Mohs eases Quadrys back into the bed and caresses his shoulder as his mother once did, allowing his icy blue eyes to close as he sighs and lets his own guilt struggle through. Kit and his mother and father and the other trainers can assure him all they want, but there was a damn good reason for Mohs Aurum's name to come out of that orb, and it wasn't because he took Tesserae.

Did you ever think he left because of me, and not you? He couldn't bring himself to say it so he grips harder and harder, his arms nearly suffocating as he draws Quadrys tighter against his chest, his own burning tears collapsing into his pillow.

"Fuck... I'm sorry."

It's Easy to Lose Yourself, I Know

He stays and struggles with his own demons, thankful for the slight comfort of the pillow below his head and the tightness of his chest. It feels like he's dying, like he's slowly being constricted by some sort of python, but he doesn't fight, doesn't struggle, just allows himself to collapse as his body loosens and relaxes.

The smell of cooking meat rises from downstairs, and Mohs hears footsteps echo in the loft and he knows a well-manicured hand is about to knock on the tightly locked door, but combined, ungainly sobs send it away.

Mohs resists the urge to state the obvious- I'm here for you because so clearly he is, the first person to allow Quadrys to fully collapse and reform into a stronger young man. Wounds have like this have to sting, they demand to be felt before they even contemplate healing.

A few deep inhales echo through the room, and one of the hands clinging so tightly relaxes and lifts to his eyes, forcing away the tears while his torso continues to heave and ache with the pain of loss. If this is strength, it's the most horrific kind, but also the most genuine. We're good, right? Both safe, both fine. We'll be fine. Yeah.

Quivering he remains, as his shaking shoulders begin to collapse inward, and his eyes close. He'll sleep upstairs on the loft couch tonight instead of trapped in his room downstairs, isolated from the rest of his family.