frozen hearts; fragile lungs {justice x poppy}!blitz

When I was younger I always thought that I’d be different from the rest of my family. Before all the training, before the Career state-of-mind was beaten into me, before I became an entitled asshat with an oversized ego—I always thought I would end up happier. My parents never looked happy unless Kellan or Kaiser were beating the shit out of someone. My siblings never looked happy because apparently happiness is an emotion that isn’t afforded to Victors.

I always thought I could get the girl, have kids, enjoy long walks through the District 1, tell bedtime stories every night, jump into piles of leaves in the fall, build snow forts during the winter, stargaze during the summer, cuddle up next to the fire every night, make breakfast in bed for the girl I loved, and become someone better than my parents and my family ever have been.

Those dreams all seem so distant now. Like someone else dreamt them. It was stupid to think I could be different when I got back here, that I could change. You can’t move forward when you’re chained to the past. I just want to be happy—is that really too much to ask for?

I don’t want to hurt anyone else; I don’t want to hurt her.

"But hey at least I know you care about me in some capacity that's more than I can say for-"

I care too much.

I close my eyes because I don’t have the strength to say, ‘No.’ With her face so close to mine, the tips of her fingers brushing against my chest, her words so true I may as well be saying them myself—I just don’t want to hurt her. I just need someone to tell me what to do. To make this easy, I need-- someone to tell me what’s right, how to-- not ruin this.

She stands and I panic, my hand reaching for her’s—”Wait.”—and I know I fucked up somewhere along the way. Because she needs someone and clearly I--I just--wanted to do the right thing for once in my sorry excuse for a life.

“Please,” I whisper, my eyes searching our intertwined hands for the words.

“Don’t leave,” I say, my heart twisting in agony at the thought of losing-- whatever the hell she is to me.

”Please,” I say, I swallow. ”I can’t-- ”

What? Can’t what? Be alone right now? Stand the thought of her walking out the door? Tell her you care? Tell her she means enough to you to say no to just one night? Tell her that you don’t know what you’re feeling, but you know it’s something too strong and too deep to actually deal with like a fucking functional, emotionally stable person would?

She’s right. I’d never let myself have any kind of relationship. Especially not one that she deserves.

But-- she already knows that.

The wine on her lips makes her all the more intoxicating. I pull her closer as the slow burn of desire keeps me begging her for more. Her hips against mine, my arms wrapped around her waist, my heart whispering warnings too quiet for me to hear over it's frantic beating. And I know deep down this is dangerous, but—

I stop to catch my breath, my hand finding her cheek, thumb brushing over her her lips. With my forehead pressed to her's and my lips hovering only just inches from her own, I think she is everything I need. At least for tonight.

Our lips connect again and I smile because even with only one leg I manage to sweep her off her feet without stumbling. She's light, warm, and I'm smiling because—"You're beautiful, you know."—and I can't even manage not to kiss her between the living room and my bedroom.

But this is just for tonight. I'd never ask her for more.

No way I'd let myself be the one to ruin her.