chasing thunder | Alfonso x Absalom | Day 1

When the rainbow had faded, and the soft mist of rain came back again, Absalom was already making his way through to the treeline below. His chest stung from the deep wound of five’s whip, but worse was the tightness that kept the breath choked in his throat. He kept expecting a cannon to sound with every step. Surely the wealth would find little Bill, and take him from this world to next, wouldn’t they?

But time passed, and Absalom was left with the rustle of leaves overhead.

He edged along the path downward, toward the great expanse of tall grass and oddly shaped trees. Absalom saw it as something out of a children’s book, the way the plants looked like ones he’d seen as a child, but blown up ten times their size or more. He paused to stare at the fly-trap in the distance, and made a note that he’d stay as far away from it as possible. Not that he didn’t imagine there were worse things lingering in the jungle, but at the least he could avoid the ones he could see.

A part of him wondered if he’d hurt forever, having left Bill on his own. He wasn’t ready to admit to himself that the boy would surely die, and the last that he’d ever see of him was in a pool of his own blood. At least he’d given him mercy. He felt the empty space along his wrist, the bracelet now Bill’s. He hoped he would think of him, even if it wasn’t for much longer.

He’d not felt the same since the training center. Different, more alive, he reasoned. Healed in a way that district one never could do; so much more was opening up to Absalom. He couldn’t be sure if he was ready for it, his pained heart just one reason. They’d never tell him the truth, that he could’ve learned all of this without having to risk his life, but then, he’d never have that chance.

An intense ache passed through his chest, and he couldn’t help but let out a yell. It wasn’t fair. That he was stuck here. That a boy he’d felt so comfortable with, that had offered a part of himself, that held his hand - was to be one of the first to die. He cursed his life, more for how he’d turned out than for what he had. The cruelest thing was for him to be alone; he’d never known how empty a feeling it was to have no one.

As he fumes, slow stepping through the jungle, he hears a rustling, and paused.

‘Show yourself,’ The voice calls, and Absalom manages a smile.

“Alfonso…?” He calls back, and makes his way forward. “Alfonso!”

He rushed into sight, only to skitter to a stop at Alfonso’s knife.

“I’m… I’m happy to see you. Alfonso… it's awful out here...”

He didn’t know much about the boy from eleven, save his name and a few odds and ends. He liked painting, or drawing - he furrowed his brow trying to remember - and wondered what sort of things he’d gone about creating.

A soft wind flayed Ab’s open shirt, and he feels another twinge in his chest. Bill. He doesn’t want to think about the boy that he left to die, but he can’t stop seeing his body laying out on the soft earth ready to be buried. Absalom had done his best to soothe his wounds, but there were so many, and as close as he was to the cornucopia had thought there would be someone coming to find them. And after all, hadn’t he promised to be loyal to another set of people, ones that were greater in number and could’ve kept him safe?

But all he could hear was Sarkine’s voice telling him he was making a mistake. He was forsaking someone that made him feel safe, loved, and welcome over the possibility of banding together with a group to help him get a little further. It felt a trade off that he was supposed to make, one that had been conditioned as much as it seem to make sense even to Absalom.

Still, it didn’t mean that his heart would agree with it.

In looking at Alfonso, and turning his attention to the boy and his knife, he gave a pained smile. Perhaps. Perhaps there was a way he could learn to love these people, to learn about them and give them a chance to help him feel the same. Alfonso wasn’t unhandsome, and he hadn’t been unkind. It’s just the heat under his arms and the tightness in his chest didn’t come from standing too close to him, or from hearing his voice.

But then he wraps his arms around Abs.

He closes his eyes and feels the hug. The warmth and safety, a feeling he could get used to. A feeling that he wanted to linger.

He moved his arms to take the skinner boy in a full hug and pressed his face into his neck. Was this wrong, to want to be wanted? To not want to be lonely seemed better than feeling lost and unsure.

He could learn to like Alfonso, and this.

“Let’s find the others?” Absalom says as he pulls back from the hug. “Then maybe, you can tell me about you?” He aches. “I want to know you.”

[Absalom meanders (flees) thread]