second chances // flashback; avery

avery wilson

Bruises blossom beneath his skin, precious buds born from negligence and grief. He's not being careful anymore, going through the motions of life without trying to live it. It's cold coming home, like the shadows linger even after he's turned on the lights to ward them away. Loss was not new to him. His mother's killer lingers in his own veins but taking Minx was crueler than even that.

Minx had ruined him. Not like a wildfire or a whirlwind, he'd been the embers of a persistent affection. He'd seen so many broken things in his eighteen years but none so beautifully as that boy. It had been slow going, when he first met Minx he'd been frozen solid. Avery wanted nothing more than to wrap those cold hands inside his own and breathe warmth into every bit of him, but he'd known he'd have to be patient. One person could not fix another, he merely wanted to make it easier for Minx to fix himself.

Was it cliche to say that he'd fallen in love at first sight? Of course, he hadn't known what that feeling was at the time. Minx had been like a thorn in his side, a thought he could not shake. The way he'd rebuffed every bit of kindness Avery had offered only served to dig him deeper and once managed to draw blood there was no stopping it. Avery needed to see him smile, he'd wanted to be the reason he did.

However, he was a fool to believe there was a silver lining to be found in District Five. He'd seen the ruins of love since he was a boy, bore witness to only the shattered remnants of it and still he dared to fall. Divine punishment or divine comedy, Avery wasn't sure of which this fate should be called.

He'd watched Minx die. He'd watched the man he loves get torn to shreds and still had to keep on living. Life did not wait for him to grieve, rent still had to be paid and his body still needed to be fed. It didn't matter that the apartment felt cold or that everything had gone tasteless and stale - as long as his heart kept beating he lived.

"You good to lock up tonight, Butch?" He smells of smoked meat and fresh baked bread but those scents seem rather sour now. Warm memories of sneaking specialty ingredients out of the kitchen to weave into grand dinners for Minx hurt so much that he can hardly stand to look at his tools. The regulars at the diner had tried to comfort him. They'd looked upon him with misty eyes and tight smiles, they'd patted his shoulder and told him the pain would fade with time. That didn't make him feel better, though. He didn't want it to get easier to forget Minx.

"Yeah, son." Butch still looks at him with those misty eyes, hobbling over from his station behind the cash register and shoving a brown bag into limp fingers. "My wife made you somethin' special. She said you looked scrawny the last time she was in here."

He smiles, but only politely. "Tell Mrs. Martinez thanks for me." Butch responds with a nod and Avery leaves before the first tear can slip off of his chin. He cries so easy these days. It feels wrong displaying the weakness he'd always known to keep close to his chest but why bother if there was no one left to be strong for?

His feet know the way home but he can't help but shuffle them a bit. This walk was one of the worst parts of his day. The nothing that awaited him was unbearable.

Letting out a long suffering sigh he opens the door, finding traces of a stranger inside but figuring it was one of the shelter kids in search of a softer bed than the cots offered elsewhere.

Then he heard the whisper of a ghost. "Hi, Avery." A thousand emotions cross his face in a single second, unbearable agony and confusion, fear that he's gone fucking crazy and a pathetic kind of hope that he has. Minx stood in the center of his living room, a feeble heartbeat among dead air. He looks nothing like the last image he'd seen of Minx, bruised and bleeding and completely helpless. Dying and then dead.

The bag of Mrs. Martinez's cookies drops to the floor with a soft thump that reminds him of shattering glass. He takes one step, two, three; desperate to close the distance between himself and whatever image of Minx standing before him. He scoops Minx up in his arms and he feels real. Just a bit colder than him but nowhere near as frozen as he should have felt.

He spins Minx around, a bit scared he'll break him but not enough to stop. When he sets him down he keeps his chin resting upon the top of his head and pulls him into his chest so that he can feel him breathe against him. "Oh, god, I think I've lost it but I'm so glad I have." He laughs, breathless and watery, "I missed you so much, why'd you have to die?"