tell me why {Cyro/Arabella}

It's the floor length windows and bustling lights that keeps him up.

No matter what anyone asked, that would be what he told them. Not the way he bare skin touches the bed and feels so alone, so swallowed up by the feeling of fabric surrounding him and the lack of a routine now. No Xander to put to bed. No work to go to tomorrow. No life to be had for now. Instead, he lays there staring up at the ceiling counting every metaphorical panel as if it were the chances of his survival, despite knowing that his odds were lowered just based on the district he was born into. The capitol didn't like him. Lights bright along the skyline, colors bright and clean, almost too polished for a home making him sick to his stomach at the fake feeling of the capitol. Glittering and shining like it's meant to impress them as if it were meant to give them a taste and make them want more.

Cyro Krane would never want the white walls and sign of power with every avox servant he's passed. Sometimes he wonders what they'd done in order to earn the loss. His father could be in the building, missing tongue and lost fire behind his eyes. A very possible idea being in the training center and capitol, but he preferred the worst of ideas. The idea of his father dead, no longer breathing to give him the bruising of his skin and his heart. It's louder in the capitol; where sounds seem to cave in walls, build up trenches, and make them afraid. Afraid of everything new, loud, and pristine in a way Eleven never would be.

Except, Cyro Krane wasn't afraid. No, he wasn't afraid of the capitol's wealth or their show of power. He's seen all of their privilege in the streets of Eleven, where Peacekeepers push citizens on the ground and question workers if they're stealing from the harvests. Cyro's been questioned many times when he'd work and every time he told them no, yet he was still held back, detained from his son because in Eleven, they were just bodies to work on the capitol's farms. It's frustrating in a way, but it's not enough to make him afraid of their authority.

There's a burning in his chest about being in these fabrics, pretending he's apart of all of this. They had taken him and removed the dirt, made him shine in the way the capitol wanted him to. Arabella and him had both been cleaned up in their eyes. Became pieces in the Capitol's game to be presented in such a fashion where human beings were no longer human beings, but animals to be sold. A chill runs down his back as he prays for his son to never go through something like this. Never be shown the horrors of Panem, but he would be one day and all he hoped was Xander learned to survive in this world without harm.

It's then when the door flings open, with the sight of Arabella Shirley standing in his room that makes him feel exhausted finally. Tears flowing down her eyes as he stares for a moment, knowing the same anger in her voice and face. The same anger he used towards his father when enough was enough. It's the words that catch him off guard. "How could you?!" The words don't click. What has he ever done to someone like Arabella Shirley? Peering over the fabrics, finally standing up letting them fall, in nothing more than a pair of loose shorts and underwear, he stares with curious, but apathetic eyes.

"What did I do?"

It's the truth, he's not sure what he's done to Arabella Shirley. It could be about how he's been not the nicest of people or the anger he showed on the train. She could be asking how he ignored her during the train and focused on himself. She could be asking him how he could be so cold or so brutal to her. She could be asking about how could he leave his son behind. Arabella Shirley didn't know him. She wouldn't know him completely and he had been fine with that, but she had stormed in here like she owned the place. No warning, no knock, nothing but anger and tears and he didn't blame her. Cyro Krane knew what it was like to burn with that anger, hell he still burned with it most of the time.

"Don't cry, I'm sure whatever I did isn't worth the tears."