one good memory | emmett

Of course he doesn't want to see me. He doesn't say it outright but his tone spells it out pretty well. It's something in his eyes too, in the way they wince at me. The only interaction we had was kind of negative I guess, I don't know what I expected.

My false confidence crumbles so quickly that I pretty much see it fall at my feet. Pathetic really, how fast it rolls over to expose its soft, pink belly.

But I know how to not show it, I'm so damn good at it. Years of repressing everything that ever made me feel bad has given me the skill I need now to keep my expression blank and I'm inside my head again, staring out through the eye holes. The console beneath my fingers can move my body any which way I need so I tuck my hands behind my back and press my thumbnail into my wrist because I have no elastic band to snap.

Which is more pressing, physical pain or the fear of being a burden?

Sirens ring in my head, my stomach flips and I seriously wonder if I should just make an excuse and leave. That's what I've always done, it's been sixteen long years of being so goddamned alone because I was either too anxious to stay or was saying the wrong thing.

And I've been staring at him for two minutes before I realize he's waiting for an answer, but it's not my fault. He's done something different with his hair or something, it's distracting.

"I told you I'd make you a good memory before you left," I say, realizing just how lame it sounds to say that as I do, "So come on."

I push myself off the wall, all false confidence and so many layers of anxieties that I've spread out carefully to dry that I seem calm. Hopefully, he doesn't see the way that my hands shake a little as I walk or the way I hold my breath, straining to hear the sound of him following me.

There it is, he's light on his feet I guess because the sound of his footsteps are barely audible on the carpeted floor but they're there. That's new somehow, it's different too and I get it, why people want to be together. It feels good to know he's following me.

My heart fills with helium and suddenly it's no longer there, nestled gently in my ribcage but up above us bouncing along down the hall. It hits the ceiling and leaves a mark and I wince slightly, wondering just how much is too much to lay bare.

"There's this place I know on the thirteenth floor," I say and turn around to look at him, still walking, "Pretty sure we're not supposed to go there, but whatever, you know?"

Did that sound too casual or just enough?

I lead him past the elevator and down a side hall. There's an old service elevator for the Avox to use, easier for them to be seen and not heard that way but usually, tributes don't have enough time in their busy schedules to find it. It's not my first time in the training centre and last year was a lot of rediscovery for me.

I always left the roof alone, that was for tributes to wax poetics and look at the stars on their last night of freedom. No, I'd found something better.

It's easier to be confident like this, with him following and me leading and knowing that he's here because he wants to be. I settle.

I step into the elevator and spin maybe a tiny bit dramatically to look at Emmett, "Going up," I say and I press the button, hidden on the elevator for its bad voodoo, for the thirteenth floor.

In the span of a week, he's not the same. His words come different, less raw and I know I was lucky last time. The first time we met, he was already cracked and I had him to myself in that bathroom. There was nothing left to guard but now he moves gentler, less misguided and I want to comment on it, ask him if he's ever danced. I don't know how to make that not sound odd so I roll it around on my tongue to save for later.

I don't know what that means when it comes to him. There's no later here, just these twelve hours or so where we exist in the same space for what might be the last time. It's so concrete, having him here in the rickety service elevator with my finger pressed against the button for a floor that doesn't exist for anyone but us.

But me, I guess.

"When I was little, I did a lot of exploring," I tell him. The elevator doors shut with a soft ding and it starts to move us slowly up, noticeably slower than the main one and with more clicks. "I had a lot of time to myself and no one seemed to care if I was somewhere I shouldn't be."

Such different lives we've led. I gaze at him silently for a moment, wondering what he sees when he looks back at me. A spoiled brat with a free ride to the luxury that everyone in his position has to literally kill for? Maybe. I strangely don't feel anxious about it, if that's the worst he can think about me I've already thought it of myself plenty of times. It barely hurts anymore, knowing just how outside of everything I am. My privilege has placed me perfectly between worlds but for tonight, I want to live in his.

I shake my head at his question, "Nah, you make your own luck."

As the elevator reaches the thirteenth floor, I hold down the door close button, nerves suddenly taking over my brain again, my reprieve over. Fuck, what if he thinks it's lame?

That'd be fine, it's just a secret place that I've kept sacred for years. I was so excited to realize it'd been untouched through the decade I was gone that I hadn't dared tell anyone about it in case they realized the mistake and the floor disappeared.

But I'm pretty sure I heard the sound of waves in Emmett's room from the hall.

"Shut your eyes ok?" I tell him, hand wrapping around a remote in my pocket, "Trust me."

It's only after the demand leaves my lips that I realize how much of an ask it is. I was lucky, I grew up in a house alone but for my mom, I'd never had to question her love for me before. I'd never had to sleep with a knife under my pillow.

I wonder what it was like for Emmett, growing up in a house full of careers. The only other Le Roux I've really spoken to was Isaac, a career through and through. Did he sleep with his back to the wall?

My hand tightens around the remote and I wait for a shield to come up, for him to nix the whole night. There's me in my head again, mouth going dry as my hand hovers over the abort mission button. For a moment, I'm ready to. I know what that looks like for me, the way that I retreat into myself like a goddamn party trick. All blank on the outside, raging messy inferno internally.

He hasn't even said anything yet and I'm already getting ready to dump the mission overboard. Maybe it's because with the elevator doors shut, I can smell him and it's sort of like walking into the greenhouse during a rain, when all the plants are lively and droplets hit the roof with a steady patter.

What the fuck is my brain doing?

Don't you dare blus- oh thank god, he's shut his eyes.

I can't keep the sigh of relief from leaving my lips even as he cracks a joke about Bambi being upset if I messed up his face. That actually does scare me, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to know not to mess up a tribute's look right before the game start. "I'd have to change my name," I comment offhand, "Go into hiding."

I wish my anxiety didn't come in so fast and recede so quickly. Little waves lapping at the shore of my ego, begging to draw back and smother me.

Begging me not to try and slip my hand into his because what if he pulled away?

But I do, taking my thumb off the door-close button in the process. I don't know what I am expecting when I do. Maybe not the roughness where our calluses meet. Maybe for my hand to fit in his better, like two puzzle pieces. But they don't, I have to slip my fingers through his to find the right grip.

"Just a sec, okay?" I say and I lead him out onto the floor as the doors slowly slide open.

I guess when they abandoned floor Thirteen, they took everything with them because it's all gone, the lights, the dividers, the furniture, everything. I mean that it's been scraped out and the two of us stand in the middle of the expanse of it, feet on carpet-stripped concrete. Structural pillars dot the room and some yards ahead, closer to the floor to ceiling windows that surround us on all sides, is a duvet I bartered off an Avox.

"Keep 'em closed."

I let go of Emmett's hand and walk over to the duvet, I've packed some stuff I took from the dining hall, some snacks and then a bottle of wine that a capitolite sent for Opal. I was banking on her not realizing it was gone. There's already half-done candles from last time I was here, so I light them, match striking against board in a soft sizzle.

I aim the remote at the nearest screen, having set it last year already to control all of them at once and set the view to the ocean setting. Just like that, we're surrounded by beach in a domino effect and the gentle sound of a quiet tide fills the room.

"Okay," I say, "Open."

Maybe I'm an idiot.

I watch him as he opens his eyes and sees what I've done and I know that I truly fucked up because seeing him take it all in makes my chest go tight. Mom told me not to get attached and now here I am, string tied loosely around my heart like a noose.

I know the sun is setting on-screen behind me because it washes his face with a warm glow. It highlights his hair and touches his lips gently right before he spins on the spot to see the point behind him where the light begins to fade.

Maybe it's a trick because of the windows but suddenly I realize just how far away he is here. Moments ago I was holding his hand but that may as well have been eons. How was it that the first time we met was on the train? Somehow it feels like my fault, that we spent our whole lives in the same place but we never spoke.

I guess we existed in parallel to each other.

He looks at the ocean the same way he looked at me on the train when he hadn't enough time to throw a mask up and it was just the two of us. There's something careless there, maybe a little bit lost. But there's joy too; life. I don't know what I expected, for the tributes to be dead already I guess.

I flex my hand against my side uncertainly, half missing the weight of Emmett's hand in it. There's a tightness in my throat as I think about the fact that he's gone in just under twelve hours.

And it's weird, I thought I knew my one good memory, but the moment Emmett opened his eyes and saw what I'd put together for him, it changed. There was something about the way his eyes had widened or maybe the shock on his face, I don't know. I feel kind of sad, I'm so bad at goodbyes and this feels like one long one.

But then he's moving forward and I step back slightly, body slipping into a better stance if he decides to hit me but he doesn't. His arms just wrap around my neck, body against mine and he hugs me.

So I put my arms around him, just under his arms and crossed carefully over his back to hug him. We're nearly the same height but his head is tilted, pressed into my neck. I hear it again, rain on a greenhouse roof.

I rest my chin on his shoulder.

We fold together well, bodies melding and no awkward bumping but I wonder if he can hear the way my heart is beating like a jackrabbit. I've reached a point of panic past calm. But he's warm, shoulders firm under my hands and his words tickle my neck.

And I want to keep it cool, casual but I've never been either of those.

"I hoped you'd like it," I tell him, "You're the first person I've ever brought here."

I didn't realize how badly I needed him to love it like I do. I've been using it as my hiding place all my life, the place I go to when all that's left to do is panic and stare out the window, at the lights of the Capitol. When my mom wasn't feeling well when I was little, this is where I came.

Have I been hugging too long? Shit. I step back and gesture at the blanket, "I brought snacks, you know, beach picnic."

God, what eloquence.

My hand falls on the bottle of wine again. I've never even had a sip of alcohol but I know it's got to be good or why would people be so obsessed with it?

"You ever had uh... Chardonnay?"

Cool, pretty sure I butchered that.

There wasn't really much of a plan past this point. I hadn't even been certain that we'd make it this far and now that we have, my head feels strangely empty. My thoughts aren't running around, it's like someone's flicked a switch and my hands still feel warm from his skin.

I pull two cups out of my bag, nothing fancy, and I pour. The scent of the wine seems sweet but there's something lacking there, I don't know what. It's hard to describe something hollow.

Still, when Emmett sits across from me I pass him a glass and tap mine lightly against his. The initial taste is decidedly not good and I swill it on my tongue a bit, trying to find the appeal. There's definitely flavour in it, but there's a dryness too that catches at my mouth and tears a little. Damn, it's kind of disgusting.

The silene extends between us but it isn't bad. It's just there, a heavy thing that settles comfortably on the duvet and purrs along to the gentle sound of the waves. The sun still sets slowly on the ocean and I wonder what it'd be like to watch a sunset in real life. I think about sitting on a beach, sand between my toes and real wind in my hair. The heat of the setting sun on my skin, burning it a little and the taste of salt on my lips. Maybe a blanket too, birds crying, an encroaching cold. I turn, I look, there's Emmett too.

What am I doing?

I shake my head, pushing the idea away, I don't know where that came from. One doesn't have beaches and Emmett probably wouldn't be there anyway. I should really be pushing him away here instead of leaning forward, should really be saying goodnight instead of sitting here with him.

But I don't.

"Maybe it started that way," I answer, "But now it's this."

Vague, I know, but I don't know how else to describe it. Yeah, maybe the intent had been set-up but this moment doesn't feel constructed, at least not to me. I don't know what else to call it, what do kids do? Hang out? I'm a kid, I guess I should know. I wonder what Emmett thinks this is.

Just me doing something nice or-

I dunno.

My cheeks heat up again and I turn away and pretend that some birds on a screen across the room have caught my eye. They pinwheel in the wind, it almost looks like they're dancing.

My best memory is complicated, well-steeped in father issues. I feel the weight of it on my chest, always cold on its chain despite the heat of my body. Before I thought it was when my mom gave me my father's ring but now I don't know.

I turn back to look at Emmett and reach into my shirt to tug out the little circle of metal. It's heavy on my palm but comforting and I wish I knew how to put into words how much I missed a person I never got to meet.

"Last year I," I say, "Last year I went to the museum and I met my dad." Standing in a room with his AI under a sea of stars had settled something within me, he'd taken this emptiness inside and somehow placed something else in there. I'm still unwrapping it.

"I know it's just a program but I felt... okay, you know?" I say. I lean forward then, offering him the ring to look at with it still attached to my neck. My hand falls on the blanket beside his knee to steady myself. "My mom gave me his ring last year."

"Have you ever lost anyone?"