sorry can't save me now ] ky & asher

Days suture themselves together, melting into this strange haze that's neither here nor there and I think that maybe I'm ready to admit that there is something wrong with me again.

Mira called me out on my mostly empty pill bottle at our first session after I got back from the Capitol so I haven't been back to her office since. She can't tell Opal anyway, patient and doctor confidence or something. I'm an adult now and there's nothing she can do except try to slow my downward spiral and I've got to hand it to her, she's really trying.

The problem is, I'm not.

Except the pills weren't really helping anymore so I flushed them in an act of defiance and then regretted it pretty much immediately. Regretted it, even more, when I was curled up on my bathroom floor all of the next day, fever turning the lighting in there into a brilliant white that burned my eyes. Then I wasn't sure if me flushing my medication was defiance or hatred for myself and I still haven't decided on that.

Thank God -Sampson I guess- for the hemp starter they shoved in my carry-on before I got on the train home.

The afternoon has me with my bedroom door locked, window flung wide open and my legs up against the wall. Opal isn't home, Val off at training or whatever so the quiet hours are just mine, like always. I'm alone.

I'm trying to figure out smoke rings, saw someone making some cool ones at one of the clubs in the Capitol a few months back. It was the same night we lost Alistair. It was easy to be glad it wasn't Asher, a thud of pain every single time someone offered condolences for One bowing out so early. It was nothing in comparison to losing Em and just like that, I feel myself growing my own little garden of apathy.

But I don't want to be that, the prince in his little tower, unconcerned with the suffering outside of victor village. I want the anger, the heat building beneath my skin and so I welcome it. I let it fester.

I don't call Asher anymore, I can take a hint. After the last time, I knew he didn't want me around and I couldn't blame him for that. Me, with all the glory and none of the work, the only kid from One who goes to the Capitol yearly and still makes it home safe.

It isn't surprising anymore that i struggle to retain friends, they either die on me or we break because it's easy to. I can't even hate Asher for wanting nothing to do with me. I'm just mad because I miss him.

And I need the rage, so it's fine.

There's a loud ping as rock hits iron and I grab the closest thing to me, a running shoe, and roll into a sitting position.

I thought I heard a yell but that doesn't make sense, not when the only other active family in this stupid, gentrified wasteland is Ridley's house. Val could be home early but he doesn't throw shit at the house.

There's only one person who never learned how to just knock and my guess solidifies as a big chunk of concrete comes flying through my bedroom window to hit the wood floor hard and then skid to a stop at my feet.

"It's me!"

After months of leaving my window wide open for him, even in zero degree weather, the bastard's finally shown his face.

And I don't really know why but my first instinct is to hurtle my shoe out the window in response.

I drop my roll-up into an ashtray and lean out the window, eyes on Asher, almost afraid to take them off of him. Maybe I should be mad.

"Hi," I say, trying so hard to keep my tone cool and failing, "You know I called you?" I'm gripping the window sill too hard and I rest my chin on my arms to hide how white my knuckles are.

"I was worried. You know?"

And it's true that I was worried, right up until seconds ago when I was laying there on my bedroom floor. It's false that I'm not anymore, I don't even try to hide the way I look him over from my perch as if I can take all of him in at once. I think he might be taller but it's hard to say with his shoulders hunched to guard him against the wind like that. Maybe he's thinner too but it's been so long since I've seen him, I've gotten my facts all muddled.

He snaps at me, ever the wounded alley cat and it's comforting. Asher, for all the time and distance between us, is the same old Asher I met last year. All teeth but barely any bite when it comes to me. He softens in the next moment and I feel myself defrosting the littlest bit. I know, I know I'm supposed to be angry about him ghosting me but I already have to be mad at everyone else. Besides, staying mad at Asher is about as useful as getting mad at the wind for blowing.

It's hard to hear him over it.

"Hey, wai- Asher," I protest as he starts to climb up the side of my house, "I've got a front door." It isn't the fastest route to me though, we both know that, and Asher isn't the sort of guy who's willing to take more time.

I reach out a hand as he draws closer, wrapping it tightly around his wrist to help pull him up the last few feet and his skin is warm against mine. I try to think about the last time I touched anyone without it just being a spar and it's hard to remember. Maybe sometime last year, it's not like careers are really touchy-feely.

But he's got something to say and I don't want to think about the way I want to pull him in closer, how I want to feel safe again. It's hard when the first time you meet someone, they're in the middle of saving your life. It's harder still thinking about how weak I was that night, bleeding out on a running trail and being okay with that.

I would have just laid there without a sound if Asher hadn't found me.

I shake my head, focusing in on Asher again. He's sat on the window, saying words at me and I'm somewhere else in my head entirely.

"Wait, what? Asher stop," I interrupt him slightly, "Stop shitting on yourself-" But he's not done talking and I kind of forgot how much I liked the way his voice fills up my whole room, chasing every bit of loneliness I've ever felt out. It's easy to wrap myself in it, easy to pretend that this isn't the first time I've seen him in months.

He's sitting funny, favouring one side of his body and he never used to do that before.

"Wait, that's? That's what you're upset about? That you didn't get reaped?" I ask, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice, "Are you kidding?"

And there's the anger.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask again and I back away, crossing my arms, protecting myself from Asher Clarke and his stupidity. "You wanted to get reaped? So what, you could fucking die on day two or three like Al? Like-like-..."

I bite my tongue. Saying Em's name out loud is hard and confusing and I hate the way that my mouth closes on the 'T'. It's so final.

I guess I kind of forgot about careers and the way that we brainwash them into thinking that it's fucking beautiful to die for a district and a country that couldn't care less. I don't want to shit on his ideals, I really don't.

But on this one, I think I have to.

Except his eyes are watery.

I soften, take a moment to take a deep breath. Part of me wants to shove him but he's sitting on a windowsill that's at least 10 feet up and I don't like the way he's sitting stiff. There's something he hasn't told me yet.

So I tug him inside instead.

"You... I thought that day that I was going to lose you and I don't think I can do that. Not you too."

I drop his hand, run a hand through my hair and I look anywhere but at him. I can't bear him seeing how weak I've gotten. I think about the joint I just smoked, how it probably smells like weed in here and I guess I've forgotten shame.

"So just... don't apologize for... whatever it is you're trying to for. Okay?"

He isn't being normal and I don't know what to do with that. In the same way that my mom's been sidestepping me and Val won't quite look me in the eye anymore, Asher's voice is calmer than it should be here. I don't know what to do with that, don't know what to do when he isn't throwing his arms in the air and talking a mile a minute at me.

It's not like I've been an A+ friend back because where was I after the reaping? On a train, hurtling towards the Capitol at over two hundred and fifty miles per hour. Doesn't matter if I tried calling from there on Opal's phone, I wasn't there. I should have been and that feeling feels so bad, stood in front of him here that I have to curl my hands into fists to keep my eyes from welling up.

My bedroom light is too harsh now, the floor is too hard and the air feels heavy on my skin and I hate myself because he's standing funny and I wasn't here. I know what he's saying now is important but all I want to do is reach out and pull his shirt up because I doubt it's good. I doubt, so hard, that Asher has been okay all this time. I've seen enough of my students the morning after the centre releases training scores to know that the violence taught to careers runs deep in our district.

Yet he's here to rescue me from my stupid tower where I've been playing the damsel in distress.

Asher braces himself on my shoulder and I bite my tongue, knowing that he'd tell me if he wanted me to know. I think I can probably mind my own business, at least for the next ten minutes, but the pressure of his hand on my shoulder isn't pressure at all and when he takes his hand away again it's cold there.

"Glory suits the living better, Ash," I say quickly, "Who cares if your name goes down in history if you're not there to see it? I'd rather have you."

And I know I'm being stubborn, that I just have to let him speak, but the problem with that is I really don't think that Asher knows how important he is to me. "You don't even have to like... try with me you know?" I say, "I think you're really... well you're Asher and if you're not Asher then who the fuck is gonna be Asher?"

Brilliant.

I stare at him for a long moment and he stares at me and then he raises his hands but I don't move a muscle because if there's one thing I know, angry and tough career or not, Asher wouldn't ever hurt me.

His hands find my hair and I lean a little bit into his touch, so starved for attention that it's kind of embarrassing, but he doesn't make it weird so I don't either. I just take the moment and I keep it.

"I mean it, okay? Apology unnecessary but accepted." I move a little bit closer, fingers brushing lightly against the hem of his shirt, maybe a little too familiar, "So are you gonna tell me who broke your ribs?"

Maybe I should give more care about the brambles before I go running my fingers through them but the little cuts they leave on my skin are hardly the worst of my worries.

It still stings when he loses his smile due to something I've said. Still, I'm happier with him here, snapping at me then off somewhere else ignoring me.

But I'm not stupid, I know I've crossed a line and a part of me relishes that, dares him to run from me because then I get to continue being miserable. Asher's mouth twists with something other than annoyance, a hint of disdain maybe, I don't know. I've been looked at in that way plenty of times before this, been told I wouldn't get it and made to feel other. It happens a lot when you're neither career or victor but something else entirely. It doesn't hurt me anymore, or at least it usually doesn't.

I back off and lean on the edge of my desk, crossing my arms protectively over my chest before I even notice the way I'm making myself smaller or at least trying to. When I was really little, I thought I could turn invisibility on and off like a switch, I guess sometimes my body still thinks I can.

"Are you really so sheltered that you can't guess?"

I know he's not trying to be condescending and I knew better than to ask but I can't help the way that my cheeks heat in embarrassment anyway. I guess I just didn't want to believe that I left him alone in that square with no place to go but the cold embrace of a monster.

"I'm sorry, Asher," I tell him, eyes on his. I don't dare elaborate on that, knowing full well that my pity is the last thing that he wants. It's not pity that drives the apology at all, it's mostly just regret. "We can talk about it later though if you want to."

It's not like he's a huge sharer though, getting anything real out of Asher is like pulling teeth sometimes. Him being here is enough for me anyway.

I take the loss, maybe one day he'll want to talk about it but until then, I won't pry. I don't want to be that for him, some nosy little privileged dickhead that makes his business mine.

I offer him a hand after a moment, palm open in front of me. "The magnolia tree is in bloom and the scent is good, let's collect the petals and make a cake or something." Kate had me baking with her during the 86th, Opal and her intent on our bonding. I can't really remember how well it went, it's all kind of hazy, but I've made at least six cakes since coming home.

"Lame, I know, but it's all I've got, okay?"

I guess he could also go, but I don't want him to.

I hope he doesn't want to either.

Maybe it shouldn't be comforting, but it's so much better like this, him all sharp edges and radiating fire like always. Maybe I shouldn't like the way his brow furrows, hos he gets too close but then not close enough but I do.

Because it's him and it's how he always is and he's not standing there looking hurt and lost and he's not crawled back out my window yet, he's still here, one hand locking me against the desk, the other arm leaving a space for me to run. He's all sharp edges and harsh words and so much anger boiling beneath the surface but Asher isn't trying to scare me.

He's a hundred little raw emotions all trying to get out at once.

I drop my arms, expression neutral. I should have known not to apologize, should have known he'd not like it. It doesn't make me wrong for doing it, doesn't make it any more acceptable that he's mad at me for it but I understand it because I sort of understand him, or at least I'm trying to.

I can read him a little bit better every time we talk like this and he opens up a little bit. I'm supposed to read anger, supposed to back down because he's a big strong career but I don't see it on him. I just see a kid who pushes back a little too hard because that's always been the best way to save himself.

I know I'm not supposed to but I step a little bit closer because I don't think he'll like it if I tell him I'm not going anywhere. I can learn to speak Asher.

He takes my hand and it's not an apology but it's something like it because he didn't leave. I relax, relieved a little that he cares enough to try. He says something else, smoothes back his hair but I can't stop focusing on the way he holds my hand and doesn't let go of it. Asher's hand is more slender than I thought. His skin is rough but it's comforting and I push our palms together and fold my fingers over the back of his hand tight and just like that, I'm his anchor.

"...start celebrating the damn things, right?"

"What?" I whisper.

I rewind a little seeing the way that he's a little bit too shy to look at me, and I think about what he's just said and that he's here. I think about how he came here, to me on his birthday like I'm the one who deserves the gift.

I gaze at him, at the way he ducks his head like a shy little boy and the colour in his cheeks and a wave of affection threatens to pull me under. No matter how mad I was that he didn't answer my calls, it doesn't really matter anymore because he matters to me and he's here now, right? It's his birthday and he's acting like it's mine.

"Okay," I tell him softly, "Okay, well, then let's make you one, yeah?" I unlock my bedroom door and tug him into the hallway, ignoring everything else. I'm not going to prod him like that again. Even if he never tells me about it. I get it, I have secrets I won't tell.

My movement feels light, the hallway wall a little too close and since Asher is behind me I can smile as wide as I want. It's easy to run away from my bedroom with his hand in mine, like every space in this house doesn't haunt me.

"You know I'm gonna remember this?" I tease, "Next year I'll be more prepared."

I know that probably feels more like a threat than a promise but I pull him into the kitchen, giddy. The kitchen door is propped open, the orchard in view. I grab a whisk and bowl out of the sink. "Tree's out back, we only need a few petals, set the oven for me, Ash?" I ask him, "Three fifty should do it."

"No one's gonna make you do anything, Asher Clarke," I say and I take the time to make sure he can see me rolling my eyes at him.

I like it when it's like this, all the hard talk muddled through poorly behind us.

At first I think that he's playing with me and the way he's staring at the oven as if it's a foreign object is a joke. There's no way that he doesn't know how to use it, I heated up my first meal in that one when I was five. Granted, I set it to 125 degrees by accident and it took three hours until I could eat but I was five years old.

Asher's like, an adult.

And I can't help but laugh when he yelps and jumps back, hands up in surrender. "Yeah well you set it to broil on high," I tell him as I lean over to flick it back off. "It's this one." I press down hard on the bake button, stopping to pat his shoulder before I dig into a drawer for some gardening gloves. I want to get some thistle while we're out there.

The oven beeps cheerily as it begins to heat, I figure we have about fifteen minutes, which will do just fine.

It's just reflex that makes me reach out and take his hand again, an instinct that has me brushing my thumb against the back of it. I'm just trying to comfort him, that's all. Though it feels more like self-soothing. "Guess your oven at home is different?"

I give him the benefit of the doubt because it doesn't matter.

The weight that I woke up with on my chest this morning is still upstairs, looming. I know when he leaves tonight it will settle over me again, my steps will be sluggish and hours will pass in moments.

But he's here and for now, it stays put and I don't have to lay there, biting my cheek in an effort to make myself finally cry. I've been so dry for months.

But it's his birthday and he chose to spend it with me and that floods me with such warmth that it feels as if I'm leaking golden hour. The house doesn't seem so big and empty with Asher in it and I don't know if this feeling is caused by him or my high but for one, brief moment, I'm happy.

I lead him outside, wincing slightly as the wind cuts at my thin sweater. My teeth chatter a little, my blood circulation a little slow. I tighten my grip for support and pull him a little closer to block the wind. "Vanilla or chocolate?" I ask and I bend down to pick up the first few petals. "Or maybe both?"

He's not all that much taller than me but I've always seemed kind of small. It used to annoy me, the way people would look at me and hold me separate. I've been told I'm not a real career, had my hands taken and felt for calluses, my waist pinched to see how soft I was. Asher touches me in all these places but with the expectation that I'll be just as rough around the edges as he and when he rests his chin on my shoulder it isn't because I'm small, it's because he is and we fit together.

He skates around my calluses even as I pick at his. Maybe as a birthday gift, I'll drop it. His explanations throw me off and I can't help but wonder what his childhood was like, maybe we have more things in common than we both think.

There are so many things that I want to ask Asher but my head is so empty and the scent of the magnolia petals scattered at our feet is distracting. It's tart on my tongue and I stop myself leaning back into him. It's not fair sometimes, growing twisted in a cookie-cutter district like mine. Asher's the perfect little career, I bet he's already got some girl at his training centre he's destined to marry.

So I step forwards, a little clumsy as I adjust to the cold and I squat to pick some petals up off of the ground. My fingers dig wide, I can barely feel them. "Let's just fill the bowl so we can get back," I tell him, already looking forward to the heat of the oven warming up the whole kitchen.

He stays close by, not as particular in the petals he chooses to toss into my bowl. It's alright to have a few brown spots, I'll cut around them before we boil them down. "The flowers are for the icing," I tell him, not put off by his tone. It doesn't sound like a dig to me anymore when he sounds like that.

He's smiling anyway and for a moment I forget where the sun is, all this time I thought it was behind me, inevitable in its descent.

And I know I'm just high, thinking things I shouldn't be and I'll come to my senses soon. It's just been so long since I've seen him that I've managed to build every moment between us up differently in my head.

Asher offers me a challenge and I take the bait, throwing a handful of petals at him in indignation. "No way, you're getting one cake. Two layers with icing in between and all the candles on top, okay?" I'm just a little bit bossy.

There's no doubt in my mind that my competition for his best birthday yet is slim to none but that doesn't mean I'm not going all out in the few hours I have left to celebrate.

"I mean, if that's what you want?" I ask after a moment, setting the full bowl down beside me. "I've got other flavours too we could try."