in the end she sets too /ky + asher

k y.

"Gold hair in the sunlight,
My light in the dawn
If I had an orchard,
I'd work 'til I'm sore."

He shakes dark curls out of his eyes and grins down at his friend. His words are built to cut but Ky knows now just how dull that blade actually is. The edge in his friend's voice is a teasing tone, the indignation a silent promise. Ky's limbs are still a little heavy with sleep and it's easier to lay back again, eyes on Asher.

"Hey I never said we lost," he answers, "Woke up before we could."

But he doesn't tell him that he dreams about him all of the time.

There's nothing anymore that holds him separate from the other boy. They've spent so much of the summer together that when words flow from Ky's mouth sometimes he doesn't finish his thought before Asher is already answering. The day is seamless, the evening fading late into the night and then early morning. He's watched sunsets and sunrises alike from this blanket and it's hard to remember what he does in the hours without Asher around.

But he's never had anyone like Asher before, someone who's just there as if there isn't an option not to be.

Ky places a hand on the book beside him at Asher's accusation. He's probably right, except these dreams are still more peaceful than the things that have been haunting him all year. "It's for work," he tells him and that's sort of true. It's important to teach kids strategy but it isn't likely they're ever going to need a banned book.

"And the ideas interest me I guess."

The fog of sleep still has its hold on him and Ky holds a hand above his eyes, cutting out the brightness of the setting sun and casting shadows on his face. "But I think you're kind of right, I feel like happy people don't write stories, they just live them."

Sometimes he feels the sadness pooled in the letters in front of him, so heavy that it's hard to turn the page.

k y.

"Gold hair in the sunlight,
My light in the dawn
If I had an orchard,
I'd work 'til I'm sore."

It's a weird snag to get caught on, the understanding that he's at a tipping point. It's unclear if this has been a slow burn or an impulsive decision, but somewhere in the middle of everything, Ky's been thinking differently.

And you'd think that'd be a good thing because his thoughts are less settled on the things that have hurt him and more on the things he can change. His tone when he speaks is no longer aimed downwards, but up. Purpose pushes his shoulders back, keeps his chin up. It's easy to mistake it as successful therapy sessions but even there, Ky's built a wall.

"No, they do exist," Ky argues, "It's just impossible to be happy all of the time, that's all."

All his life, it's been all of his life that he's gotten by on half-truths and dead-end explanations that no one knew him well enough to question. It began as a way to protect his mom, hold her guilt at bay, but it developed into a shield to hide behind. Any sign of weakness, any flicker of emotion is instantly picked apart by the kids he teaches or by the media in the capitol.

And Asher sees through all the smoke and mirrors always. He can't seem to hide from him no matter how many smiles he offers or how many pretty words he drops. Maybe Ky would find it frustrating if he wasn't secretly relieved. He was beginning to think himself unreadable, the robot boy from One made up of a jumble of actuations and misfires.

Ky stares back at Asher, it isn't hard for him to lie but it is a little bit awful being looked at so closely. Ky's been analyzed and studied countless times in his life but this is different. He doesn't look away, from the angle, the sun paints Asher's irises a golden brown; it's warm there, beneath his gaze. It's just slightly hard to think with him so close.

"I-" don't know what you mean.

That's what he was going to say and maybe that's what he would have said to anyone else, a blank, innocent expression on his face. It's true though that he's spent late nights in the slums and probably met with One's old mayor a few more times than really makes sense.

And sometimes a war starts with a single gunshot.

"I'd never do anything stupid, Ash," Ky tells him, "I couldn't do that to my mom." That doesn't feel entirely honest either. With Opal off in Eleven, safe and comfortable with Kate, his worry over her is dulled. He used to think that if anything happened to him then she'd be alone, door shut and broken again but that isn't so true anymore.

"It's just a book," he says and that's entirely honest at least, "My ego isn't so big that I think I can change the world."

But that doesn't mean Ky thinks that he shouldn't try to. No matter how bad his chances, waxen wings are still better than none.

"If I fly too close to the sun, you'll catch me right?"

k y.

"Gold hair in the sunlight,
My light in the dawn
If I had an orchard,
I'd work 'til I'm sore."

Ky aches from holding on so tightly to all the loose ends he's made for himself. He thinks about all the ways he's shut himself up, folded pieces of himself away so as not to become a burden and that aches too.

With Asher, all of his planes lie flat, ridged paper telling the story of where he warped himself too far, splitting his fibres permanently. All the things Ky's never said, the stories he hides, they sit there in plain sight, ugly. It's hard to be seen, he realizes, it's painful. It's like pins and needles underneath his skin and it's so fucking difficult to lie.

But an incredible strength pulls him upwards, a destiny that's been set out for him before he was even born. He's a victor's son and it is time to pay his due for that.

His first thought is that Asher will never understand that; no one ever will. That burns always, wildfires marking his skin year after year and showing the places where soot lies so heavy over old wounds he can't breath.

And Asher's supposed to argue with him because he always does but he doesn't, not this time. This time, there's something Ky can't quite place at first in his tone, marked with the gruffness that he's grown too fond of in the last year. His voice wavers a little, open and raw and Ky watches, mystified.

"I don't want-"/

He leans forwards a little, eyes searching Asher's face, working fast to understand what this moment is. Sadness and longing intertwine like ivy on a branch, t's hard to discern one from the other. It's occured to Ky before that Ash might just do more than tolerate him but that idea's only ever been just that.

Then Asher's hand is in Ky's hair and the world rolls a little as his friend pulls him on top of him. Ky places a palm against his chest, ready to resist if this is just another tousle but Asher's grip is gentle, his movements slow.

Ky blinks, eyes on the blanket beneath them, so aware of Asher's skin against his and the way that his hair smells. It's his soap maybe, that clean scent mixed with the scent of the sun. Don't fly too close.

For a moment, it's hard to think, all Ky can do is slowly collect data from the rest of his body. His skin where Asher's touches his is warm, it tingles, all those pins and needles focused to those connecting points as if they're magnetizes. His shirt is rumpled against his stomach, rumpled against Asher's and it's kind of uncomfortable but not in a bad way.

His hands lay flat against Asher's shoulders, fingers snaking slightly over the curve of his body and he presses the pads of his fingers into his muscle, trying to keep his balance.

And it's so different, hearing Asher's voice in his ear like this. It starts as a slow rumble, his words building from his chest rather than his throat and it's completely distracting. It's hard to focus on the meaning of them, hard to want to do anything but make Asher say more things. Ky forgets what they're talking about for a solid moment, content to just lay there and be a fool.

"My metaphors..." he repeats slowly.

Maybe he could relax a little if it weren't for his heartbeat racing at a mile a minute. Ky tries to string together a coherent thought, a pretty little lie for Asher to get him off his back about all of it but it's difficult. Every half-truth he tries to come up with, every metaphor tastes sour.

So he tells the truth.

"You're the last person I want to hurt," Ky says quietly and his tone is almost shy, "You are my favourite."

And that's embarrassing.

He props himself up a little bit and gazes down at Asher. "I wouldn't be me though if I didn't do this. I wouldn't be able to look you in the eye anymore."

It's hard to talk like this, to say the things he's been thinking for months to someone else because Ky doesn't do that.

His fists uncurl, his arms laid bare in offering before him and all of his secrets try to tumble off of his tongue, to nosedive into a freefall. He knows that Asher will catch them, that he has no one to tell them to anyway.

Not that he would.

"I have to do something, I- I can't... it's painful to just sit here doing nothing when I know I can help."

k y.

"Gold hair in the sunlight,
My light in the dawn
If I had an orchard,
I'd work 'til I'm sore."

He can't remember the exact moment that Asher became so distracting. He only remembers the first time that he wished Asher wouldn't leave just because the moon had risen.

July Tenth. The cicadas were so loud that night, buzzing in the bows of the apple trees in the back yard, their branches heavy with ripening fruit. Ky had been laying on the floor of his bedroom, watching as Asher stepped out the window, knowing that when he was gone, he'd be all alone again.

But that's not what had bothered him. Loneliness is something he can stand, he's accustomed to it. It was being apart from Asher that made his stomach fall, that feeling that linked the words together to ask Asher to stay, but he didn't speak. Ky let them sit on the edge of his tongue as Asher landed on the ground below with a soft thud.

How pathetic it all is; to long for someone.

He puts a date on everything, careful with his memories always in case he starts forgetting and the days all blur together. He's always framed important moments, hung them in the quiet places safe from overthinking. Sometimes when Asher takes his hand, it's to pull him back from slipping over an edge, nothing more than that.

The half-confession he's dropped between them loses its weight quickly and Ky can't help but feel grateful that Asher doesn't think like that. It's hard to mourn the loss here with Asher beneath him, hard to think about anything bad at all, really. Even the important things they're talking about seem far away.

"Oh fuck off," Asher tells him but his touch is so gentle gainst Ky's cheek that he knows it's alright. He can't help but lean into his touch a little bit, can't help but shut his eyes for a moment, the wind in the trees sounds like the crashing of digital waves. It pushes through everything else until that's all he can hear.

But that has no place here, that memory can't exist here in the same space that Asher takes up.

"Don't forget about me," Emmett had said, "Promise."

This isn't the same. The way he feels for Asher is different, like learning to drink coffee and discovering over time that you no longer need all that sugar and cream. Ky opens his eyes and stares down at Asher, committing the moment to memory. No matter how nice it feels, he knows deep down that he doesn't deserve this second chance.

Perhaps he'll take it anyway.

Ky doesn't move away when Asher moves closer, he lets the space between them shrink and it feels nice, like this spot beneath the trees is just theirs. With him closer, it's easy to see how light those brown eyes of his are and the little scars on his face and the way the summer sun has scattered light little freckles on his cheeks. His best friend is saying so many important things right now but all Ky can do is look at his lips and wonder if Asher's ever been kissed.

Ky could kiss him.

"It's not about me or my pride, that's the point," he tells him, "It's about everyone else. It's about the victors and the... the losers and everyone."

It's about Emmett and Opal and Beck.

It's about all the broken people that Ky's surrounded by, the kids who he trains, the people starving to death in their own district. It's about the rows of headstones marking tributes in the cemetary and the bereaved parents who maintain them.

And it's about Asher. It's about Asher and the way he was holding himself when Ky finally saw him again after he was reaped.

It's about Asher and the way he doesn't know how to live past eighteen and the bruises he saw, still so angry, on his hips once. It's about the way he only smiles every now and then.

Ky can't say that though, he knows Asher will hate it.

"Guess I shoulda figured the kid I found bleeding out in a forest was gonna break my heart some day."

He tips forward, forehead resting against his for a brief moment before he pulls back again. It's easy to touch him like this, easy to place a hand against the back of his neck to hold him in place but Ky knows it's also not fair.

He's not about to enter a bloodbath but what he's setting out to do isn't going to be easy either and he doesn't want to be anybody else's Emmett.

So he pulls away, climbs off of Asher and tucks his hands into his pockets, safe.

It's safe.

"That kid bled out," Ky says, "I'm not half as naive as I used to be. I can do this, Ash."

He shivers a little, the sun's almost set and it's getting cold now.

"I'll keep you out of it, don't worry."