the shape of water || feast 2v2v2v1vmutt

”Friend?” The word razed through the air like a gunshot, no gentleness behind it. ”Baby, he wasn’t my friend.”

Then Mauve was behind her, just as close as Fleur had come moments before, and if she had any sense she’d elbow the girl in the throat while she could. ”This is because you took away something that didn’t belong to you.”

”Oh no, I broke your toy. How sad,” she spat. Okay, Mauve cared no more for Bellamy than she probably did for the poor kid she was dragging around behind her. Was Fleur meant to be embarrassed by the revelation? If anything, it further cemented how out of touch Three was. No matter what the girl said, she had placed Fleur on her shitlist because another person died. Obsession was still a form of investment, and even though Mauve clearly preferred control over compassion (if that was something she was even capable of), the transgression still burned her.

Almost involuntarily, a smirk twisted its way across Fleur’s face. Poor little Mauve, so worked up. Then, the reality of the situation came crashing in, and the voice inside her head that regularly made her feel guilty went from a whisper to a scream. Thread is still in danger, dumbass.

She knelt to the ground to gather up the knives she’d thrown, trembling as she gripped both in one hand.

”You know what, Three? Go fuck yourself,” her partner said, and she found herself in earnest agreement, imagining herself driving a blade below Mauve’s chin, before realizing that wasn’t really a fantasy held by a good or sane person.

The girl said something in response, but Fleur found herself watching a dark vine snake overhead instead. It found Thread’s bloodied form, and almost as quickly as it had appeared, upset his body and retreated. The simultaneous rush of relief and terror that flooded Fleur’s body nearly made her dry heave on the spot.

She stayed glued to her spot for a while, even as Mauve and her young partner retreated and two of the other tributes sifted through their supplies. Blood rushed in her ears, and she wasn’t aware of her movements until she was already inches away from her friend, lowering herself onto the ground. She laid flat on her back next to him, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. The clouds swirled overhead.

This was just another night talking. Another night stargazing. If they just laid here, she could forget the world around them, forget that one of them was dying.

They talked a bit, and it felt like centuries and simultaneously felt like not enough time. He knew her on a level that most people outside of the Adroxis family couldn’t claim to. Ben certainly couldn’t. The thought made her ache, and she fought against the sob that was rising in her throat.

She had to tell him, didn’t she?

Someone had to know. He’d been honest with her in a way that she hadn’t, and he knew she wasn’t being honest. Her voice shook as she admitted you were right, and she knew that he knew what she meant.

”I didn’t volunteer for my family,” she started, a low whimper punctuating her statement. ”I did it for myself. There’s a lot of things I’ve done… that only benefited me.”

How could Fleur even begin to describe what she had done? I shot my boyfriend in the face seemed too blunt and I tried to kill my boyfriend felt like a lie although it wasn’t, and either statement would bring peacekeepers knocking at her family’s doorstep and for all of Fleur’s selfishness she wasn’t prepared to do that to them.

”I hurt someone I really cared about,” she choked out instead, hoping Thread would hear what wasn’t being said. ”I told myself it was to protect my family, but in reality I think I was just afraid of what would happen to me if I kept him around.”

One day she would’ve had to let Thread go anyway. It was either that or one of them watching the other die at their own hands. Yet, this knowledge didn’t make the bitterness fade. She wanted to reach for him, but that would not provide him comfort nor she. Her hands stayed pinned to the earth. She couldn’t talk about Ben anymore.

”You’re a good friend, Thread. You deserve this more than I do,” Fleur whispered, this meaning the ability to wake up the next morning, this meaning not paying dearly for the actions of people like Fleur and Stitch. This meaning going home to the life he deeply craved.

It was not her fault that Thread was dying, nor was it Mauve’s, thank Ripred, but Fleur still felt the flames of judgment licking up her spine, the blaze burning brighter as Thread shifted slightly to regard her.

”Remember what I said?” he asked. ”About promises you can’t keep? Well, keep this one. For me.”

His hands were hot coals against hers as she pried the purple scarf from his fingers. She rolled up into a sitting position, knees propped up, draping the scarf around her shoulders. Only when the cannon fired did she run the back of her hand against her eyes, finally appraising her surroundings. Two of the tributes were on the lake, paddling toward what looked like a wealth of supplies.

Fleur rose to her feet, tightening the scarf around her neck before tentatively approaching the water’s edge, still rippling with wind. Her legs were covered with blood and grime. She figured the lake water wouldn’t be enough to cleanse her.

She headed into the waves.