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vxsellie · 3 days ago

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‧₊˚┊simple living things !

❛ MORTUUS EST ILLE ❜⌇𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔵𝔵𝔳𝔦𝔦𝔦

summary. The Victory Tour weighs heavy on the minds of everyone involved, placed as a burden upon their shoulders or tied as a noose around their necks. Still, peace can be found between the moments of pain and grievance.

warnings. mentions of past death, depictions of PTSD and trauma, fluff (for once), mentions of addiction, descriptions of alcohol, mentions of past child abuse, allusions to drowning & blood, descriptions of vomiting, mentions of homophobia

wc. 8 223

⊹ series masterlist ⊹ playlist ⊹ ao3 ⊹

09:22.

DISTRICT SEVEN.

Every way in which yesterday had been relaxing, today is the very opposite.

Yesterday, after you told Ruben of your plans with Ellie, he spent the whole day in leisure. Not because you were gone, but because he knew you were with her. He knew you couldn’t be in better hands. And, as the hours passed by, he occupied his lone time through cleaning. Because he knew the styling teams were scheduled to arrive early today.

Through this act of service, he learned a few interesting things about Ellie. One of which being she doesn’t use her living spaces very often. All her cooking ware appeared untouched, as though she’d never eaten in her own home. On top of that, the shelves in her living room were coated in dust. Ruben assumes she must spend the majority of her time either at Joel’s house or in her art studio.

It was nice, though, to be able to live and breathe without having to worry about what you were doing. Because, even if things might be a bit awkward between him and Ellie, he still trusts her with something he’d never trusted anyone else with—your life.

When the two of you got back to the house, Ruben could instantly tell how positively her presence influenced you. Your eyes were brighter, your movements were less stilted. You were more you.

Later on, Joel came over with some leftover chicken pot pie. The four of you sat around Ellie’s dining table, talking gently among one another. Ruben could tell you were uncomfortable by the tranquility of it all—like you were waiting for a bomb to go off—but he caught you staring across the table at Ellie, thus calming your nerves in an instant. She did the same.

Today, however, there’s barely any room to breathe.

Mentors and stylists and designers all swept into the house at five in the fucking morning. Ruben was the only one awake at the time, having left you in bed to sleep in despite knowing of their impending arrival. He told them that you and Ellie were still sleeping, but they didn’t care much to preserve that.

Alice and Tilly were shouting at everyone, ordering the group around with sharp demands and shrill voices. At the ruckus, you and Ellie were both roused from sleep, descending the stairs together so as to make it seem like you slept in the same bed—which you did not. At the sight of you guys’ states, the styling teams instantly got to work.

You’re both now in the living room, standing on two circular metal plates that face one another. They’re elevated a foot high, much like a pedestal. The designers thought it would be suitable for the two of you to get ready in the same room considering you’ve been living together since the Games. A lie, of course, albeit one that’s impossible to admit. You were getting your makeup done, though, when Ellie was getting dressed—which allowed you to close your eyes while she was nude without drawing any skepticism. Then the two of you switched and she did the same thing.

“How does that feel, darling?” Birdie asks you kindly as she adjusts the corset around your waist, the golden strings wrapped around her knuckles. “Too tight? Too loose?”

Ruben watches the two of you, standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. He and Birdie keep making eye contact, though they’ve yet to have the chance to speak in private. She’s dressed in violet today, her lips painted purple to match the blazer she wears over her black dress. He thinks she looks stunning and wishes he were able to tell her that. But he can’t. Not with how many people are here.

“It feels fine.” You respond with a shrug. “Maybe a little loose? I could be terribly wrong, though. I’m not exactly sure how a corset is meant to feel.”

She nods once before pulling hard on the strings, causing the fabric to cinch your ribs and waist. You inhale sharply, your spine instantly straightening. Birdie lets out a knowing laugh, “There we go. That’s much better!”

“This is better?” You ask incredulously.

“Corsets were invented as a form of torture for women, my dear.” Birdie says while walking around the plate to stand in front of you. She straightens your top, a small smile on her violet lips. “If you feel like you’re dying, you’re doing it right.”

You lift your head, narrowing your eyes distastefully at the woman across the room. Ellie looks up, meeting your gaze with a startled expression, clearly confused as to why she’s being glared at. You look back to Birdie with a frown. “Why the fuck doesn’t she have to go through this agony, then?”

Birdie shakes her head fondly, though she doesn’t seem to have an answer. Likely because it’s obvious. You’re wearing a gown of sleek gold, hanging like a satin tunic over your body; the straps are thin as hair and the neckline dips down your chest rather deeply. Ellie is wearing a pair of burgundy slacks and a matching burgundy blazer, nothing underneath. To some, it’ll seem as though you’re simply dressed in complimentary colors to accentuate your partnership. To others, however, the message is rather clear: you’re in gold, thus symbolizing the sun; Ellie is in burgundy, a shade in which resembles moths, thus symbolizing her devotion to you and your light.

It’s clever, on Birdie and Cat’s part, to design two outfits so subtle yet simultaneously so apparent. It’s dangerous, though. This blatantly shows President Fedra that Birdie and Cat are both aware of the rebellion and unafraid to publicly showcase their support.

“Thirty-eight minutes!” Alice calls out.

“Add your final touches!” Adds Tilly.

Birdie takes a step back from your pedestal, taking in the sight of your outfit. It’s stunning, admittedly, though Ruben isn’t a fan of the neckline nor the corset. They’re a bit too showy, though nobody asks his opinion—likely for that very reason. Ruben takes one look at Joel’s face and can tell he feels the same about Ellie’s outfit. Her blazer has the top three buttons undone, showing the bareness of her chest just enough to make the Capitol want more. Joel hates it, though, and has made that rather known through his continuous insults at Cat and her design.

“She’s gonna be freezing!” He’s saying. “How the fuck is this convenient at all!?”

“Just– Calm down, alright?” Cat tells him.

She shoots him a look that says we can talk about it later. But he doesn’t seem to gather that message as he continues to complain very loudly. Eventually Clay has to ask him to leave the room so they can finish their work. With a grumble, Joel storms out of the room.

“I’ll go talk to him.” Ruben says shortly before excusing himself into the hallway where he finds Joel pacing back and forth. His jaw is clenched tightly, his expression twisted into a deepened scowl. When he sees Ruben, he lets out a heavy sigh.

“Why the fuck are they wearin’ clothes like that when it’s snowin’ outside!?”

“I don’t know.” Ruben replies calmly. “But I’m sure Cat and Birdie wouldn’t have chosen those outfits without a good reason.”

“Those girls don’t know shit about–”

“Joel.” Ruben snaps, drawing his attention. “Have you been drinking?”

He scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter.”

“How much have you had?”

“Jus’ a couple beers.” He huffs. “I didn’t go chasin’ ‘em, though, okay? They were offered t’me.”

“By who?”

“I dunno, one of the designers?”

“Basil or Clay?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know.” He grounds out. “But he was jus’ tryin’ t’be nice. He saw I was stressed ‘n’ offered me a drink. It’s my fault for takin’ it.”

Just then, you and Ellie are being ushered out of the living room into the hall. You’re now wearing a fuzzy white jacket to keep your arms warm and, knowing Birdie, you’ve likely been given thick stockings to wear under your dress. Ellie is beside you, being drowned in a heavy black scarf and given black leather gloves to pull over her hands.

Alice and Tilly are continuously announcing how much time is left before you’re both expected to be on the train to Twelve.

Birdie crouches in front of you, lifting one of your feet to slide a shoe on. You instantly wince at the feel of weight being added to your other ankle, your hand coming to grip Ellie’s shoulder for stability. She turns instantly, green eyes narrowing at your expression. She then meets Ruben’s gaze, giving him a look that says I’ll tell you later. He nods. Birdie, unaware of everything, places your foot back onto the floor before lifting your other one.

The rest of the styling team is rushing around, adding a few final details. They slip a bracelet onto your wrist and a pair of studded earrings into Ellie’s ears. Then Alice and Tilly are instructing them to leave, needing only the stylists, mentors, and escorts present. Birdie pushes to her feet, pulling a small silver chain from her pocket. She holds it out in front of you, showing the pearl pendant in the center.

“I found it in the kitchen.” She says, reaching behind your neck to clasp it on.

Your eyes instantly fill with sorrow, your shoulders tensing. Then you whisper, “I completely forgot that I’d left it there.”

“That’s partly my fault,” Ellie says. “I told you to take it off before we went hunting.”

“That’s not your fault at all.” You turn to her, frowning. “You know how much it means to me and you didn't want anything to happen to it. If anything, I should thank you.”

Ellie doesn’t say anything, but she looks at you with all the delicacy in the world. She doesn’t need to say anything because her eyes are saying it all. Ruben suddenly feels like he’s intruding on something private and intimate.

“Well,” Birdie says softly, drawing your guys’ attention away from each other. She takes a step back, admiring you. “It’s here now. And it pulls the entire outfit together.”

The following few minutes are spent in haste, Alice and Tilly shouting at everyone to pick up the pace and get to the damn train station already—though they say it with much more eloquence.

When you arrive, the train is already waiting. Inside, everything is decorated in deep hues of brown and maroon. It’s a stark difference from Four’s train which is decorated in hues of beige and baby blues. Ruben thinks he likes this design better, actually, it feels more homely and comforting.

Almost instantly, Birdie is walking past him and making sure to brush the knuckle of her pinky across his wrist. Then she’s heading down the hall toward the bathroom. He knows, by that, he’s meant to follow her. He waits a few minutes, though, just to be sure he won’t draw any attention.

Throughout those minutes, he watches as everyone settles in for the next two weeks. Because, although you’ll be spending the day in each District, nights will be spent on the train—an eight-hour trip in between for sleep.

Avoxes help everyone settle in, revealing there to be only seven rooms despite there being eight of you present. Two people are meant to share a room and it’s rather obvious who those people are. Ellie’s eyes meet yours, both of you having gone a bit stiff. Alice doesn’t notice the wordless panic you’re both feeling, though, as she walks into the room with a wide smile, going on and on about how lucky you are to have been given such a large room.

While everyone is distracted by that, Ruben slowly backs away from the group until he’s in the hall. Then he slips into the bathroom unnoticed. He barely has any time to turn around before Birdie is flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him into a deep kiss. He returns it, of course, though he’s a bit confused.

Ruben pulls back, breathing heavy. “You’re not mad?”

“What could I possibly be mad about?” She asks, eyes flicking all around his face.

“I promised you dinner, then I ran off to Seven.” He frowns. “I should have–”

“Oh, shut up,” She lets out a fond laugh. “I could never blame you for that, Ru, you were taking care of your sister. I’d have done the same for my siblings in a heartbeat.”

The mention of Birdie’s brothers—Avner and Noam—makes Ruben’s chest ache. She told him about her past only a month ago, having kept the story of her family close to her chest for as long as possible. Her father’s illness that led to his death; her mother’s candor that led to her execution. But the thing that made Birdie most emotional was the memory of her brothers, twins, who she thought would be protected within District Thirteen, only to learn that Marlene has no issue with threatening them.

When she speaks of Avner, she first mentions how his independence reminds her of their mom, then how he always keeps his hair long enough to reach his waist. She only brushes across the fact that he’s half-blind because she believes it to be unimportant to his character. The same thing goes for Noam and the fact that he’s in a wheelchair. She hardly mentions it, instead focusing on his love for reading and the way he only ever talks when he’s asked about something he’s passionate about.

“I don’t blame you, darling.” She tells him in a whisper, leaning forward to peck a small kiss on his nose. “Plus, now that we’re to be on this train for the next two weeks, we’ll be having many dinners together.”

He huffs a laugh, nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

13:05.

DISTRICT SEVEN’S TRAIN.

“—And you even have two walk-in closets!” Beams Alice as she ogles enviously at the room that you and Ellie have been given. If only she knew the truth: you’ll likely be sleeping with Ruben, for Ellie doesn’t believe there to be a world in which you’d share a bed with her unless you’re forced into it.

“Why not give the couple some time to settle in?” Tilly suggests as she places a tender hand on her sister’s shoulder.

Alice turns, teal eyebrows raised. “Hm? Oh! Oh, yes, that would be courteous, would it not? Come on, Tilly, let us leave.”

With that, the two sisters turn on their heels and vacate the room. Everyone else has long since left, wanting to grow comfortable in their own private spaces. The train is set up quite cleanly; logically. At the very end of the hall is your guys’ shared room and, on either side, your teams face their co-worker. For example: Ruben, Birdie, and Alice reside on one side, facing Joel, Cat, and Tilly respectively.

The door shuts with a gentle click, the room suddenly going deafeningly quiet. Ellie turns around to find you in front of the bookshelf, running your finger along the spines of the dusty novels. She walks over to you, peering over your shoulder to read the titles.

“Macbeth.” You say, pulling a thick paperback from the shelf. You flip through the pages, allowing your eyes to scan the words. Then you lift your head, gaze meeting Ellie’s. “Have you ever read it?”

“Shakespeare? No thanks.”

You roll your eyes, slotting the book back into place. “He’s not necessarily a bad author, but he does have an obsession with killing off all his characters. Over time, you learn to not grow attached to anyone in his stories.”

“Well who dies in that one?” She asks, pointing to where you’d just discarded Macbeth.

“Everyone.”

She huffs a laugh, turning away from the shelving and continuing to examine the rest of the room. The walls are painted bole, lined with intricate edging that makes it feel like some sort of castle. The bed is huge, taking most of the space, with a thick red duvet atop it. Even the pillows are fancy, their cases soft and silky.

Ellie wastes no time before she flops backward onto it, the mattress sinking like quicksand under her weight. Her eyes slide shut as a relieved sigh passes her lips. It’s mitigating to finally lie down after spending hours atop that pedestal thing. She rolls her head to the side, watching as you examine the buttons on the wall. You press one, curious, and the walls suddenly turn neon green. You frown, frantically trying to undo your mistake.

Ellie groans dramatically. “Turn it off, my eyes are burning.”

“One second.” You say, pressing a few more buttons that end up doing more damage than good. Somehow, you’ve changed the floor from hardwood to checkered tile and turned the closet into a window. Then, after five—hilarious—minutes of struggling, you find the button that undoes everything, successfully reverting the room back to its original state.

With a heavy exhale, you sit on the edge of the bed right beside Ellie’s hip. The mattress dips and her body leans into you. Neither of you say anything, but neither of you move either, so Ellie supposes that’s a good sign. Then you’re lying back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling, your head less than a foot away from Ellie’s. She wonders if you feel the same gentle familiarity that she does.

“You don’t need to stay in here, if you don’t want to.” She says, hoping you don’t feel obligated to keep her company. “I’m sure Ruben’s room is much less ornate.

You roll your head toward her and she can feel you staring at the side of her face. “Who says I don’t want to?”

That grabs her attention.

Ellie blinks, her head snapping to the side. You meet her confused gaze with a calm one, holding the contact placidly. Her brows furrow in confusion, trying to read through whatever facade you’ve just raised. Are you serious? You want to stay here with her? But then your eyes flick to the side and back. She, cautiously, follows your gaze. There, in the corner of the room, is a security camera. Oh.

This isn’t you. She should have guessed. Because you would have told her to fuck off when she said her eyes were burning; you would have called her an idiot for not reading Shakespeare; you would have scooted away when her body leaned into you. You would have left by now. But you haven’t, and this isn’t you—it’s the pawn she survived the arena with.

Ellie turns back forward, staring up at the ceiling. She has nothing to say to that. What can she say? She hardly even knows how she feels herself. Part of her wants to shrug it off because she should have expected this. But another part of her feels a twinge of disappointment in her chest to know that your words hadn’t been genuine. Is this how Odysseus felt when Penelope hadn’t run to hug him the moment she saw him even though he knew, deep in his heart, that he should have expected it? That he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up?

“Ellie.” You call out. She turns, not having noticed that you’re now sitting upright on the edge of the bed, your fingers fumbling with the strings of your golden corset. “Will you help loosen this? I can hardly breathe.”

Ellie can’t tell if this is another ploy for the camera or if you genuinely need her help. In any case, something like this is certainly intimate—the act of removing an article of clothing, regardless of how small. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.

“Sure,” she replies while sitting up. You drop your hands to your lap, moving your hair to your shoulder. Ellie begins to pull at the thin strings, hoping to god she’s doing this correctly. Then, just to fill the silence, she asks, “Will Birdie be mad?”

“She shouldn’t be, considering we’ll be on this damn train for the next nine hours.” You respond grimly. “Did Cat explain anything to you? Birdie was acting a bit odd today, like she’s hiding something.”

“Cat seemed fine to me.” Ellie shrugs, still struggling with the corset lacing. “I told her that I thought today’s whole schedule seemed shitty and she said they had no control over it; that it came straight from the Capitol.”

“Well, if we’re going to be on the train for so long anyway, why couldn’t we have just gotten ready here?”

“I asked that, actually.” She tells you. “Cat said having both styling teams would be way too overwhelming on such a small portion of the train.”

“Well we could have gotten ready after we got there.”

“I mentioned that, too. She said the moment we get to Twelve, we’ll be forced into interviews and dinners and all that other prodigal shit.”

You open your mouth, ready to come up with another solution that’d make this schedule less miserable, but you end up closing it again due to lack of ideas. Just a moment later, Ellie announces that she’s successfully loosened that godforsaken corset. You laugh, thanking her. Then you roll your shoulders and do a little stretch that makes Ellie’s face suddenly feel hot. She ignores it.

The following three hours are spent in the same eventless fashion.

For a while, you lie on the bed on your stomach, reading through the first three acts of Macbeth. You eventually tire of Shakespeare, though, and decide to begin Dante’s Infero—which you’ve been binging ever since.

Ellie, on the other hand, has much more trouble finding something to do. For the first half hour, she tries taking a nap—curling into your side for the sake of the cameras—though she eventually wakes from a nightmare. After that, she changes into a more comfortable outfit that she’d found in the closet. She’s aware of Cat’s inevitable complaining and you even warn her against this, but she doesn't care. Her comfort is much more important to her than Cat’s precious time. Then, after you discard it, she tries reading Macbeth but it ends up being far too wordy for her taste. Then she tries taking another nap—which lasts fifty minutes before she is woken by the sight of Riley’s split skull.

She just rose from that terror, your hand still gently placed on her shoulder as she attempts to even out her breathing, when there’s a rapid knock at the door.

“I can tell them to leave.” You offer softly.

She shakes her head, chest still heaving. “It’s– No, it’s fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, they can come in.”

You nod, your hand lingering on her shoulder for only a moment before pushing to your feet. She remains on the bed, eyes squeezed shut as she listens to your bare feet pat lightly across the floor. She hears the door open and she opens her eyes, curious to see who it is. A head of vibrant teal gives it away rather quickly.

“Alice?” You question.

“Hi, yes, can I come in?” She asks. Then, before you’re able to reply, she’s strutting into the room with wide eyes and an even wider smile. Ellie knows she means no ill intent by this—Capitolites aren’t exactly mindful of personal space—but it still irritates her. Alice’s gaze is filled with awe as she looks around the room. She exhales a breathy sigh, “This room is just so stunning, I cannot get over it.”

She walks over to the bookshelf, eyeing the novels before moving onto the next exhibit for her to ogle at. She peers out the window, running her fingers along the thin fabric of the curtain. Then she turns around, suddenly halting at the sight of Ellie’s discarded clothes. Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, her gaze flicking between you and Ellie, clearly having gotten the wrong idea.

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Do you need something?”

Alice clears her throat before clasping her hands behind her back awkwardly. “Uh– Yes. It’s, um– It’s dinner time. The Avoxes cooked up something nice for our first night.”

Then, with a stilted gait and a horrified expression, Alice hurries out of the room. You shut the door behind her, the latch clicking quietly. Then you’re heaving a sigh and facing Ellie, hands on your hip unamusedly.

“What? It’s not my fault.” She frowns. “If she didn’t snoop through people’s shit, she wouldn’t be mortified by what she finds.”

You try to hide it, but Ellie catches the corner of your lip twitching upward. Then, with a fond scoff, you change the topic. “Will you find a bookmark for my book? I don’t want to crease the spine by leaving it open like that.”

Ellie turns to find your copy of Dante’s Inferno lying face-down on the bed, having been quickly abandoned when you noticed she’d been roused by a nightmare. She picks it up and folds over the corner of your page before placing it neatly on your pillow. Almost instantly, you’re reprimanding her for it.

“What are you doing?” You blurt out. “Don’t dog-ear it! You’ll get the paper all folded!”

She rolls her eyes. “Books are meant to be loved.”

“That is not love.” You tut. “That’s atrocious.”

She groans before picking the book back up and unfolding the corner of the page, flattening the crease as best as possible. She looks around for something to use, quickly spotting an empty notepad on her nightstand. She tears a piece of paper from it before sticking it between the pages as a makeshift bookmark. Then she lifts her gaze, wordlessly asking if that’s good enough for you. With a content nod, you confirm that it is.

Ellie swings her legs over the side of the bed, the soles of her feet suddenly chilled by the cold floorboards, even through the fabric of her socks. She shivers, walking to where you’re waiting by the door. Then, like the happy couple you are, you walk to dinner hand-in-hand.

She wonders why it’s such a big deal for you to not dog-ear your pages. When she was a kid, Marlene always wore her books out to the point that they were barely hanging on. Ellie, honestly, liked that look. She thought it revealed how much the reader cared for the novel, having brought it everywhere with them and left the imprint of their love via its creased spine and stained pages.

But, if her indifference is caused by how she was raised, that would mean your vigilance would be due to your childhood. This theory would make sense, wouldn’t it? Seeing as your parents are such outward perfectionists, it would make sense. Ellie finds herself wishing that she and Ruben weren’t in the midst of an awkward juncture so she could ask if he refuses to dog-ear his pages as well.

“There you two are!” Tilly grins as you enter the dining area.

The table is long, made of mahogany. Surrounding it are birch chairs, all filled except two that are on opposite sides of the table facing one another. You take one seat, at the head between Ruben and Birdie—who are thereby across from each other. Ellie takes the other chair, between Joel and Cat.

Moments later, the Avoxes are coming forward with eight plates of food. A redheaded woman places Ellie’s in front of her and, for a second, she thinks it’s Kayce. Until she sees her brown eyes and lack of an infant in her arms.

“Ooh, I love steak.” Birdie smiles before picking up her fork and knife. It’s subtle, but Ellie knows that comment was a way to thank the Avoxes without saying it outright.

Alice, however, does the opposite. She wears a grimace as she pokes at her broccoli. “I don’t much like greens.”

“Quit complaining.” Tilly tells her. “You sound like a whiny child.”

“I sound like a child?” Alice snaps back.

The two siblings then continue to argue back and forth about the other’s childlike habits. Everyone else ignores them, engaging in conversation about anything else. Joel and Birdie talk about tomorrow’s schedule and how District Twelve is set up. Meanwhile, you and Ruben are speaking—a bit awkwardly—about your respective rooms and the differences between how they’re set up.

Ellie is cutting her steak when Cat frowns at her. “You changed out of your outfit?”

“Calm down, I have six hours to put it back on.”

“And it took me four hours to get you ready this morning.” She points out, crossing her arms as she leans back in her seat. Ellie responds with a careless shrug, stuffing her face with the first meal she’s eaten all day. Cat heaves a sigh, shaking her head fondly. “You’re such a pain in the ass, you know that, right?”

“Yeah I know.” Ellie grins, her cheeks full of food like a chickmunk.

Cat rolls her eyes at Ellie’s antics, turning away from her to face the rest of the table. Ruben, Birdie, and Joel are now enveloped into one big conversation, arguing over something small. In the center of them all, you’re sitting back and listening while doing the same thing Ellie is—stuffing your face. You don’t notice that she’s staring, too busy darting your eyes between everyone else. But she is. And she can’t seem to look away. Even when you lean back in your chair to whisper something to an Avox.

Wait, what? Ellie pretends not to notice, subtly taking a sip from her glass of water. But, over the rim, she’s trying to read your lips as the Avox leans forward to hear you. Then you’re handing him your empty glass and, with a courteous nod, he turns on his heel and heads for the kitchen. As he walks off, you look around to the table to be certain nobody saw you. Ellie looks away before you spot her.

She places her glass on the table, pretending to be enveloped on the same petty argument that everyone else—excluding Alice and Tilly, who are still fighting their own private battle—is solely focused on. She nods along when Joel says something, though she has no idea what his point even was. Somehow, though, he notices and uses her agreement as a means to back up his idea. Whoops.

But then the Avox has returned and Ellie suddenly no longer cares for Joel nor this random argument. She hunches over, poking a piece of broccoli with her fork to hide the fact that she’s watching you through her lashes. You whisper something to the Avox, who simply nods and walks away. The glass looks untouched and, for a moment, Ellie wonders if she’d been overreacting. Perhaps you were simply asking for a refill. But then you’re drinking it. And you’re not sipping it like water, you’re knocking it back like alcohol—like vodka. God damn it.

She should have guessed, considering you’re still recovering from an addiction to Morphling. It’s been three days since you last had it and, fuck, she should have thought of this. She looks down at her food, poking at it as she attempts to ground herself. She asks herself a few questions, trying to answer them as best as possible. First, how has nobody else noticed? Well, that’s obvious by looking around that table. They’re too invested in their futile debate to pay attention to anything else. Second, should she tell them? Another look around the table answers that for her. No, they’re far too happy; happier than she’s seen them in a long time. Third, how much have you drank up until this point? That, Ellie realizes, she doesn’t know.

She watches you for a few minutes, waiting for you to slip up. But you don’t. It makes sense that you don’t, though, considering the arena gave you good practice with acting. Which would also explain why Ellie was the first one to read through it. You finish your drink and begin whispering to the Avox again. When he walks away and you look around the table to see if anyone noticed, Ellie doesn’t care to hide the fact that she saw. When your eyes meet, you freeze. She knows, and now you know she does.

Ellie pushes to her feet, her expression stony. At the sudden movement, Cat turns to her and raises a brow in inquiry. She doesn’t meet her gaze, standing perfectly still while staring at you until, eventually, you heave a sigh and stand up as well. Then, without an explanation to anyone—though only Cat and Tilly seemed to notice—the two of you leave.

You enter your shared bedroom, gait already staggered. She’s only a few steps behind you, shutting the door gently despite the irritation in her chest. When she turns around, you’re sitting at the foot of the bed with your head in your hands.

She crosses her arms, trying not to feel any pity. “You’re drinking now?”

“I can’t–” You shake your head, eyes squeezing shut. Your hands tighten in your hair, tugging lightly. “Ellie, I can’t stop thinking about him.”

She doesn’t know if you’re talking about Remy or Mister Alden. Perhaps you don’t, either.

She takes a cautious step forward before sitting beside you, careful to not touch. She’s all too familiar with how that can startle people in such a state as this. She’s experienced this same exact feeling—being in a good mood all day, only for everything to come crashing down at once to ruin all of which was finally starting to feel normal. It’s terrible, the feeling of despair that comes crashing down with it. That’s when drinking comes into the picture as a solution. It’s not particularly the crash itself but the feeling it elicits.

“I’m not blaming you, I’m worried about you.” She assures you softly. “This isn’t a confrontation, it’s just a conversation.”

“I just– I can’t get him out of my head.” You whisper.

“And that’s normal; that’s okay.” She replies, also dropping her voice to a whisper in case quietude is what you need right now. “What’s not okay if keeping this to yourself and abusing substances as a way to cope. You need to talk to us. That’s what we’re here for.”

You lift your head and, honestly, Ellie expected to see tears. Instead, she just sees defeat—which, in a way, is worse. Your eyes are lidded; your skin is flushed. You must have been drinking vodka neat, nothing mixed into it. That’s the only way she can imagine you’d gotten this drunk this fast. That, or it’d been some weird Capitol-made drink that she’d never seen before. Which she doesn’t doubt.

“I just want to sleep.” You murmur.

Then you’re leaning forward, pressing your forehead into her shoulder. Ellie tenses as you relax. Her heart speeds in her chest, eyes widening. But then she remembers the cameras and can’t decide if you’re doing this for them or due to your inebriation. Whatever the case, she wishes you’d explain yourself more often—not like that’s even an option, what with the creepily watchful security.

She brings a hand to your back, rubbing it in a way she hopes isn’t awkward. She can feel your breath on her chest, tickling the skin with its foreign gentility.

For a few minutes, you remain like that. You, leaning on her silently; her, stiffened while her thoughts run laps around her skull. After a while, though, she helps you lie down. She removes your white coat, discarding it alongside her clothes, and pulls the duvet up to your chin. Then she turns—not to leave, but to turn the lights off—and you catch her wrist. Ellie looks at you over her shoulder, swallowing.

“Don’t go.”

Ellie really wishes those lights were already off so you can’t see how red her face is. She, awkward as ever, nods curtly. “Uh– Yeah, no. Of course not. I’m just– I was gonna turn the lights off. I mean, I could leave them on, if you want. I just–”

You release her wrist, letting an airy laugh pass through your lips. Your voice is barely above a breath as you utter, “Go ahead, Els.”

Oh.

She likes that.

Way too much, probably.

Ellie turns, walking over to the light switch before flicking it off. Instantly, the room is bathed in darkness, thus shielding her from your sight—thank the lord. She remains in that spot for a moment, just long enough to collect herself, then walks back over to where the bed is. Well, where she thought it was. That is, until she stubs her toe on something hard and solid.

“Shit!” She curses.

There’s shuffling from the bed. Then your fingers are grazing her skin, searching for her in the dark. Every muscle in her body tenses as your hand brushes the small of her stomach, right where her waistband rests. It hadn’t been on purpose. Of course it hadn’t—you’re on the bed, reaching blindly for someone who is also blind. But, still, Ellie’s face grows hotter. If that’s even possible, at this point.

“What happened?” You ask, frantic. “Are you alright? What–”

“I’m fine,” She assures you softly, stepping toward the sound of your voice—much more carefully this time—until she reaches the mattress. Then she’s blindly scooting onto it, a bit overwhelmed by the combined feeling of the jumbled blankets and her twisted pants. But, the moment her skin brushes yours, she’s calmed.

She feels around for the hem of the blanket before lifting it and scooting under. The sheets are warm and clean, welcoming her with their comfort. She lies back until her spine rests against the fancy silk pillows. Her entire body relaxes. Well, until you scoot toward her, curling up into her side. Again, she should have expected this. She had to do the same thing when you were reading. And yet, despite any prior knowledge, Ellie reacts like a snail in salt. Her muscles go taut, her breathing ceasing.

She really needs to get a hold of herself.

24:33.

DISTRICT SEVEN’S TRAIN.

Remy is no longer in a field because, for once, you’ve fallen asleep with a substance aside from Morphling in your body.

When you’re asleep sober, your dreams are naught aside from replayed memories of your worst experiences—watching from the doorway as your father bruises Ruben from head to toe; sobbing and saying goodbye to Ruben, knowing that your guys’ relationship will never be the same; holding Ellie’s face in your hands while trying to calm her down after Sam and Henry’s deaths; losing Remy due to your own negligence and inability to protect him; hearing the president deliver the news of Mister Alden’s death, knowing that, had you been there, you could have prevented it.

While on Morphling, however, you know what to expect. And it’s far less painful because nobody is being abused, nobody is crying, and nobody has died. Instead, it’s just you and Remy, running through a field of overgrowth as he laughs with serendipity. It always ends the same way, though—he looks over his shoulder, brutally reminding you of his death.

You’ve very seldom been drunk while sleeping. And, as it turns out, the nightmares are just as horrifying.

“Mortuus est ille!”

The foreign words rattle throughout your skull, deafening and gruff.

Your eyes shoot open to find yourself surrounded by water—but it’s not clear, it’s dark. It’s nothing.

You can’t see, you can’t hear, you can’t breathe. You open your mouth to scream only for it to be filled by liquid. It tastes of metal, thick and saline. You try to swim, but your body doesn’t move. That’s when you notice that you’re sinking, slowly, as though there are weights tied to each of your limbs.

Again, despite awareness of its vanity, you try to scream. And, again, you’re drowned by metallic fluid. It’s in your mouth, between your teeth and under your tongue. It’s in your nose, filling your lungs with its repugnance. You scream again, well, you try to. And, this time, you’re rewarded with a response—albiet a malicious one.

Just as you tip your head back, a hand clasps around your ankle, tugging your body downward. You jolt, sucking in another breath that drowns you. You look down, squinting against the darkness, willing yourself to see clearly despite the stinging it brings to your eyes. At the sight of the perpetrator, you shudder, beginning to thrash around to get away from her—away from your mother. Her hair floats overhead, her body evanescing into the endless depth beneath you. Her grip around your ankle tightens, tugging you farther toward the abyss.

Then a second hand is closing around your other ankle. Ruben, though it’s not quite him. His eyes are darkened with a cruelty you’ve never before seen him hone. His nails are digging into your skin, enough so to draw blood. Your mouth opens, lips shaping around his name. But your desperation only results in more choking. You yank your legs against their violently familial grips, struggling to get away.

A third hand then grabs at your wrist, tugging your body sideways. Birdie, this time, is who pulls you toward the darkness below. She’s looking at you, her eyes filled with the same sense of dishonesty you saw within them when she was getting you ready. She’s hiding something. Perhaps she knows what resides at the bottom. Or perhaps she just doesn’t care for you enough to be honest. She looks away, almost guiltily.

Just then, a fourth hand wraps around your other wrist, forcing your body upright once more. You yelp, causing more water to fill your lungs before you look down at the face of Remy—uncharacteristically vicious in the way he glares at you. He’d never do that, would he? Not unless he blamed you for his death; for your uselessness in protecting him. Not unless–

A hand suddenly closes around your throat. Your head snaps backward as the other four hands vanish into nothingness. You blink, dazed, as Ellie’s face comes into focus before you. Her eyes are dark and loathing, jaw clenched with the same rage she held for you during the interviews. Her mouth opens but she doesn't choke. Instead, she utters three words, rough with inhumanism.

“Mortuus est ille!”

She tightens her fingers around your windpipe, repeating these words over and over until they’re burned into your skull. You desperately try to breathe, sucking in a deep breath of liquid. It’s thick, metallic, and salty. Then it hits you. This isn’t water. It’s blood. You’re choking on the deaths of all the people you’d killed. Your lungs are filled with blood, not water. Blood.

With a gasp, you shoot awake.

You still feel like you can’t breathe despite the lack of water that surrounds you. Still, you’re shrouded in darkness, reminding you of the bloody sea you’d drank dry. Your stomach lurches and you suddenly feel the urge to puke.

Throwing your legs over the side of the bed, you rush toward the door. It slams open, revealing a dimly lit hallway. You reach the bathroom just in time, hunching over the toilet as you vomit into the porcelain bowl. Tears fill your eyes, though you’re unsure whether it’s due to the dream or due to the rawness of your throat.

Then there’s a pair of hands brushing the back of your neck. You flinch away from the touch, instantly on edge. You turn to find Ellie, her hands now in the air as a sign of surrender. Her expression isn’t enraged, though. It’s gentle; understanding.

“I was just gonna hold your hair back.” She says softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

You sigh, whispering, “I know you won’t.”

Then, as soon as you begin to get comfortable, a wave of remembrance washes over you—reminding your stomach of how blood feels within your lungs. You lurch forward, vomiting once more. Ellie reaches forward, cautiously, and this time you don’t flinch away. Because you do know she’d never hurt you.

You’ve just leaned away from the toilet when the bathroom door slams open. Ruben, brows furrowed in perturb, takes in the sight before him. It looks concerning, you’re sure. Ellie, crouched beside you as you throw up into the empty toilet bowl in the middle of the night. You turn your head to the side, your throat burning and your stomach convulsing.

“Bad dream?” Ruben asks, stepping into the room. He braces his hands on the edge of the counter, leaning against it. Ellie nods in confirmation as you gag again, turning back to the toilet to vomit for the—fourth?—time. You can hear the frown in your brother’s voice as he asks, “Is this why you guys left the table early? Because you were drinking?”

Ellie doesn’t respond, not wanting to say the wrong thing. But that ends up being an answer in itself.

“Is that why you’re puking?” He asks, disappointed.

You turn to him, irritable and exhausted. “At least I didn’t allow myself to ruin everyone else’s night.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you wish you could take them back. Not because they were untrue, but because you can tell how much they hurt Ruben. You’re not only referring to your own experiences with him, you’re referring to what you’ve heard from other people—Joel, reminding him to pace himself; Dina, keeping him from getting in fights with rich Capitolites; Jesse, taking him to bed so as to not cause any more damage.

“Sorry.” You say, wincing at your own ignorance. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine,” He assures you, “Don’t worry about it.”

Ruben tries to hide the hurt in his heart but, after only a few minutes, he excuses himself back to his room, muttering something about needing rest. The moment the door shuts behind him, you close the toilet seat and flush the toilet. You’re honestly a bit disgusted with yourself—for both puking and talking to Ruben the way you did.

Ellie pushes to her feet, offering you a hand. You don’t take it, using the counter to pull yourself up. Not because of anything related to her, but because you don’t want to ruin someone else’s night. You’ve done enough.

“You can go to sleep, Ellie.” You tell her quietly. “I need to brush my teeth anyway.”

She hesitates but, after a second, nods and leaves. Perhaps she blames you for what you’d said. Or perhaps you’re overthinking and she doesn't care at all. You’re not sure which option is worse.

With a sigh, you pull open the mirror cabinet. Within it are five shelves containing six unused, untouched toothbrushes. Two people—most likely Alice and Tilly—have already claimed theirs. You grab one, uncaring for the color, and coat it in minty toothpaste. You end up brushing your teeth for over ten minutes, scrubbing roughly at every corner of your mouth in an attempt to rid it of the metallic, bloody taste. But it won’t go away.

Every time you blink, you see it again. Remy grabs your wrist, naught aside from pure hatred on his little face as he scowls at you. Birdie grips the other one, feeling guilty for something you’re unaware of. Ruben and your mother tug at your ankles, wearing mirrored expressions of violence, though, honestly, your mother doesn't look much different. Then there’s Ellie, so pertinent that everyone else is drowned out. She’s not tugging you downward, though. Because she doesn’t care to hide the fact that she’s trying to kill you. She strangles you while repeating those two words over and over.

You spit in the sink. It’s tinted pink with blood and, for a moment, you wonder if your dream actually did happen. But then you look in the mirror and find that you’d simply rubbed your gums raw until they bled. With a dissatisfied huff, you rinse your toothbrush and put it back in the cabinet.

You open the bathroom door, almost instantly bumping into Ellie—who had apparently been waiting outside the whole time. She blinks through the darkness at you, mossy eyes narrowed. “What took so long? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You respond, trying to keep your tone soft because now there are cameras watching and listening to your every move. You reach for her hand, squeezing it gently. “Don’t worry about me, m‘kay? I’m just tired.”

Ellie frowns but has no choice aside from accepting this because she, too, is aware of the cameras. She nods before leading you back to the bedroom. She leaves the light on until you’re situated. Then she turns it off, walking with much more chary than she had the first time.

You’re not comfortable exactly, considering you’re still in your dress and the darkness causes your mind to replay images from your dream over and over. Ellie climbs under the duvet beside you, her bare leg grazing the silk of your gown—which might wrinkle it, but you hardly care. She snakes an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. You’re stiff at first, her loathsome face still imprinted into your mind. But, after a few minutes, you relax into her and shut your eyes.

It’s fine. It has to be.

notes ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ first of all, i love birdie & ruben So Much that it hurts. like wdym they love one another with every single bone in their body but have to hide it ??? wdym they're literally perfect for one another but spent ALL this time without acknowledging it ??? anyway. let's move on bc i could talk ab them all day (literally) ik i wrote it butttt i LOOOOVED the scene of yn and ellie moving into their new room #DomesticLove. when ellie, for a split second, thought yn was going to stay with her bc she chose to,,,, my silly baby, u guys don't ever have the right to choose 💔💔 anyway. i need to reread macbeth bc i def could've yapped abt that story more if my memory of it was more recent. smh my head.

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