“You don’t need to worry about your hands, Quinn…or Mike’s either,” Sebastian sniffs, no trace of humor in his voice, “and you don’t need to worry about you knife either. I’m not trying to steal it.” He drawls scornfully. He shoots Kurt a wry look. “Delusion, agitation, and a loss of rational priorities, the patient is exhibiting all the classic signs of extreme blood loss.”
She closes her eyes as he speaks, letting his words wash over her. It’s nice to hear him speaking to her like he used to, before everything was complicated and their relationship in tatters.
Sebastian knows that he should have taken more time in the clearing with Kurt, should have checked more thoroughly to make sure he was okay, should have at least asked. He should have followed through with his aborted attempt to hug him close and play both comforter and the concerned, not worrying about the blood (He hadn’t wanted to ruin Kurt’s only outfit but would either of them really have been worried about that if they were as consumed with each other as they were pretending?) Even placing the act aside, as an ally, as a partner, as a decent human being (Though, when had “decent” ever described him?), he should have taken a moment to make sure all Kurt was suffering from was a case of rattled nerves.
Sebastian knows, but it doesn’t really make a difference. There’s no room for Kurt (in his mind, in his heart) at the moment and no time to play games for the sponsors.
The word cauterize sends chills through her body- and maybe it’s all the blood she’s losing, but she feels herself pale.
Quinn’s fingers are cold but from the way he jerks away an outsider would think that her touch scalds, and it does in a way. It’s all too much on top of everything else, the tenderness and affection in her touch and her smile—he had wanted that, wished for it, envied it when it had been directed at Mike, but now that he had it he realized how much more difficult it made things— and the infinite sadness in her eyes. It’s too much that she’s giving him permission, that’s she telling him to…
[insert relevant gif here]
Sebastian had been learning the same lesson over and over again lately.
A single moment can change everything.
In the strange place where she isn’t quite alive, but not yet dead, she’s seven again.
“Seven.”
He’s beginning to wonder if Mike will actually break and run or whether he’ll stand his ground, and he’s wondering what option he’s actually rooting for—and he’s wondering if he will change his mind if Mike does flee and hunt him down anyway which makes him wonder, as two of the fastest tributes, which one of them would actually win in a footrace where life was on the line.
[insert relevant gif here]
Sebastian had been learning the same lesson over and over again lately.
A single moment can change everything.
She just shakes her head, the tears she’d been holding in falling silently.
And she’s gone, the sound of her quiet, snuffling cries trailing behind her until they are covered by a wave of hushed, murmuring whispers.
Sebastian honestly couldn’t remember what had been said in any of the remaining interviews.
She’s desperate to escape from the bright lights of the Capitol.
He doesn’t realize that he’s shaking her until her head hits the wall and it sends a terrible, choking wave of revulsion and self-loathing through him. Who is he? What is he doing? They’re both playing the roles they had seen their parents play a thousand times through the years, something pinky promised and solemnly vowed when they were still just children they would never do…but he’s blinded by rage and she’s broken and vacant and the situation is all too familiar.
Sebastian honestly couldn’t remember what had been said in any of the remaining interviews.
