as long as we're going down, maybe you should stick around (katniss/gale, MJ, d13 u no)
She picks up a habit after the arena burns: tying knots. She makes them out of everything. Leaves of grass, electrical wires, plucked-out threads from her sweater, anything and everything. She triple knots her shoelaces just trying to connect the ends of things.
Gale is the first and last person to notice. No one else here actually sees her; they just see the Mockingjay halo they've fastened through her skull.
"You want to tell me why you're doing that?" he asks. It's the day they come back from visiting District 12 and she can't keep her hands still.
She drops the threads she's tangling together. "Doing what?"
It's a terrible feigned innocence, something that, had Gale tried it, would have offended her. Gale doesn't look offended, though. Gale looks sad. She wants to take those jittering hands and loosen the look at the corner of his mouth.
Gale asks ,"Can I do anything?" It's a quiet question, too quiet for Gale, with something so raw beneath it that she would cry if she weren't, well, Katniss Everdeen, Girl on Fire and Hard as a Rock now.
"No," she says, and somehow finds her fingers running along his jaw. He keeps forgetting to shave, but she likes the scratchiness under her skin. For her part, she keeps forgetting she shouldn't touch him. Peeta might be dead, but that doesn't mean she knows what to do with Gale. She pulls her fingers back, feeling burned. "You've done enough for me. For all of us."
He shakes his head once. "I don't think there's ever going to be enough, Katniss," he says, says it as a whisper, says her name with something like—no, she won't name it. Reverence isn't something she wants. She tries to turn away, but finds his fingers at her jawline now, gentle as ever. The callouses of his hands on her skin grounds her somehow, in a time and place she understands. The world can go to hell and burn but at least Gale will always make sense.
"Don't disappear on me, okay?" he says. Looking up at him, everyone else in the bunker suddenly seems twelve miles away. She doesn't know if she likes that, feeling alone with Gale, feeling pulled toward him by the invisible knots that have always lived between them. He's staring at her lips again, and keeps doing that. She doesn't know what do with any of it, and hopes he doesn't try and kiss her again. The last kiss almost got them both killed, if he'll recall.
Katniss swallows, then nods. "You got it," she says, and then, against every ounce of better judgment she has left, ties their fingers into knots.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-07-21 09:55 pm (UTC)She picks up a habit after the arena burns: tying knots. She makes them out of everything. Leaves of grass, electrical wires, plucked-out threads from her sweater, anything and everything. She triple knots her shoelaces just trying to connect the ends of things.
Gale is the first and last person to notice. No one else here actually sees her; they just see the Mockingjay halo they've fastened through her skull.
"You want to tell me why you're doing that?" he asks. It's the day they come back from visiting District 12 and she can't keep her hands still.
She drops the threads she's tangling together. "Doing what?"
It's a terrible feigned innocence, something that, had Gale tried it, would have offended her. Gale doesn't look offended, though. Gale looks sad. She wants to take those jittering hands and loosen the look at the corner of his mouth.
Gale asks ,"Can I do anything?" It's a quiet question, too quiet for Gale, with something so raw beneath it that she would cry if she weren't, well, Katniss Everdeen, Girl on Fire and Hard as a Rock now.
"No," she says, and somehow finds her fingers running along his jaw. He keeps forgetting to shave, but she likes the scratchiness under her skin. For her part, she keeps forgetting she shouldn't touch him. Peeta might be dead, but that doesn't mean she knows what to do with Gale. She pulls her fingers back, feeling burned. "You've done enough for me. For all of us."
He shakes his head once. "I don't think there's ever going to be enough, Katniss," he says, says it as a whisper, says her name with something like—no, she won't name it. Reverence isn't something she wants. She tries to turn away, but finds his fingers at her jawline now, gentle as ever. The callouses of his hands on her skin grounds her somehow, in a time and place she understands. The world can go to hell and burn but at least Gale will always make sense.
"Don't disappear on me, okay?" he says. Looking up at him, everyone else in the bunker suddenly seems twelve miles away. She doesn't know if she likes that, feeling alone with Gale, feeling pulled toward him by the invisible knots that have always lived between them. He's staring at her lips again, and keeps doing that. She doesn't know what do with any of it, and hopes he doesn't try and kiss her again. The last kiss almost got them both killed, if he'll recall.
Katniss swallows, then nods. "You got it," she says, and then, against every ounce of better judgment she has left, ties their fingers into knots.