goldtoes | (no subject)

[ He didn't even protest when the Peacekeepers came for him.

Leif, five feet tall and eighty-seven pounds precisely, had been sitting at the table tearing bread apart with his fingers and dipping it into olive oil with cracked pepper, an old comfort food, when they banged on the door. He stood, navigated calmly to it, and stared up at them with green eyes that were fearless mostly in defeat more than in bravery. Come with us.]

Do I have time to pack some things? [ Not disinterested, but unconcerned. ]

No.

All right. [ He picks up the bag he keeps by the door and follows them, flanked two by two, a quadrant of faceless danger. They bring him to the train. District 11 will never see him again, but it doesn't matter. He has no one here, anyway. So it doesn't matter. Nothing much does anymore.

He sits against the window though there's no reason to, really, and watches out the window as the rest of his life rolls past and away from him. His vision's good enough to navigate, to identify faces and places, but the fact is that his cornea are so scarred over by now that they look like puddles of heavy cream, just a spill, an accident, something that was never supposed to happen in the first place --

The Capitol comes sooner than he expects, and there was never magic in it in the first place - not before, not as a tribute, not now as a victor, either. Not led in unbuckled overalls and flannel and a plain white t-shirt, not with his quadrant of peacekeepers doubled to a formation of eight that brought him like a well-earned prize, delivered him like a gift. Leif says nothing. ]

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From:

gremyr

[ Rhys hums, the sound mild, but not disagreeing. ] I do. [ Not literally now, as in this immediate second, but... Well, yes. He itches to officially claim what's his. And Leif doesn't seem to be all that put off by the idea...

He doesn't pursue it, though. That's not what Leif needs at the moment. ]

You can relax here for a little while. [ Rhys rests his cheek against the soft curls atop his head, while he rubs along his side soothingly. ] We'll go home in a bit. [ Napping in the office hadn't been on the agenda. He's not complaining, though. Especially when Leif is doing something as sweet as tapping out his heartbeat. ]

From:

goldtoes

We can go now. If you want. We can bond if you want, too. I think that sounds nice?

[ Because it means Rhys loves him. Doesn't it? If he wants to keep him, like that. That sounds right, in his mind, and the idea of being so deeply entangled with somebody who cares for him, or at least professes to, however... false that might be (he doesn't know; he can't imagine why, after all, this man would care for him at all) is appealing. On a purely physical level, too, the deeply lonely part of him screams for contact, and this will give him that, too.

He doesn't move, though, and expects Rhys to make a call before he gathers himself up. Other than that, he sits and rests with his head down and his eyes closed. ]

From:

gremyr

[ As eager as he is to snatch the opportunity that Leif has offered him, this is nice, too. While bonding would be immensely gratifying and emotionally intense, this is... peaceful? Easy and comforting like a cozy, lazy day. He can spare the time to enjoy it for a little longer. ]

Soon. [ He turns his head briefly, pressing a kiss in to Leif's hair. ] I don't want to let go yet.

From:

goldtoes

All right.

[ If Rhys doesn't want to move, neither is he in a rush to - so he sits, curled and remarkably tiny in his lap (he's got to be less than ninety pounds, easy, and not so much because he's naturally quite a small omega as it is there's never been enough food in the district and he's not adjusted, yet, to the Victors Village, to having access to resources. It's because he's underweight enough that his vertebrae can be counted, his ribs pressing upward against freckled skin when he breathes, all bone and sinew and fire. ]

From:

gremyr

[ His hand continues its leisurely trek up and down Leif's side. The touch becomes more curious and exploratory whenever he suspects he feels ribs; his brows furrow, fingertips tracing over each notch of bone until he runs out of them.

It's a bit worrisome. He gets the impression that Leif will likely always be on the smaller side, but this seems too small. Rhys suspects the poor thing would have wasted away in the arena without having been sponsored, as most tributes tend to drop weight while participating in the games. And he hadn't had much to spare to begin with.

Well. He'll just have to keep him fed, won't he? Now that he's in the Capitol, it'll be easy.

Rhys keeps a casual eye on the clock while he sits with Leif, wanting to avoid letting him sleep too deeply in case it only makes him even more over-tired. ] Leif. [ He nudges against the top of Leif's head, hand giving him more little rubs and light pats meant to bring him back to consciousness. ] Let's go. Are you ready to head home?

From:

goldtoes

[ Lucky, lucky.

Lucky that he only dozed, that Rhys wakes him before the nightmares can set in too deeply - but even so, being woken makes him start, a sharp inhale as he pushes himself up and away so suddenly that he pulls a muscle. ] What?

[ Five, ten seconds pass as he reorients himself, flicks his eyes around the room to establish position and location. It's not the woods, and it's not a swamp. It's light enough. He registers Rhys, too; he nods, once, short and curt. ] ... Yeah.

From:

gremyr

[ Lucky, too, that Rhys has decent reflexes, and manages to scramble his arms around Leif before he dumps himself off in to the floor. He's silent for a moment, bewildered by the reaction... and then he laughs. ] I didn't mean to scare you. It's only me. [ To him, it's entertaining. Cute. Akin to a puppy jumping at its own shadow, not something that registers to him as bone-deep trauma. ]

Careful getting up. [ He nudges and directs Leif in to standing so he can follow. The journey back down the forever-elevator is ahead, along with a drive to Rhys' (also too-high-in-the-air) apartment. Like his office, it'll be massive, modern, and reek of privilege. Definitely dazzling even compared to Leif's new home in the Victor's Village.

Leif may find the place enjoyable, if he can get past the knowledge that some can be so spoiled while many more are left with nothing. ]

From:

goldtoes

It's not funny.

[ It's a quick snap, and before it might have been a bloom of anger but now, well - now, it just falls flat. But he sounds hurt. Like Rhys somehow snapped what's left of his heart in two - it shows in his voice and on his face, but he says nothing more.

What is there to say, anyway?

He stands and follows and lets himself be led in relatively dissociated silence to... well, is it his home now, too? He isn't sure. He's silent still, even as his eyes commit the space to memory. ]

From:

gremyr

[ Leif certainly sounds like it isn't funny... But Rhys dismisses the wounded look on his face and tone in his voice as embarrassment, because it makes sense, doesn't it? What else would it be?

Rhys takes comfortable strides in to his- their- home, chattering away. ] You're of course welcome to make yourself comfortable however you like- this is yours too now, you know. [ And it's... a lot. Probably too much, really. To go from a poor district, to a televised murder game, to back home like nothing ever happened, and then to this.

If anyone here had any ounce of sense or compassion, it wouldn't be a surprise if Leif just shut down for a while.

Oblivious, Rhys breezes about, stopping to look Leif up and down at some point. ] Didn't you bring anything? [ Obviously not... But Rhys hadn't exactly communicated anything to allow Leif time to prepare. ] Well, that's fine. Should I send for your things, or would you rather have them replaced? A fresh start might be nice.

From:

goldtoes

[ Leif follows him in relative silence, letting wide, light eyes scrape over everything. Analytical, calculating, suspicious. Every surface, from wall to window, screens and tabletops and chairs. His jaw is tight, firm, eyes cold.

Eventually Rhys annoys him into talking again, and he turns, looking as birdlike sharp and angry as he ever has. ] They told me I didn't have time to bring anything and then dragged me out of the house because I wasn't walking fast, so no, I don't have fucking anything. [ He frowned, pulling his mouth to one side in anger. ] Have them sent.

From:

suncut

[ Oh, that tone of Leif's is venomous. Rhys' brows are arched high, surprised by the sudden flare of temper, but of course he doesn't shut his mouth. ] Ah. Yes, the Peacekeepers can be over-excitable...

[ Terrorizing the districts? No, they're just a little over-excitable. ]

I'll make the call now. Your things should be here within a day or two. [ If Rhys is lucky, maybe he'll make it out of sight before Leif screeches at him in rage. ]

From:

goldtoes

Over-excitable. [ Leif scoffs. He's actually talking, which is good, only... well, it's not like a nice little chat over luxurious coffee. Instead, he yanks his shirtsleeve up to display clear fingerprint bruises on his upper arm, staring at Rhys like he wants to burn a hole through him. ] I took too long so they nearly wrenched my arm out of the socket. It still hurts. So, sure. We can call it that if you like.

Still, the prospect of having his things back quells his fire a little, and he nods, settling, eyes shifting from fury to longing. Milky, but still expressive even in their cloudiness. ] All right. Thank you.

From:

suncut

[ Rhys misses a step when Leif snaps at him. It's not the words that have startled him, though- it's the discolored spots visible on his pale skin, where gloved fingers crushed hard enough to bruise. Immediately, Rhys' expression darkens. He'd made it clear that Leif was important, and this is how they deliver him? How fucking dare they leave a mark on his omega? The lack of respect shown here has him fuming.

His scowl is obvious when he continues on his way, stalking out of the room in silence. He slips in to one of the side rooms, making sure he shuts the door because he'll be letting loose on this call. He doesn't yell, but his voice is unmistakably angry, seething, and he spends more time than necessary berating and making veiled threats.

When he returns to Leif, he looks... well, not happy, but a bit more settled. He can at least take comfort in the fact that the group assigned to gather Leif will be punished.

Even though he'd rather do it himself... ]

Were you hurt anywhere else? We can have you seen if needed.

From:

goldtoes

[ Leif doesn't know how to feel about the anger that flickers across Rhys' face as he tails after him for a moment, watches the door shut, and then... sits down on the ground next to it. He can't hear much through the walls, and in truth he isn't really listening.

But no one has been angry for him before, no one furious on his behalf, and he ponders the feeling while Rhys rages and controls his fury behind the door.

Leif might like this. It makes him feel... safe? He thinks? He doesn't actually know what safety is, but he scoots a little closer to Rhys when he's back again - Leif reaches up and threads three fingers through his belt loop. ] I don't know. My ankle hurts from when they pulled me out the door, I fell. But I don't know.

From:

suncut

[ Finding Leif huddled just outside the door startles him, giving him a brief sense that perhaps something went wrong? Maybe he's collapsed? But then he draws in closer, those little fingers hook on to him... And he nearly damn near melts from the sweetness of it.

Just the sight of him makes his heart ache. This is how things should be- Leif seeking comfort and safety, and Rhys providing... His hands tuck in to Leif's wavy mop of hair, carefully petting through like he's a favored thing, even if his answer does make Rhys frown. ] You should have told me... We've already walked so much. [ They've barely walked any at all, actually, thanks to the vehicle and elevators. It's a good thing Leif hadn't had to stomp up all of those stairs...

He turns towards Leif, kneels slowly. His hands glide free from his hair to cradle his face, and he looks very serious now. Yet also patient. ] Will you let me look you over?

From:

goldtoes

[ Leif laughs, like birdsong, and it's still sarcastic and sharp but not as venomous. ] Please. You think this is a lot of walking? [ He nods, though. Rhys can look him over, he decides. It can't hurt to allow him to assess potential injury, and, Leif things, it's best he get familiar with his damaged goods sooner rather than later. He doesn't want to settle here and then be discarded once his failures are clear. Send him back now, not later. ]

Then, it seems to occur to him: You don't know what goes on down there, do you.

[ A statement, more than a question. Beneath his clothes Leif is freckle and scar, pale as ever with ribs that claw at his sides and countable vertebrae, hipbones and sharp knees that are so worn over by over a decade of falling that it's a miracle they're intact, frankly. Faint white lines dust him like snow - a scratch here, a tumble there, a wrist that sits crooked because he'd worked on it broken for months. Toes, too, crooked and once-broken, and then the ugliest of all is the hip-to-sternum slice from the Games, hand-stitched and healed, but not prettily like they might have in the Capitol. It's effective. It's minimally viable, and it'll do. ]

From:

suncut

[ Rhys knows that the ones from the districts tend to live a little rougher. But after standing and steering Leif over to an area with better lighting, after undressing him and really looking, he's astonished. Leif is so... well, maimed. Pale and wispy as he'd expected, but not nearly as pristine as he'd imagined.

Aside from the scars whitened with age, it's difficult to tell what's old and what was hastily put back together after the Games. ]

Do what? [ His voice is distracted, fingers touching first against the previously broken wrist, then over the long, brutal scar freshly carved in to Leif's torso. He grimaces, sounding aggravated. ] This is the best they could do?

From:

goldtoes

[ Leif snorts this time, and it's more bewildered amusement than a scoff, which is... good...? Maybe? ]

What, in terms of managing injury? This one is the one I did myself, so it doesn't count. [ He points at the long one across his torso although, if he's being honest, he's quite proud of his handiwork, so there. ] Most of this is just... from falling out of trees or getting caught up in the branches.

From:

suncut

[ Why? Why did life see fit to give him an omega that spikes his anxiety? ] You didn't have it attended after the games? [ A patch-job shouldn't be a permanent solution! It'd kept him alive in a pinch, sure, but there could be something going on beneath the surface that causes long-term issues.

Rhys releases Leif for a moment, his hands rubbing over his face. They rest there after a good scrub, and he lets his palms muffle the strange, strained sound that comes out of him.

When his hands pull away, he's wearing a smile that's just a bit too tight. ] It's all right. We can have most of this fixed, you'll be nearly as good as new. [ See, it's fine. He can be (kind of) mended! Super simple! ]

From:

goldtoes

And who should have attended to it?

[ But Rhys makes a noise that twists something in his chest, and the need to comfort and protect rises regardless of how angry he is that he's here, and how lost he is, and instinct pushes him closer in a way that he awkwardly sinks his hands into his alpha's hair, cards his thumbs against his temples in an effort to soothe, and then kisses the top of his head.

What the fuck. ] I'm sorry.

From:

suncut

There are medical teams available! [ Rhys only knows that the teams exist- it wouldn't do to have a victor die of injuries immediately after winning, after all. What he doesn't know is the fact that most victors (if not dangerously close to death or otherwise unable to consent) are too traumatized, too distrusting to let themselves be operated on.

Leif's attempt to comfort is effective. Rhys sighs, his eyes closing as small hands nestle against his scalp, the corner of his mouth quirking in to an actual smile at Leif's adorable little kiss. His arms wrap around the too-thin waist, squeezing gently. ] I'm not angry with you. Just- [ Overwhelmed by the need to give a damn about someone else for once.

He bumps his head against Leif's collarbone. A bit of reassuring affection. ] Worried.

From:

goldtoes

Mm, [ Leif says it noncommittally, vague.

He also thinks that if Rhys is here - well, Rhys wouldn't let anything happen to him, would he? Not if what he says is true. And there's no reason to trust anything he says, but the instinct is there, and the alpha is there, and if he's claimed a rotten little wretch from the districts (and the poorest one, to boot) as his own, well, he's either running some extraordinarily long con or he means what he says.

And he's not sure which, but - well, how scary can death be, after everything? ]

Okay. [ Rhys isn't angry with him. And then he hugs him and bumps at his collarbone and Leif has no reason to believe it, but he does. He runs his hands both through Rhys' hair again, slides them down the back of his neck and winds them around his shoulders, resting his chin atop his head. ] You don't have to worry. I'm okay. [ And he is. It's a twisted ankle and old scar, as he sees it. Nothing more. ]

From:

suncut

[ Rhys likes to think of himself as clever, but even he would have trouble thinking up a long con involving one of the insignificant 11s.

No, he's gone and actually become smitten with Leif. It bothers him, if only because he'd gone so long without having known his match was working himself half to death alone and battered and broken by trees. The Games hadn't been kind to him either, but if it weren't for Leif having been reaped in to them, would Rhys ever have found him?

He sighs out a warm breath against Leif's skin, very much enjoying being held by his strange little omega. ] You are, and I'm glad- but you should be more than okay. [ He's got a whole new quality of life now! No more working from dawn until dusk, no more teenagers trying to carve his guts out... Rhys will make sure Leif ends up as healthy as can be, and wanting for nothing. ]

We'll get there. [ He contemplates, then taps his fingers against the bony cage of Leif's ribs. ] Easiest place to start will to be get you filled out properly.

From:

goldtoes

[ Fate? Maybe. Leif didn't really believe in it, but then, he didn't really believe in much at all. Up with the sun, work til midnight, and little more to life than that. He hadn't been selected for the first couple of years, and then he had, and, well, what was he supposed to do?

So he went in fully expecting to die. Whatever. He wasn't a Career, but Rhys had played his cards in just the right way, sent just the right anonymous packages and pulled just the right strings to make the arena sweep a handful of other tributes out of the way. Leif still fought, certainly, but Rhys had, too. ]

More than okay. [ A strange prospect, but he nodded - his ribs made a hollow thump as they were patted. ] The food's good, up here. [ Maybe just because there was enough of it. ]

From:

suncut

Is it? [ That makes Rhys smile. It's so foolish, but even the little bit of joy Leif experiences from decent food is enough to warm him. ] Ah- I didn't show you, did I? Here. [ He plants a kiss directly in the center of Leif's chest before steering him back carefully, so he can stand and offer an arm. ] Hold on to me for support. Try to keep weight off that ankle.

[ Rhys hasn't given him a proper tour!

He'll be doing so while... Leif is still undressed, apparently. But it's not like anyone can see them through the high-rise windows. Rhys seems entirely comfortable with so much of Leif's skin exposed anyhow, like it's completely natural. There must not be anything to be ashamed about.

First order of business- he shows Leif the kitchen, points out the pantry. There are appliances for cooking too, naturally, and a relatively simple-looking tablet on a stand on one of the counters, which he calls attention to. ] You might get the most use out of that. This building has something like room service, so if there are no leftovers and you're not in the mood to cook, this'll have a daily menu loaded on it. Place an order through here and it'll be brought up.

[ Stupid fancy shit. Easy access to meals at any hour, what a change. Rhys fluffs his fingers through Leif's curls, his voice a gentle command: ] Make sure you get anything you want. Any time of day or night, you don't have to ask me.

[ He's firm on the food thing, apparently. Especially if Leif is going to be off his shots from now on. If the chemical filters out of his system before his body has built up a reserve of strength, a heat might do him more harm than anything. ]

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goldtoes

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