run away with me | {cecily/beau}

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

He stands there like an idiot and watches as the girl he thinks he might be in love with marches toward literal death. He's supposed to do something, say something- that's what people would expect of Beau Bravina. Bellamy is probably somewhere with the other sixteen years old's confused and wondering why the hell he hasn't said something already. He should. He knows he should. His hands shake at his sides and people are staring at him and he feels the same pressure in his chest that he feels when he's competing- the weight of the whole wide world on his shoulders for an uphill hike. She's the only one who thinks he's enough. Really enough, as he is. Despite all his best efforts to wear his most polished masks around her, Cecily Deerling always saw right through him. Saw right up to his core. Saw all the secrets he's never told and the imperfections he hides so very well and she still chose to come back over and over again. And she became a constant- familiar, like the electric blue color of the cotton candy ice creams they share or the smell of freshly mown grass as he walks to her house or the sound of darts clipping against the wooden walls of his parents' guest house. He looks at her like 'Cecily' and 'home' cannot exist in a place without the other. And if he were brave, he'd have said something months ago. Here's thing, though- the big secret that no one knows: he's a fake. He isn't... brave. He gets a lot of credit for it, and maybe it's because people think he has a nice smile, or maybe it's because he's so goddamn stubborn that by the time he's done with anyone who'll listen to him, he's somehow convinced them to buy into the lies, or maybe its because he's so scared of letting everyone down that failure isn't an option. But that isn't bravery that's... Compliance. The golden boy, the prodigy, the older brother to be idolized and set examples and the only athlete from his school's team to make all-stars. Genetics. None of it within his control. All of it decided for him. She only sees his heart and he wants more than anything to hand it over to her in that moment. Her eyes find him from across the square and she hesitates. He's seen that look before on her- the way her pupils are dilated just so and the way her tongue is pressed to her top lip and her chin is tipped up ever-so-slightly. She's playing ahead, forever the girl who grew up playing chess instead of checkers. And seeing that, seeing her, and how brave she can be, even with the peacekeepers pushing her away from the remnants of the crowd- it makes him get it. He's still afraid, make no mistake, but he also doesn't really care if he has her with him. And so when she runs, he doesn't hesitate. He runs, too. The sirens are distant from here. It's easy enough for him to convince himself these problems are too far away to matter anymore. He's been waiting for exactly two minutes and fifteen seconds, lurking within the hollow husk of what was once a church, but is currently little more than stone walls leaned against one another, more overtaken by nature than not. 300 yards further, through that thicket on the right side, is the border of Five. There's a setup that diverts the electricity from a single panel, rendering it completely safe to touch until the wires are disconnected. His fingertips are still twitching in phantom pains from getting it set up and he wonders if he's made a mistake doing this. He wonders if doing it officially incriminates him. Or if coming here alone was. He wonders if she's already been caught. He wonders if he was stupid to think she'd come here, their special place, when there are probably a thousand better places to go and a million better people she could ask for help. For a terrifying moment, he wonders if he'll ever get to see her again, and then he hears footsteps. He pulls her into the fallen structure possibly before she even knows he's there. A pregnant pause as he stares at her, angry, and shocked, and scared, and confused. He opens his mouth to say something, but loses the thought. He scowls. She's never been one to go down without a fight, he supposes, and she will, even if the price is a gamble with her life, do whatever she wants to do at the end of the day. Despite the warring of emotions within him, there's one more present than any of the others: Relief. He hugs her and it washes over him in a wave, consuming him so much that it's all he can do to drown in it. He's holding her in his hands. She's still there, right in front of him. "You're real," he whispers. She's real. He feels the warmth of her against him. He allows himself to exist in a state of bliss for only a moment longer before he pulls away. His eyes catch on the stain in her dress and he smiles even as the tears spill over onto his cheeks. She still looks so fucking hot. "We have to leave now. I disabled the fence over there but they'll find it soon. We've probably got about thirty minutes until then, and they won't be travelling on foot so we gotta move fast."

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

For a brief moment, Cecily can almost mistake running for flying. She remembers watching the sparrows outside her window as a child — how she had always been so curious about what it must be like to come and go with such grace. Singing in the morning, and then gone in the evening. She'd stretch out her arms, and she'd wait for the wind to take her. Even now, charging into the unknown, she can lose herself in that feeling. She gasps, a fire spreading out from her lungs and through her nerves. If she is energy, she is light. And she feels like she is fading — and she feels like she is blinding. It's the adrenaline. Her heart drums in sync with each step she takes forward — a muted thunder clap, shoes against pavement. For a time, she can only hear her own exhausted breathing, and a ringing at the back of her mind. Always closing in around her, daring her to turn around and face it. But she knows it's too late for that. In her fight for freedom, she sacrificed her chance to confront the terrible things happening to her. There's no closure in this. Escapism. Sticking to the back alleys, she leaps over abandoned furniture and weaves around faceless strangers. She can hear words being shouted, but the sound crackles inside her head, silenced by the static charge. It courses through her veins, to the point that she strangely feels as numb as she does alive, like every cell in her body is experiencing friction. She's aware she's close to fainting, and she knows there's only death waiting for her if she stops. How could she? Knowledge is a weapon aimed right at her back. She tries to blink away the tears, but they fall without her permission. Furious, afraid, sad. She continues her journey through the worst of her emotions. Each footstep is like an awakening — eyes open to all the terrors. She's not even sure she's going in the right direction, too afraid of losing her momentum to check. The rough ground beneath her turns to soil. Somehow, the alarms seem louder this far out of the district. It's a shrill cry, pulsing through the foggy space in quick succession. Only then, she feels her pace slowing — sprinting becomes jogging becomes stumbling. She is so aware of the hopelessness, flinching with each new crescendo of sound. So loud, and so frightening. The worst part is how aware she's become of the pain shooting up her legs, flowing through her joints and settling there. In her head, she scolds herself, begging her survival instincts to kick back in — to help her start running again. But just the thought of moving is enough to make her cry harder, partnered with her shaky steps forward, walking across the glass of her own breaking. Maybe that's why she smiles when she sees the old church just up the hill, stone walls opening up to her. She openly sobs, stepping into a memory. This place has always belonged to her and Beau. And yet. She's a trespasser now. The old chapel by the border fence, forgotten by the district and found by a girl with a love for maps, and a boy who always encouraged her to pursue adventure. She remembers calling him a fool the first time he said they should actually go — to her, just knowing it existed was precious enough. He insisted she deserved better than that. But to see is to know, and the picture is clear now. Pale sunlight seems to drape across the lonely arches. She hopes to find him — hopes to reach through time, and pull him into her embrace. Of course, she thinks that's foolish. She can hear a rustling just beyond the trees, steadily approaching, an avalanche. And she's too tired to keep running. This is hopelessness. It feels like more, and less, than she's ever experienced before. Walking a balance beam between agony and a strange sense of nothingness. It grips her, and it doesn't let go. Then it's tangible, and as quick as she can blink, hands are reaching from the shadows and pulling her into the darkness. It takes her a moment for her vision to adjust, too exhausted to fight against the strong grasp holding her in place. She exhales, and inhales, and she feels real again. In the way that makes the tears start running again, but she's not as scared. Her fingertips brush against his jaw, just to prove that she's not tricking herself. But as quickly as she can gasp, his arms are around her. "You're real," he whispers into her hair, knocked loose from her ponytail and now spilling over her shoulders. She breathes weakly, fingers trembling, and her spirit a little defeated — a little restored. As quickly as the end is arriving, they linger like this for a short while. Two best friends, hiding away in their secret spot, so far away from the world outside. "We have to leave now." It's not that simple. He speaks with so much certainty, in the way he always has, moving so quickly that she can hardly keep up with him. "I disabled the fence over there, but they'll find us soon. We've probably got thirty minutes until then, and they won't be travelling on foot, so we gotta move fast." She stares at him just a little longer, that much she's earned, and then she looks down at the floor in shame. "Beau, wait. Listen to me." She wishes that she could say it with more pride. But her voice breaks at the edges, and she hates herself with each word. "I messed up. We can't do this." Now, she owes it to him to hold his gaze, quiet crystals rolling down her cheeks. "You have a little brother that needs you. I'm sorry, but you can't come with me. And," she trails off, stubborn enough to try and convince herself she's wrong. But she can't. "And I wouldn't survive out there. We both know that." There's a screech of wheels just down the hill, and the truth sinks like a stone between them. It's like drowning — weightless. Their story is ending, and she can't even run from it. "I have to turn myself in." 'And you have to let me go.'