holiness of the wren (karl&johnny, day 2)

[tick 12a / calla]

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His eyes go bleary from staring at the inferno. It's gotten a little darker by the time the pyre really catches.

But the problem is this -

Karl doesn't know how to show gratitude. Or elation. Or despair or excitement or anything adjacent to those. He's more familiar with the straightforward things - people like Dyno, where it's more obvious what they want and what they're looking for. Sometimes that's a good thing, sometimes it isn't. Sometimes it gets him in trouble.

Affection is a foreign language. The fire only gets bigger, eating away at the wood and the grass and the air. That's what it feels like to think about this, he can read a love language on paper and then never recognize it in practice. The puzzle pieces don't slot together. Sometimes his own skin feels like a collection of needles.

He sits next to Johnny and Yael and they take turns sipping from the sake bottle.

Karl didn't want Dyno to kill him. He wanted to live. Karl kissed Dyno because that's what he wanted and then Karl got to walk away. It was a trade. It was gratitude and despair and excitement and it felt like the most straightforward way to get that across.

If X plus Y is Z, then Z minus X must be Y.

It's an impressionable pattern.

Calamity's body lies burning in front of them. Johnny helped Karl take the heart out first and now it's sitting in a jar at their feet. Johnny didn't run or yell or decide to strangle Karl and take his chances with Yael.

He could though. Could've. He probably should've.

And Karl doesn't quite know what to do with that. It's like standing in waist-deep water without knowing how to swim - there isn't really a danger to it, but there's something there that's metallic and intense, something that sticks to the back of your throat the whole time. There's a giddy sort of adrenaline that goes with it. The world spins too fast and Karl is left fumbling for the brakes, he's still trying to catch up to everyone else.

There's a line of soot that trails up his arm. There's streaks of blood that have dried tacky against his skin. He's got gore under his nails that's probably from Calamity's heart and he knows he scraped his knuckles against the jagged edge of their ribcage and it hasn't scabbed over yet. It feels like his brain is on fire, there's smoke filling his skull and his lungs and his shoulder bumps against Johnny's.

There's only a quarter bottle of sake left between them.

It takes about fifty three seconds of staring at the side of Johnny's face for Karl to pinpoint what that great big welling feeling is.

Gratitude. Like Dyno.

Rinse and repeat; deja vu.

Unhealthy mindset; this toxic point of view - if it worked the first time, then it should work the second. There's a precedent he can follow, there's a pattern he can grab onto.

The fire crackles loud enough to drown out the sound of their breathing. The scent of burning flesh starts to fester. It's as much of an atmosphere as any.

He puts his hand on Johnny's knee and leans in.

[k!ah]

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I had never held a heart in my hand until today.

I had often found myself curious of what it might had been like as I found new ways to break down the bodies that fell victim to Declan Garner. But I had never been game enough to rip open someones ribcage and look for the organ that was the key to all of it. I often just chopped off large chunks of limbs, stuffed them into garbage bags before setting them on fire when I felt likeI had visited the polluted lake one too many times in the past month. Or if the un-named graves of my secret grave yard had its soiled turned too frequently.

To avoid suspicion.

It was never a fun job, chopping up a human body like a butcher... And it was harder than I had initially thought, cutting through bone, muscles and tendons. But in the end Mr Garner didn't care how I had got rid of the bodies. Only that they were gone. And me visiting the same location every other night had started to catch the attention of the peacekeepers. So I had no choice but to become resourceful. Even at the cost of my humanity.

The heart sat by my feet now, tucked into a jar as we watched Calamity's body burn, a bottle of sake passed between us. Yael passes me the bottle again and I press it to my mouth, taking a generous mouthful before passing it to Karl. The world had started to spin ten minutes ago, my body warmed by the alcohol that seeped into my blood stream.

I felt fucking great.

You know, despite the fact that we warmed ourself by the bonfire that was consuming Calamity's body.

Also despite the fact that Flynn had sent me a mirror through sponsorship- a damned mirror.

A note had been attached but the contents had been smudged, the writing illegible. It had left me with questions. So many fucking questions. "Guys- guys! Get this, Flynn sent me a mi-" A hiccups rises, and I breathe through it- "Mirror. What the hell is that supposed me mean?" I knew I was a vain dude, but how was a mirror supposed to help me in a game where tributes fought with knives, and fucking swords that sliced through necks like cutting through a chunky block of butter.

Sighing I turn back towards the inferno, watching the flames lick at Calamity's charred body. Soon they would be nothing but a pile of ash.

The bottle finds my hands again, and I take another swig, my shoulder brushing against Karls.

From the corner of my eye I can see Karl's gaze fixed onto my face. He stares, without blinking, without breathing almost. I try to ignore it, thinking that maybe he was just lost in thought, but then his hand finds my knee.

My gaze flicks to his fingers. They were filthy. Caked with dried blood. With dirt. With soot. "Dude," I start, as I turn to meet his gaze, "you gotta wash-" his face was barely a breath away from mine.

Eyes wide, lips pursed.

shit, what was happening?

My brain moved slow, too slowly.

He was going to kiss me.

My breath hitches.

Some part of me, some curious, stupid, part of me for a second debated what it might be like. What it might feel like to be kissed by Karl- wait, what was his last name again? No, fuck, that didn't matter. But the bigger part of me instantly thought of Flynn.

"Karl," I start, pushing the bottle between us, against his chest. "Dude, you gotta learn to read the room. Plus Yael" I jut my chin towards Yael, "is sitting right there, we wouldn't want her to get jealous." Classic Johnny, lightening the mood with a poorly placed joke.

Shit.

This is a fucking mess.

[tick 12a / calla]

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Karl keeps his eyes open, which means he can see the exact moment that understanding flits across Johnny's face.

There's nothing romantic about this. On the long list of every sin that he could commit, lust sits at the very bottom. Karl works in transactionals; in commodities and detachment and distance. What little he understands about the heart lies in that jar, where the rot's already started to set in.

Johnny puts the sake bottle between them and everything gets a little quieter. Karl stops and the inertia balances, something hollow slides into place. The trees on the outskirts seem to tremble, read the room, he looks down at the bottle and slowly backs off.

It should be embarrassing. He should feel defeated, or foolish, or some combination of the two, the rejection should sting but he just watches the label of the sake curl and avoids Johnny's uncomfortable glance. He holds one fist in the other and runs a thumb over the cuts.

The gratitude fades, the dull acceptance seeping back in. The air settles, stale and burning.

"Okay." Karl says, quiet like he's standing ten feet away.

He hears Yael get up and leave.

There's something like a countdown above him. It started the moment Calamity fell and it's been steadily counting down ever since, this muted ticking in the back of his skull. It makes his hands restless, he goes from always so still to a state of constant movement, shaking, twitching, pacing while Johnny painstakingly drew that needle across Calamity's chest.

The sake and the fire should be warm, but there's a bone deep chill that's settled down in him. The blood's all dried tight across his skin, cracking like dry earth when he moves.

"I'm going to go." and the afterthought, gesturing to the stream - "Wash."

The smoke makes everything hazy, there's a film over the lens, grime over the lights. Karl stands unsteadily and steps away from the pyre without waiting for a reaction. He doesn't look at either of them when he leaves, shadow against the water, Aed bobbing behind him like a dust cloud.