h o o k e d on a f e e l i n g | mew + theo + arsen

[gamemaker kelsier]

B A R T H O L M E W   T O D D

Because it's a Tuesday afternoon, I thought that I'd bake a cake. It's nobody's birthday but Haven and I never have much to celebrate but each other we don't get to eat cake often. So I'm baking a cake and it's a chocolate cake and I've made homemade strawberry icing for it too that's cooling in the fridge. Theo's sitting at the kitchen table, idly licking the mixing bowl as I pour the batter into a baking pan that's shaped like a circle. The sun is shining idly through the kitchen window and dust motes dance in it's spotlight. I try to keep the kitchen clean like the rest of the house but getting all the dust is hard, especially when it chooses to dance so nimbly.

"Oh!" I say suddenly, a sudden smile forming across my face as I remember something that I've forgotten to tell Theo. Having news for Theo is always exciting for me because then I get to kick him out of his thoughts and I know that he thinks about bad stuff a lot even if he pretends that he doesn't. "You'll never guess what happened to me," I hum happily, putting the pan into the fridge to bake later.

"I bet I can," he says it like he's only half listening and his eyes are focused out the window. I frown slightly and drag a cloth across the kitchen counter. To be honest, I've been mulling this particular news over for the better part of a week, wondering if it actually happened or if I just dreamed it because I wanted it to happen. Theo tells me that I'm a bit of a romantic, that I shouldn't just expect someone to come along and sweep me off of my feet but to be honest, that's how it works in the books mom left behind. There's always a prince and there's always a princess.

After a lot of thought, I'm certain that this was no dream. My blood is still boiling from the pressure of his lips against mine

"I had my first kiss," I say it all smooth and nonchalant like the very idea of it hasn't been keeping me awake at night for years now. Maybe in my head I've built it up to more than what it was, maybe he's not half as cute as I remember him, not half as charming. I don't know. It was my first kiss. It's grabbed Theo's attention at least. He's finally looking at me. I glance at him shyly and continue wiping down the counter, already eyeing the bowl full of dishes in the sink to be done as well.

"I didn't know you were interested in anyone," he finally says and I'm certain that a slight blush blooms across my cheekbones even if I can't feel the heat.

"I'm not," I answer him, correcting myself quickly, "Or at least I wasn't before. Now I think I am." I smile and turn on the tips of my toes, enjoying the feeling of liking someone for the first time far too much. With a graceful move, I flick the hot water tap on and warm water that is slowly getting hotter pours into the sink. I don't look at him as the water fills, I always miss when it's done and I've filled the sink too full far too many times to count.

"Then...." he says and a knot forms in my stomach like I've done something wrong. It happens a lot because I'm a bit short on brain cells and I do stuff wrong a lot. "You didn't want to kiss them?" he asks me. I don't answer him, cringing slightly as I realize that I've opened a bad can of worms here. "Mew," he begins, voice almost dangerous, "Did they ask permission?"

"Uhhh," I answer noncommittally, shoving my hands into water that is probably far too hot judging by the steam rising from the sink but I forget to pay attention to it. I'll probably end up burned but trying not to raise suspicion is suddenly taking up all of my brain cells.

"Mew," he says, voice suddenly sounding rather tired, "Who is this person?"

Heck.

"Wellllll-"

"Oh my god, Mew." he interrupts me and I shyly slide out of sight beneath the counter, like I'm hiding from a hail of angry Theo bullets. "Was it just some weirdo on the street?"

"I met him like three times before!" I tell him desperately, as if steadying him on the street every now and then counts as a meeting. I think it sort of does because I'm pretty sure a meeting's definition is 'having contact with someone' and I definitely had contact with him, right? "He likes pigeons and I have his sketchbook?" I offer the information I have to Theo, peaking hesitantly aver the counter at him.

"Mew you can't just go around kissing..." he waves his arms around in the air with frustration, sort of like the way my math teacher does when he can't handle me anymore, "...weird, pigeon-obsessed, homeless people!"

I blink at him from my perch, my hands are an angry red so carefully I reach up and flick on the cold water tap, dowsing my hands in what is hopefully freezing water to cool them down. I don't take my eyes away from Theo's during this whole silent exchange and he doesn't look away from me either. I'm at a loss of what to say. There's no point in telling him that I didn't kiss him on purpose because in the end I liked it too much.

Finally, he sighs and pushes the mixing bowl to the side, "Right, let me see this sketch book, maybe it has a name in it at least."

I brighten up at his acceptance and crawl two steps across the kitchen floor, pulling myself to my feet in order to scramble into the living room to get the book from where I've stowed it in the shelving. "I didn't want to look too much inside because it's private, but there was a shop name on the front page," I say, as I enter the kitchen again and carefully place the book in front of Theo, flipping the page open to the address I found. It reads:

Hooked On Ink
21383 89th Street
District Two

Theo doesn't look pleased when he reads the shop name though, in fact he looks less than. My smile fades as he begins to frown and I wring my hands slightly, flicking water onto the kitchen tiles. "Goddamnit Mew," he mutters and stands up so suddenly that I stumble backwards. He grabs onto my wrist and is dragging me towards the door before I can even think. "Come on," he says, taking me outside and down the front walk, "Homeless pigeon man is about to get a stern talking to."

Despite fearing for his safety, a happy warmth blooms in the pit of my stomach at his words.

I get to see him again.

[[nyte]]

T H E O D O R E  H A R T

I've had a bad week. A really bad week. My body is no more than a work of art, handprints painted red and yellow and blue and purple, smearing their way across used skin so gracefully that shame and pain burns across my cheeks every time that I move. So many hands have ruined my body that there is nothing of value to it anymore. Who would write on a piece of paper torn to shreds? I've long since come to terms with the fact that Jordan does not love me, as a person or even a pet. I am a thing to be loved as one would love a prized jewel. The thought leaves as bitter a taste in my mouth as the bottle of vicodin I downed this morning. 

Bartholomew Todd is sunshine. I came to that conclusion the first time I met the boy, a year younger than me whom seemed like a flower fresh bloomed. He stretched toward the sun so eagerly that he's grown taller (greater) than I. It was only a matter of time. The first day I met the boy, after we moved out of career territory for my sake, I could tell he was something special. Something different in the best way possible. All my life I have been around people with black veins and blue hearts, corrupted by greed and evil. My heart is the same navy hue now, beating barely enough times to keep me breathing. Mew is fire, gently lapping at my ankles and keeping me alive. 

I have never loved someone in the way most expect. I have never felt the kind of love that draws me into a person's lap or sends the urge to press my lips against theirs down my spine. No matter how many times I have done such a thing, I felt no love for them. Nothing but a hollow feeling and looming dread draped over my shoulders. I never expect to love someone. To be in love. That is something far too pure.

Mew is my brother and I love him as such. I see him exactly how Nikolas saw me, but I am ten times the man Nik ever was. (Alas, ten times zero is the exact same sum.) But I'm trying. Trying to do what's best for Mew because I want to be everything that Nikolas Hart was not. Because I still feel his absence, his loss, in the pit of my stomach like a claw forced through the flesh but I have no reason to. I am glad that he is gone. I want to protect Mew while I am here. I don't want him to be glad when I am gone.

(In the past month many of my ifs have turned to whens.) 

He's cooking today. I don't talk much, not like when we were younger and got into all sorts of shenanigans as kids often do, but I enjoy his company. Because he is safe and he won't hurt me. I just hope that he doesn't mind my silence as I pick absentmindedly at the raw cake batter left in the bowl. I don't eat much either and if I do I'm often on my knees upon white tile in a matter of hours. Maybe the baggy clothing I now adorn makes it obvious or hides it. Mew hasn't said anything either way. I've always been small and weak and pathetic so maybe he hasn't even noticed.

His voice pulls me out of my musings, telling me that I'll never guess what happened to him. The ghost of a smile plays across my lips as I tell him that I bet I could. It feels nice to talk with him. To joke around as I used to before things got so terrible that I can barely think without a part of my body burning in protest. (It's all going to come to an end soon, one way or another.)

But his words send a shiver up my spine, muddled by the chemicals running rampant with every feeble heartbeat. He was kissed. Kissed without permission. My breath catches in my throat, eyes closing for only a split second as there's suddenly a heavy arm around my neck, lips making their way onto my jaw and then to my lips. And they shake beneath slimy lips tears crawling down the apples of my cheeks but if the man noticed he didn't care. And he's suffocating me slowly and I can't breathe and-

I'm still looking at Mew, fighting the panic hiding upon trembling lips kept fatally still. The man who kissed Mew has taken shape within my subconscious. He is tall and strong an brooding, vile and disgusting and- "Right, let me see this sketch book, maybe it has a name in it at least." 

And I don't know whether or not I want to cry. I can't tell if I'm glad or angry that the address to Arsen's tattoo parlor is inscribed in faded pencil along with a fair few of the sketches that we looked at so long ago. The man who stole Mew's first kiss was my best friend who had helped me dye my hair the bright blue that earned me a new scar upon my abdomen because prized jewels are not allowed change without permission. I don't know how to feel and so I grab my little brother's hand and drag him out of the house. Leaving the heavy arm and slimy lips behind. 

The way to Arsen's tattoo parlor is carved into the back of my hand. I don't even need to think about where I'm going as my feet take Mew and I across worn streets and through dark allies. I don't say a word, my brain is too clouded to think straight and maybe it's worse that Mew liked his kiss because then I'd be alone again. 

I'd lose another brother and my best friend because now they'd have each other. And who would want me when they could have anyone else? 

I'm too caught up in getting to the shop that I don't notice him exit. It takes me far too long to process that I've run into a man and that he's looking at me with a stupid half grin that is ridiculously attractive and fearing that I'm going to be kicked for even daring to think that. I give him a grin so wide I nearly split my lips open before looking to the ground once more, muttering a quick apology and pulling Mew through the threshold. 

To my delight Arsen is behind the counter, looking the exact amount of bored that he had been the first day we met. Oh, it'd be my pleasure to change that. (Perhaps it is a little easier to feel happier when with the both of them. And perhaps it's better that I know Arsen was not the cloaked evil that I once imagined, that he would never hurt Mew in a thousand years but-)

"Arsen, you will never believe what Mew here was telling me!" I start, forced grin becoming less so. "He tells me everything you know, he's my little brother! Apparently, a homeless pigeon man stole his first kiss. And you know, I was thinking I only know one homeless pigeon man in all of Two." I saunter onto the counter, shaking blue strands out of my eyes and setting his sketchbook on the counter. "You."

my happy little
p i l l
take me away

[Python]

A R S E N

Today he had planned to skip breakfast, but his dad prepared plates of scrambled eggs and blueberry pancakes. It was futile to resist him. Arsen didn’t want his efforts to be wasted just because he was a brat, and his father was too overprotective to allow him freedom without concern. One minor alteration to his mood and his father would sniff it out, armed with questions about his well-being. ”Are you feeling okay?” ”Do you want me to stop by the parlor and tell them you’re sick?” ”Do you wanna spend the day together?” While he appreciated his father’s efforts and acknowledged the worry lying dormant in his chest, these weren’t remedies. They were distractions, and like a rubber band he always reverted back to his original condition until one day he would stretch himself too taut. Everyone had that limit – the boiling point, the peak. And then they snapped.

His meal was silent. Thanking his father for the food was the most he could manage, and then he dismissed himself to wash dishes and shuffle to his bedroom. His routine was out of order; he had groomed his hair before breakfast and slipped on a pair of shoes as if he had been ready to fly out the door as soon as he filled his stomach. He couldn’t remember the mentality behind that decision, so he kicked them off and adorned himself in a pair of pants and a sweater. The shoes didn’t even match. He tried two more pairs and decided it was stupid to care about outfits. All he planned to do was visit a graveyard and work until sunset. Maybe Theo would pay a visit and they could hang out afterward, but he wouldn’t raise his hopes too high.

Sunlight was peering behind white clouds, warming him to his core. The flower shop was two blocks down from his work, and perched next to it was the neat little store where his mother had purchased his sketchbook. He was still bitter about its loss. There were many prettier sketchbooks to choose from inside – along with some nice pencil boxes – but he was in a state of stubborn refusal. Whomever had stolen his book was a rude asshole. What use would it serve to a stranger? Who snatched up a sketchbook from a kid who had tripped over the sidewalk? Some homeless bastard, maybe.

He purchased a bouquet of flowers and crossed beyond the Square. The aroma tickled his nose and left him sneezing until he stumbled upon the cemetery. It was emptier than the skeletons buried in their underground coffins. Nobody was in the mood to visit today. Months after each Hunger Games, he could usually find three or four people standing in front of freshly-carved headstones. Those numbers dwindled as time passed. Either they forgot or they moved on. There was no motivation for them to revisit the past anymore. That was when somebody truly died.

Arsen clenched his bouquet and rediscovered his mother’s grave in the northeast corner. The flowers from his last visit were still here, wilted and black. The petals were ugly and shriveled and he hated the site of them, but that was the point. Nobody wanted to look at dead things. Nobody wanted dead things period, because death was an end to beauty.

He swept the old flowers away and propped the fresh bouquet against her headstone. He didn’t cry anymore. This was just a routine of respect, a method of keeping her memories alive. He frowned and walked away in silence.

Matteo greeted him in the shop with a smile.

He always felt a little uplifted when he could focus on a human canvas. He poured his creativity into a rewarding masterpiece, and whether or not the customer walked out satisfied he acquired a sense of contentment, rising after a session with newfound enthusiasm etched in his otherwise bland features. Unfortunately, today’s shift had only brought him two customers. The other two were handled by his coworker Jenine, whose nose rings and tongue piercing always made him ponder whether he should go beyond piercing his ears. People seemed to enjoy her company over his.

He was shading a sketch of a tree when the front door’s bell rang. Jenine had already called dibs on the next customer, so he continued his artistic endeavor with a bored frown scrawled across his pale lips. Then Theo’s voice piped up, and he lifted his gaze. ”Arsen, you will never believe what Mew here was telling me!” he exclaimed, and he must’ve been referring to the handsome tree walking next to him. Arsen promptly dropped his pencil and felt his sanity leave his body in one breath. I know that tree. That tree wasn’t supposed to be real. That handsome hero of his was supposed to be a hallucination.

But Theo was calling the hallucination by a name, and Matteo was in the corner regarding both of them with curiosity. There was no way this was reality. Theo and his friend both had to be a fabrication. Nobody could conveniently appear in three different locations to catch him from a fall, it was statistically impossible. Behind the counter he snapped his rubber band against his wrist, stings registering in the forefront of his mind. He blinked and nothing happened. Theo was still here, telling him about what he had done in the District Square. The boy was still here too.

Arsen stilled and stopped blinking entirely. I kissed a complete stranger. Without warning or reason.

He had to think he was a complete weirdo.

His throat felt dry all of the sudden. Theo was waiting for a response of some sort, but his heart was panicking. His mind was at a dumbfounded standstill. ”I-“

Try again.

”I look homeless?”