Seeing You [Francisco/Saturn]
Feb 20, 2019 19:17:27 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Feb 20, 2019 19:17:27 GMT -5
- Saturn RhoDon -
I am starting to see stars and moons
(it's an awful sham, but I follow suit)
This is how it ends, a courageous boom
(it's an awful sham, but I follow suit)
This is how it ends, a courageous boom
Saturn could while away the hours on the rooftop. The lush garden’s white arbors coiled with vines of roses, while tulips and carnations dipped along soft earthed paths toward a central marble fountain. Little placards dotted along the edges of each section, with noted information about names (flowers named after tributes) and factoids about different children that had been in the games (Benat Izar enjoyed playing the fiddle). He wondered what its purpose served. Perhaps a place of atonement for what they all intended to do or some space for meditation. He had come after a day throwing axes at targets. Well, that and after he’d turned his attention to important matters at hand.
Francisco Bloom had caught his eye on the training center floor, though he did wonder if it was a passing fancy. He liked the curl of his lips, how his hair was messy but just so, and that he could picture his pale skin underneath the requisite sweats. He carried a name that had not be forgotten in the games (who could forget Aesop, even more than twenty years later), and Saturn wondered if the boy was just as sensitive. He remembers hearing of the wedding, and taking time to watch the boy lost in a fugue of mushrooms and hubris take the hand of a girl who’d wind up in the ground with him. And so Saturn had decided, as he did with a good many men, that he would have Francisco Bloom because he could be closer to this romanticism, because he was handsome, because he could.
But he was not a gifted romantic (his idea of romance was getting a towel after he’d finished his business, or not immediately asking them to leave). This would take a greater skill than he possessed to woo a boy that was not a career, whose existence hadn’t been bred for physicality. What did boys like Francisco like? Saturn stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom staring at himself (it helped him to think) and imagined softness, a world where words held a heavier weight. It was times like this that he wish he’d spent more times in his literature class to drum up the overly romantic bullshit they’d drudged through.
Thankfully, the capitol provided.
There were all sorts of banned authors that he could steal from that the boy would never know – words he could pass off as his own. Perhaps enough to get him to the roof top, to embrace with Saturn, and to let him see what it was like to be with someone from a lower district. He trawled through suggestions made on his JANET (what do lonely people in the capitol like to read, people who are desperately seeking relationships?). And so he moved to send a handwritten note to Francisco:
When he read the words that were not his own back to himself he smiled, and felt his heart skip a pace. Maybe there was something to their elegance that he could recognize. And so he spoke aloud, “This shit is gold.” Before sending off an avox with the little slip of paper to Francisco.
And so he waited by the fountain, staring back at the elevator, skyline behind him.
Francisco Bloom had caught his eye on the training center floor, though he did wonder if it was a passing fancy. He liked the curl of his lips, how his hair was messy but just so, and that he could picture his pale skin underneath the requisite sweats. He carried a name that had not be forgotten in the games (who could forget Aesop, even more than twenty years later), and Saturn wondered if the boy was just as sensitive. He remembers hearing of the wedding, and taking time to watch the boy lost in a fugue of mushrooms and hubris take the hand of a girl who’d wind up in the ground with him. And so Saturn had decided, as he did with a good many men, that he would have Francisco Bloom because he could be closer to this romanticism, because he was handsome, because he could.
But he was not a gifted romantic (his idea of romance was getting a towel after he’d finished his business, or not immediately asking them to leave). This would take a greater skill than he possessed to woo a boy that was not a career, whose existence hadn’t been bred for physicality. What did boys like Francisco like? Saturn stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom staring at himself (it helped him to think) and imagined softness, a world where words held a heavier weight. It was times like this that he wish he’d spent more times in his literature class to drum up the overly romantic bullshit they’d drudged through.
Thankfully, the capitol provided.
There were all sorts of banned authors that he could steal from that the boy would never know – words he could pass off as his own. Perhaps enough to get him to the roof top, to embrace with Saturn, and to let him see what it was like to be with someone from a lower district. He trawled through suggestions made on his JANET (what do lonely people in the capitol like to read, people who are desperately seeking relationships?). And so he moved to send a handwritten note to Francisco:
i wake to you everywhere. yet you are not here. desire is the kind of thing that eats you and leaves you starving. even if you are a small forest surviving off of moon alone, your light is extraordinary.1
join me atop the rooftop garden tonight so we may become familiars. to my dearest francisco
– saturn
– saturn
When he read the words that were not his own back to himself he smiled, and felt his heart skip a pace. Maybe there was something to their elegance that he could recognize. And so he spoke aloud, “This shit is gold.” Before sending off an avox with the little slip of paper to Francisco.
And so he waited by the fountain, staring back at the elevator, skyline behind him.
*Star & Moons, Dizzy
1 - The lovely Nayyirah Waheed, Salt
1 - The lovely Nayyirah Waheed, Salt
