Palpitations [blitz]

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

Chadsworth Guilford Hastings III

I go running with my shirt off because I want people to look at me.

It’s not because it’s really that hot in district two, especially when winter sets in. I hate having to wear anything over my body because it obstructs the goods, and makes it a lot hard to get noticed – there’s plenty of good enough looking bodies when I’m off running with clothes on – though I have to admit wearing a compression shirt at least gives the same sort of impression. And don’t make it seem like I’m desperate. I don’t want just any fucking loser approaching me with a compliment. That shit is reserved for the folks that I want to grace me with their presence.

So it was unseasonably warm that afternoon for a day in January, which meant that I could dress as obscenely as possible while still being comfortable.

Now any guy that tells you he’s only going to wear spandex leggings and that it’s because he likes to better for running is full of shit. It’s about what folks can see and no one wants to look at that unless they’re curious. So of course, I go without the shorts and just the tights. And as you could’ve guessed, I’m just out and about without a shirt.

I take off from our giant ass house toward the park, and head right onto the trails. There’s not many folks out at first, and I make my way along the trails by my lonesome. After about a half hour I pause by one of the little ponds where there’s a grouping of benches, and decide to start doing some stretches to limber up. I make sure to show my range of flexibility, and, at the sound of someone coming up along the trail, pretend not to notice. Until, when I hear them getting close, throw my head over my shoulder with a glance and a smile.

“Sup, dude,” I call out, giving a glance at the boy coming in my direction.

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

“Look pretty,” the photographer said before his camera flashed silver, like thunder right in his face.

He fluttered his dark lashes after, sweeping up an armful of roses from the warehouse’s floor, a boy clothed in red. He wished these flowers were as beautiful as him, because imagine that—Avaris’ skin as their petals, his bones as the stems, the flower tinged a deep rouge like the color of his lips, like wine stains on white tablecloths.

“Are we done here?” his head hung upside down from the prop bed. This was for an hour only, and the pay was good, and he was promised cherries as a snack, so Avaris had reluctantly agreed to be his subject for the day. But, he didn’t need a camera’s eyes upon him to feel beautiful, to feel wanted. And, he was also growing tedious from it all. And, the cherries were the cheapest ones. Sighing, Avaris began to put his clothes back on in disinterest.

“I thought we could—“

“Eat lunch? Make out? Live together forever?” He stared at him, blue eyes unimpressed before they were covered by his sunglasses, round as moon, dark as a night upon his face. “Good bye, darling.”

And so there was, on a worn bench, collecting coins and stalling as much as he can from going back to the divergent academy, when a boy stalked up to him, almost naked, leaving nothing to imagination.

Luckily, Avaris wasn’t a fan of using his imagination; he loved to have the picture painted for his viewing pleasure.

His eyes roved up, greedy in the way they feasted upon his form. Then, he was called ‘dude’.

The grimace flashed clearly on Avaris’ face as he tried his best to not vomit. He was quick to smooth it all over, too.

Look pretty.

It should be effortless—he’d done it his entire life. Raking a hand through his brown strands, Avaris let a laugh flow rich and sweet from his mouth. “You want to try again with a different, more exciting name other than ‘dude’?”