as i wait, i suffocate || beckenzo

[[nyte]]

 beck hailsham

He's changed his shirt three, maybe four times. Expensive material and subdued patterns stretched out by anxious fingers pulling at the seams or worn by the callouses that smoothed over them incessantly. The man in the mirror looks an absolute mess, with his curls pulled out of place and the way his hands keep fumbling over silver buttons. If he didn't feel on the verge of a breakdown maybe he'd find it in him to laugh at himself. A killer pulling himself to pieces over which shade of black looked best against sunken cheeks.

It's like he's been waiting for this day an entire lifetime. That's a terrible, cliched thought that makes him want to rip his hair out the moment it crosses his mind, but it still rings true. Beck doesn't like to expect much of people - hell, the fact that Lorenzo hadn't up and volunteered the last Reaping was a marked improvement - so he'd never really asked to see him again. He'd barely entertained the thought that he'd like to.

Surely, it wasn't hard to be happy with what they already had? A feeble friendship forged off a series of stolen minutes. He knew the grainy static of Lorenzo's receiver far better than the sound of his voice. Beck could pretend to be everything he thought his friend wanted when he wasn't here to see the late stage of his decay.

Lorenzo was a good, untouchable thing locked safely away in District Ten.

Until he wasn't.

Beck hadn't expected to be so happy about that.

There's more empty cigarette cartons in this mansion than there is food. Beck spent most of a frenzied morning erasing every trace of his terrible habits. Hell, he'd even gone grocery shopping. Given he's never cooked anything in his life but he bought enough meats and leaves to at least make the thing look nice.

His world used to be made up of a handful of enemies, even fewer friends, and a little island he'd never thought he'd escape. Though all he'd done is trade that prison for a larger one, Beck appreciates that he's at least found people he'd want to wither away with. Happiness might just be a hand to hold while you watch the world go red.

Fucking hell, he's gone all sentimental.

A few outfits later, he settles on a simple white button up. It's nothing special but Beck's wardrobe doesn't venture very far from monochrome to begin with. He's quickly running out of time as he tries, and fails, to battle his tangled hair and ends up leaving the mansion in abject defeat. In the end, he's only a little less of a mess than usual. It's got to be good enough.

He hasn't left the house out of disguise for over a year now. His face was horribly recognizable and privacy post-victory was a thing of fairy tales. There'd be a thousand photos of him in the papers tomorrow, speculating about weight loss or weight gain or maybe if he'd had plastic surgery on his pinky. Gossip had become little more than white noise and for some reason he really doesn't care what they have to say about his friendship with Lorenzo.

Let them talk.

Should he pick up flowers on the way to the train station? No, that's weird.

Is it weirder to wait on the platform, hands shoved in his pockets and shoulders slumped against the breeze? Maybe, but that's what he ends up doing. A strange mixture of emotions erupts up through his chest when he hears the train approaching. Anticipation and excitement laced with the distinct urge to turn tail and run. He wants to see his friend again, so desperately that he's sure that means he absolutely shouldn't.

Come on, Beck Hailsham, be a little brave.

The train screeches to a halt and it takes all of two seconds for Beck to find Lorenzo. It's funny how well he remembers a face he'd seen all of one evening. A knit sweater hangs limp on his shoulders and Beck thinks he recalls him something about a wildcat having made him one. "Enzo!" He stops himself from running over to the boy, resulting in a couple of weird shuffled steps that kind of look like he's tripped over air.

He stops in front of him, smiling stupid wide.

His arms ache, so he clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to keep from hugging him. That would definitely be weird.

"Hey." Breathless as it's carried on the ocean breeze.

Euphoric, almost.

[Deleted]

l o r e n z o.

---

It wasn't until the train was in motion that Lorenzo had remembered how little of the world he'd seen. How long it had truly been since he had last seen anything past the prairies of his home. Five years and a few months, really, passed sooner than he could even begin to question it -- he had made family, new friends. Not all born from shared trauma either, more so just a need to live again. 

To live for the first time, maybe? He was still figuring it all out. 

Temple wasn't on the train. The first time that happened, and part of him felt guilty leaving her behind. To pack everything up and leave still when there were two graves waiting, two stupid, dumb graves. Two kids that had come so close and Lorenzo squeezed their names into his fist and clenched the seat handles with it -- he couldn't think of it. Even though it's all he had to do at this point; there was another passenger in the same aisle but they wouldn't make eye contact with Lorenzo. 

He tried though, truthfully, waving and "you know, this is my first time alone!" There's no response. Not even a fucking nod, as if Lorenzo wasn't right there. There was light music on the train, something groovy that he pictured coming from Mace's time decade. Oddly enough, thought everything, Lorenzo had a hard time picturing this to be better than his last train ride. 

And he nearly fucking died for that one. 

In fact, he did. Very much so. Twice over almost and he couldn't imagine how Lysander Mae was holding up with it all. How she could fucking bother to drag herself out of the pit just to kill Oberon and Kahinta, and the girl from one- Denali must love her. They must be best fucking friends considering all they do is ruin lives. Girls from five must be good at that, Lorenzo thinks to himself. He pushes Saffron's travel pillow behind his neck, making a blanket out of an old jacket he packed. 

Like always, Lorenzo made himself comfortable. Watching the sun pass down into the dark and thinking about Mace hugging him before he left. Saffron was so caught off guard, he nearly felt bad leaving her alone with Quinn. Her "what- you're leaving?! Seriously, right now! Lorenzo-" making him tuck his head between his shoulders. "I'm already packed and everything, I just need somebody to drive me to the station!" 

"But... right now? What are you even doing in four?

"I'm meeting Wander and Beck! I already told them I'm coming," he said, slinging the backpack across his shoulder. 

It wasn't until he was loading the train when she asked how long he'd be gone. Truth be told, he didn't know then, he doesn't know now, and he won't know when this post is done either. The train would stop in district five and Lorenzo would meet Minx and Patricia and Lysander Mae herself, and he still wouldn't know when or what to say to Saffron. Only that he was too deep to back out now -- and that he hated train rides. The scenery was nice, but he grew so painfully bored of just shaking his leg and playing with his pants legs. 

Eventually he made a game out of it, somewhere between five and four, where he would make a list of everything he passed in alphabetical order. Like for instance, he'd start off with alpine, for A -- the trees he passed on the way to the ocean. And he'd make his way down somewhere to Q and give up until the next hour came along, and he'd make his way back up the list. With B, for beach. And C, for sea. And D, for door. 

And E, for "Enzo!" 

Him! Minx's tight sweater riding up his throat as his backpack weighted it down, suitcase rolling to his side and he rubs his exhausted eyes. Tired from watching everything for three days of travel and yet, still not able to blink because he'd be scared to miss anything. F, for fucking idiots, Beck is smiling wide and Enzo even moreso, after so many phone calls he almost forgot his friend had a body at all. Had teeth and hair and he bounced in his hasty steps towards him until they're face to face for the first time since "holy SHIT-" the bulls! One step at a time, the suitcase tips over from the momentum as Enzo lets go of it, hugging Beck for the first time in ages like family does. 

G, for... well, "God, I thought I was in the wrong district for a second!" He laughs at his own bullshit, squeezing at Beck while he digs his chin into his collarbone. Eventually, the moment passes and he pulls away from him, "oh dude, my train had to stop in district five and guess who the fuck I saw." Lorenzo rears back, picking his suitcase off the ground before looking Beck back in the eyes. 

"Lysander fucking Mae! And Minx, of course, he gave me the sweater- check out the dogs on the back!" He tries moving his backpack to showcase the husky's face, "he's probably getting married soon and everything- oh shit, back to Mae, what do you think of her, yeah?" 

Part of him wanted Beck to hate her, just to feel superior in a way. Like yeah, she's a victor, whatever, y'know? Lorenzo wanted to hate her, the same way he wanted to hate Annie and Denali and Shy, and yet he couldn't, because he knew it wasn't her fault. It was and wasn't at the same time, "we've got so much shit to catch up on."

[[nyte]]

 beck hailsham

There's something to be said about drowning, or maybe a stupid metaphor about not realizing he was. Because Lorenzo hugs him and it's like the world goes out of focus. There's yarn scratching against his cheek and a pleasant scent he can't quite identify - maybe the remnant of a grassy field and moments stolen under a starry sky - the sane part of his foggy brain wonders whether Lorenzo can tell his heart is thundering beneath his button up. That's not as easy to hide as the smile he's pressed into his shoulder. When Enzo speaks he feels it rather than hears it, still caught up in trying to remember how to unclench the fingers that have somehow tangled themselves in his companion's sweater.

He pulls away and Beck scrambles to right himself, eager to forget the strange weakness that had overcome him. "oh dude, my train had to stop in district five and guess who the fuck I saw." He doesn't bother looking up, pulling at his cuffs and sneering at the diamond cuff-links sewn into their seams. It's Lysander - it's definitely Lysander.

"Lysander fucking Mae!"

What a fucking surprise.

Beck's supposed to be better than the petty grimace he wears, rolling his eyes as he reaches down to take Enzo's luggage for him. "You're my guest this time." He shoots his friend a good-natured wink before stopping to let him continue the string of loosely-connected, entirely genuine thoughts that slip off his tongue. Near daily conversations allowed them to slip into a natural cadence, Lorenzo fills the silence and Beck picks up the finer details missed by his broad swipes of neon sound.

There's a dog on the back of his sweater and it's so tacky it's somehow made it look cuter.

The sweater, of course! not the boy.

"Yeah, uh, Lysander." He almost grimaces as he forces out her name, biting back barely contained disgust. He'd been met with so much love during his Victory Tour, even after they'd watched him slaughter their own people they smiled when he invaded their homes. Ate their food. Wasted their air.

They were good people, better people.

The high road doesn't interest him, no matter how intent other victors seem upon forcing him down that trodden path. He won't give out meaningless pardons, not when all he sees is the blood on her hands. She'd killed one of his. That was fucking personal. It wasn't something he wanted to just get over because she had no choice in the matter.

Irrational anger is still anger. He's pissed whether he has a right to be or not.

"I hate her." It's a lame finish, full of half-assed conviction as he picks his way through the crowd. Every couple of seconds his gaze slips to Enzo, just to make sure he's still there. He takes to hooking his free arm through his, so that they won't loose themselves among the sea of visitors still flooding off the train. If this is a dream, its the cruelest he's had in a while.

Enzo's begun to grow into his features or maybe they just look different in broad daylight. Beck still thinks he's like the sun even while competing against it directly, so overwhelming in his radiance that Beck can't look at him for long because it starts to hurt. The heat paints the tips of his ears a gentle pink. "I'm sure you made fast friends, though, you're pretty good at that." There's something sour in his tone, though he's not quite sure what's put it there.

That's just who his friend was. A boy with his nose in everybody's business and a smile that makes him seem like he's belonged there the whole time. Beck's proud of him, of who he's always been and the man he'd going to become. They're here to make a couple more memories before Enzo goes back home to an actual family that really loves him.

And that's great! Really great.

"A wedding sounds exciting, maybe she can be your plus one."

[Deleted]

l o r e n z o.

---

Part of him is just preoccupied feeling guilty- he hates leaving people behind. Namely Saffron in this case, but should he? Honestly? She leaves him with Quinn every year just the same and it's fine because, y'know, he was the kid up until this point. But the ninteenth birthday is coming up and the hourglass ran out in the best way; the most unimaginable way. It's a timeline that ends for fucking good and he wants to just say fuck it and move on. Saffron's in Ten with Quinn and Mace, and he gets to be here with Beck, and Wander. 

And Beck. 

He takes the luggage from Enzo while he's busy talking, smooth fuck head. "I mean, it's pretty heavy? You sure you- oh, you got it? Yeah?" Sizing him up, you sure you got that. Sure thang, "okay!" 

And he keeps rambling about Lysander Mae for a bit, trying not to think too much about what it'll be like rooming with Beck. Just for a few days, sure, at some point he has to go to the boats to work. Wander's supposed to stay over too, help him adjust to the sea life and all that. So, it's not even like he'll be living with him that long anyways- no need for Beck to get so weird over it. "I hate her."

Oop! "Same, same god fuckin'-" it's hard to bounce between topics when one of them is Lysander goddamn fucking Mae. It's intrinsic the way his gut tightens thinking about her, back in Five, like nothing happened. Like she hadn't fucked his entire district over, killed the only spark rebellion had seen in ages. Part of it could be held on Kahinta killing Oberon first, but they both ended up in a grave so Lysander could go to rehab. If it's anybody's fault, it's fucking "Lysander's just... bleh! You know? I can't say shit on twists but..." at least Annie never died. 

"Will kills Lysander, yeah, and Kahinta- she kills Will. And somehow she isn't the one who gets to come home, it just isn't fair!"

It isn't fair and he feels fucking stupid for even thinking it should be. 

"And god, if her and Denali are at that wedding, I really may skip out on it. I don't think I'd be able to not ruin the moment, y'know?" Can't keep his mouth shut against his own will, really. Never been a strong suit of his, it's always been a freight train's speed a minute. Eventually, Kieran will become mayor and get bored, and Lorenzo'll take up the helm until Quinn is old enough, and he'll get paid for talking for once. That's the dream, really. 

He tightens the straps on his backpack before pulling beef jerky out of his front end pocket, ripping it open and offering a piece to Beck. "But if you went with me, I'm sure we could counter balance that hot mess. Plus, I could introduce you to my friends! Like Temple and Minx, of course, and - well, not Maxwell." 

The jerky is extra chewy. 

"And Quest! I think we're friends, we haven't talked in a while." Lorenzo covers his mouth with the mask again and puts the rest of the jerky in his pocket, slowing his pace a little not to leave Beck behind. Quick, quick, quick, they seem to almost be at the end of the station, almost to the gate. "But let me know ahead of time, so I can tell Minx you're coming."

Of course. 

A heads up would be greatly appreciated, Beckington. 

[[nyte]]

 beck hailsham

For a second he'd been so caught up in pretending they were somehow strangers that he forgot who he was talking to. "Same, same god fuckin'-" The tension ebbs from his shoulders like Lorenzo's cut his hangman's rope and all of a sudden he's fighting laughter as they shuffle their way through the crowd. With no small amount of jealousy, he takes a long look at Enzo's profile and wonders what it's like to be so blindingly bright you drown out everyone else. Beck's pretty sure he should hate him for it, but that was difficult when they first met and near impossible now.

"..I can't say shit on twists but..." His mouth goes dry and bitter at the mention, brushing his shoulder against Lorenzo's if only to remember how to breathe again. Beck remembers debating his own instinct to stop himself from calling his friend when the twist had been revealed. Not everyone is as fragile as Beck Hailsham and rubbing in the similarity was probably worse than just not calling at all and -

he's kind of a coward when it comes to Lorenzo. "It's your friend's wedding. Of course you should go." He chides, feeling only the barest of pang in his chest at the mention of so many of Anatalia's ghosts. Resentful as he may have been about it all, Lysander has allowed his childish fury to direct itself elsewhere.

If only because he can't imagine where he'd be if he hadn't attached himself to one ghost so thoroughly.

The invitation to come along was inconsequential, at best, and certainly nothing to worth stopping in his tracks over. It's the barest of hiccups before he manages to right himself, resulting in an awkward shuffling of feet suddenly turned to lead and a nervous laugh he covers with a cough. "Like I'd pass up on the chance to raise some hell."

He doesn't offer condolences for Maxwell, twenty-three out of twenty-four is much better than he got.

"Though I uh, got to be honest I have no idea what a wedding entails." It seemed a strange concept made for old souls, for kids who got to live past eighteen. Sure, there was something romantic about promising yourself to someone for the rest of your life but Beck's never felt strong enough about anything to do something that drastic.

Sure, he probably loved Bell but he'll never know if he loved her enough to dress up in a shitty tuxedo and promise it'll last forever. Something tells him Bell wasn't one for white dresses either. Maybe they were missing something? Is there a difference between loving and being in love? Sounds like a shitty line in a romance novel, if you ask Beck.

"If we're going together should we have matching suits?" He furrows his brows in thought, cocking his head to the side slightly to let unpleasant thoughts leak out his ears. "I really don't wanna look stupid. The papers would never let me live that down."

And yeah he's not supposed to care about that, but it's hard not to.

There's a taxi waiting for them on the curb, the same one Beck had arrived in. He can afford to let the meter run. He sets Lorenzo's luggage in the passenger seat and settles into the seat behind it, movements rushed so that he needn't spend too long wondering if he should open his companion's door for him.

What's with these weird fuckin' thoughts lately?

The silence of the Taxi is somehow heavier than it was on the ride down. He's acutely aware of the sound of his own breaths, the sudden proximity between him and Enzo gone strange and heavy. Long legs and small seats left for little choice but settling a bit closer than friends do. It's not uncomfortable, it's overwhelming. Though Lorenzo fills the silence as usual, Beck spends the brief ride back to his mansion with his forehead pressed to the window and watching the ocean draw ever closer. The glass feels colder than it should.

And he near leaps out of their ride the second it comes to a stop. "Welcome home!" He chokes a bit on his own tongue, "I mean welcome to my home. It's exactly as ostentatious as it looks." He doesn't look at the money he shoves into the driver's hand, gathering up Lorenzo's luggage if only to busy his hands.

Home looms over him like usual, cold and empty and full of skeletons. "Stay in whatever room you like and uh-" He's exhausted from straining over so many words, but equally as determined to get all of them out, "I figured we'd celebrate your last Reaping once we've settled in."

The champagne bottle is ornate and probably costs almost as much as the mansion, Beck had found it in the basement and hoped it was something impressive. "There's like, a whole wine cellar in here and I'm glad you're safe now so-"

He doesn't know how to finish that sentence.