ghost to you, ghost to me [ love x julian ]

[pogue]

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The first day of the training center is just like he'd expected it, filled with pounding heartbeats and swinging swords and grunts of disapproval from those in white. He floats, aimlessly and carefree, in the water of the aquatic environment conditioning tank, letting the sounds curl and carve themselves into his hearing.

He can practically hear his Father's words in between the heartbeats, in between the soft crashing of water as it rises and falls under his weight.

A sharp breathe in, cool air piercing his lungs as he forces himself down underneath the water, watery hands clasped over the sounds he'd just listened to and turning them into little more than muffles. Muscles tense before relaxing, heart hammers before it slows, and at the end of it all he is left floating in the water, hardened lungs long since used to the deprivation after years and years of training. It's only when his mind is fully sharp, fully focused that he finally opens his eyes, lets them hone in and focus through the glass and onto the figures and forms that exist beyond it.

A boy misses the target in front of him, knife bouncing against the metal wall behind it before falling to the ground below.

A trainer presses fingertips against the shoulders of a girl whose hands shake against the pressure of a drawn bow, hopelessly adjusting her stance as if it will save her.

A career digs and drives his sword into a training dummy, its limbs left hanging by little less than a thread by the time he pulls his sword away.

And

There he is.

Love's eyes focus in on the form of a boy whose legacy drags dead along behind him, plastered with faux gold and the dull fangs of a lion. Julian Le Roux, a golden child lost amongst golden children, lost amongst his last name. His Father had always told him that if you couldn't live up to the name you carried, you'd simply drown in it.

As he watches Julian walk, false confidence in every step, he decides those words were spot on.

It's only when his path begins to cross in front of the tank that Love's feet press against the bottom of the glass, legs bent before pushing up and bringing himself gracefully to the surface. The sounds meet his ears once again, a chorus to the soft breaths that slip from his lips as his fingers grasp the edge of the tank, arms crossed and upper body resting against the side of the tank.

"Hey, Le Roux!" He says, blue eyes trained on the boy from One. "How's the trainin' going?" 

Sweet words slip from his lips and sit between them as Love plasters a smile to his face, feet swaying softly in the water. "Water's warm, if you're in the mood for a swim." He says, punctuating it with a wink.

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

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The Capitol was everything and nothing he hoped it would be.

Everything included the excess and ornateness he saw on every surface. The halls glistened, and every sparkling thing in the world seemed to be decked onto them. If he had thought of the Le Roux mansion to be grand then what was the word for this? It eluded him. Julian found himself in awe of every painting and decoration he saw.

And the nothing – well, the capitol was nothing he thought it would be. He was roaming the hallways of a kingdom that wasn’t his own. Here, Julian Le Roux was not a prince but a mere house guest and he didn’t know if he was overstaying his welcome or not. The crown wrought from that gold on his head felt like it had been replaced by a fake. Here, only one crown mattered, and that was the one he’ll have to earn, one he’ll have to – he’ll have to kill for.

The thought was a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, he was back in the carriage with Ridley and Emerson. Do you want to win or do you want it to be quick? He – think very hard about the answer, Ridley’s cold snarl.

He wanted to win. But for what reasons? He had been grappling with the question ever since he stepped foot here. He loved his family enough to fight for them, but was that a strong reason to push him through every hardship he knew would come his way? To make matters worse, his family was already here. Would I have to courage to fight Emie? He truly had no clue.

“How grand this is,” he heaves the words out as a sigh. A glass of champagne would be ideal as of right now, or perhaps a dragon that he can mount and fly away on. No in between.

Or a swim, Julian mused as he found himself meandering to where the pool is. He remembered swimming and the summery days, cool lemonade on the pool’s edge, cicada songs in the distance, a warm breeze rustling nearby trees. Warring with that memory, was the fact that he would never get it back. Julian let go of the nostalgia, reminding him to put on a façade of cool and regality. Here, everyone had eyes and everyone was watching. His last name preceded him, so it was no surprise when someone said it.

Julian turned to speckles, sun-dried hair, and a smile—one he would have believed to be genuine if it wasn’t so tacked on. He fought the urge to arch a brow, although his lips quirked, half-amused, half-curious. “Oh, is there fanfare already? It’s far too soon.” Julian chuckled, taking a step forward. “It is well, but nothing I don’t already know.” Because he was a gentleman, his eyes never trailed away from the other’s face, and that made him a little unprepared for the wink. Julian’s eyes lit up with mischief then, not a lion’s, but a maybe fox’s. And after a moment of searching the boy’s eyes to show if he was joking or not, Julian scoffs lightly.

“Alright, I’ll bite.”

He pulled his humble poet blouse over his head, his crown of brown curls suddenly ruffled. Muscles flexed and pulled, a symphony of tendons under chiseled skin. This, was a lion’s proud boosting. Julian’s lips twisted up in a grin that shouldn’t belong to a prince. Everyone was watching here, and the boy was putting on some kind of show, so who was Julian to not indulge?

Ridley’s hardened voice. “Tell me, who are you without the name?”

He was a charmer. He was a diplomat. He was a king that doubled down on the wine for his guests. Julian had been raised to know people as puzzles and learn them to his advantage. He was not as innocent as he acted. Although his heart is a king’s, he knows the sacrifices one must make to bear the heft of the crown. Perhaps his words to Paris were already true. Perhaps he had never been truly golden, but sort of a darker bronze, appearing polished under a certain light and mysterious under another.

And yes, he’d bite.

“Who are you?” His smile widened, and there was some genuineness in it. Perhaps that was a flaw but Julian never claimed to be perfect. “Forgive me; the plan was to go over the tribute names tonight. I would ... always remember a pretty face.” Paris, darling, my sincerest apologies – I know you’ll forgive me. Julian didn’t wait for the answer, opting instead to barrel into the water.

[pogue]

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“Guess you could call it that. I mean, game recognizes game right?” Love injects affection into his tone, laces the words with sweet nothings and threads them between every smile in his grin. “And I’d have to be blind not to recognize you.” Love’s eyes travel down, then up, taking in the view of a man painted faux gold. But hey, tarnished statue was still nice to look at in the right lighting.

Love rests his head in crossed arms against the pool’s edge as Julian moves towards the waters, droplets arcing down from curled hair and resting on the tip of his nose before falling. Blue eyes pierce into and through, melting the bloody ice that normally frays at the edges of his eyes and meeting Julian’s stare with his own. “Alright, I’ll bite.” Hook and line and sinker, Love raises his head and uncurls his arms, lowering himself gently back into the water before pushing back against the wall with his feet.

Water surges and swirls around him in one brief burst, the sound pounding and curling against his ears before he returns to floating gently, his eyes drifting back to Julian Le Roux. And if it’s his show then Julian is a great first act, shirt pulled up and over his head and brown hair falling back into place, if slightly disheveled. Love sits gently, smirk still on his face as Julian steps to the edge, meeting his compliments with an act and a question of his own. His voice is laced with confidence and precision, dipped in gold an bedazzled with false jewels. He can tell that Julian Le Roux considers himself royalty, no matter how cracked his reflection was. 

If Julian Le Roux is a prince, then Love is the court jester serving poisoned wine in a golden goblet. He’d be the downfall of a kingdom one way or another, and he’d make sure to keep a smile on his face while he does so.

Julian’s form dives gracefully into the water, sending out an army of ripples in his wake before he comes to the surface, water sliding off chiseled skin and sticking brown hair down onto his head. Love responds in turn, twisting his form as Julian’s head comes up above the surface. By the time the boy from One’s vision adjusts Love is already under the surface, guiding himself under and behind him. His head breaks the surface as silent as he can manage, blanket of water curling and twisting off his skin as he returns to floating, letting Julian turn back to face him. “Love Bellisario. Two.” He says softly, warm smile on his face.

“But I think I’m more than just a pretty face. Can you say the same?”

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

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The water parted around him as he dove, cool and refreshing. As the rippled surface over his head began to mend itself back together, the only sounds in Julian’s world became reduced to bubbles, froth, and his own heartbeat, a confident thud-thud-thud. He’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to swim. In the water, he was only Jules, now. He’d never been born a prince, and he’d been never chosen for a match of death. He was only a boy.

And then he resurfaced and the spell broke with a strong gasp of air. Julian carded his wet mop of hair back quickly, letting the rivulets run down his face in the mid of searching for the other boy. “Love Bellisario,” the other said, his breath tickling Julian’s ear from behind. “Two.” A career. Suddenly, all the jumbled pieces clicked into their rightful slots.

Julian took his time when he turned around in the water to face the other, water sloshing gently outwards. But he found himself smiling, unbidden again. The other had a … quality to him that he couldn’t quite place as of right now. The twinkling eyes and that vulpine smirk reminded him of a fox, a trickster. Named Love, but he looked full of mischief. And moving this close to Julian, with their ankles gently brushing against one another in the cool waters and with their chests a few spaces apart from touch, he was courting mischief.

“I think I’m more than what you already know, Mr. Bellisario,” he responded, adorning a smile of his own—confident, and diplomatic. But if Love were to know him enough, he would see that the smile hid mischief, too.

He was aware of how everyone in this training center already knew of Julian Le Roux, including Love. The name wasn’t learnt; it was embedded in each of their heads the same way Emerson’s was, too. Everyone could recognize the two lions. Love Bellisario was in no need of an introduction to who he was, and he made it clear. But Julian Le Roux had many facades and a variety of performances he could put on, so he decided to introduce Love to one of them: the charismatic. The man who brokered deals in his father’s stride and had a strong handshake. The man that looked righteous in a fine-tailored suit, or with his hands clasped behind his back. The man who knew all things about making a deal, forging an alliance, and selling an act.

“Two, so a career, I presume? A talented one, from the looks of it. Certainly … what is the word they use …” he feigns a thought, rubbing at his chin before snapping his fingers, “ah, yes. Marketable.” Julian’s grin bares itself, showing teeth. “Mr. Bellisario,” he said, “or Love, if I may? Don’t believe all you hear. I may be another Le Roux, but I may also surprise you by being something else. No lion is ever the same.”

His gaze darted to their surroundings and saw them immediately, eyes that gawked, stared, and appraised.

Julian looked back at each one as he slowly drew closer, and closer to Love. “A swim right before lunch, the time when tributes and trainers alike are all here putting their best efforts in. The pretty words, all rehearsed quite well. The general state of undress we’re in. The flirtatious glances.” And finally, they were close enough that when Julian turned face to face with the other, their faces were hairsbreadths apart from one another, his already holding a knowing smile. He nodded. “A talented career, from the looks of it, who’s courting scandal. I would ask what it is that you seek but I already have a small inkling of it.”