RARE THAT ANYTHING WOULD THROW THE ACTOR’S COMPOSURE, but he does not pretend to be unfazed at her words. he shoots her a look, eyes wide, shock woven into his features. the wind buffeting them from the rooftop tosses his hair about and squeezes itself in the gap of silence that stretches for seconds. she is looking at him from the corner of her dark eyes, daring him to judge her.
he sees a different version of himself, if he had done the unthinkable and refused his body. his loved ones picked off one at a time, dangling another chance dripping with torturous blame before the bullet fires. or something less pleasant.
he won’t ask. he has no right to and he doesn’t want to know.
“ no. I don’t think anyone has a right to judge what you do. it’s an impossible choice, johanna. ”
he hesitates, such earnestness bleeding through his masks, vulnerability that he would be hard pressed to show anyone. he searches her face, though she is no longer looking at him but rather staring over the railing at the bustling city life below.
SHE CONSIDERS HIS WORDS WITH A THOUGHTFUL TILT OF HEAD, gaze resting upon the city below. she isn’t sure if she believes him, that she can live blamelessly while the blood of her family soaks the fertile earth of seven. no, some of it’s on her hands.
but she isn’t the one who killed her mother.
her fist clenches at her side, and she takes a long swig from the neck of the bottle clutched in her spare hand. it burns, but it doesn’t even buzz. she offers the bottle to the other.
“ is it awful, finnick? ” a risky question, and it’s none of her business. how he copes with what they put him through… that’s for no one but him. but if she can just understand what it’s like, it could either be like tossing water onto the fearful, indignant, furious fires wreathing around her heart, or gasoline.
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
origamiaround
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