For some reason, the drills had never bothered Ángel the way they had Ander. Granted, after a long day, all the noise and people on top of each other grated on his nerves something awful, but not in the way it did for his friend. Perhaps it was because he had long ago accepted that fate was out of his hands and embraced the chaos of it all, whereas he was unsure whether Ander had been able or willing to. Regardless of the reason, regulations be damned, he wasn't about to let the man stew in his own set of complicated and unnamable emotions and notions.
"Ah, fuck 'em. They're going to be so busy counting all the new folks they might not even get to us by the time it's all over." he said with a shrug, despite the dark notion that 'all over' could mean many things.
"Plus, they'll be even more pissed to know I went back for these," Ángel said with a nudge to his friend's shoulder before covertly unfurling his palm, to reveal earplugs he had whipped up from some left over melted rubber and wax after the last set of drills.
For years, Ander had tried his best to get over the anxiety that bubbled over with the drills. The frustration of his failure had been nearly unbearable. In school, he appeared to be the only one affected by the blaring alarms, or perhaps the other kids had just been better at hiding it. While some of his classmates seized the opportunity to exercise childish cruelty and poke fun, Ángel had never been one of them. Instead, they’d perfected the very routine they found themselves carrying out now.
Ander would do his best to hold it together, and Ángel would be right there beside him as an anchor. The earplugs were a very much welcome new addition.
“Breaking protocol and possession of contraband,” Ander tisked, fighting to keep his voice steady; his nerves were embarrassing. Still, he took the earplugs from his friend with a trembling hand he hoped Ángel would be gracious enough to ignore, brown eyes full of gratitude as he examined them. “You really didn’t have to do that. I can manage.”
“A real friend would clean up my brain explosion. Just saying.” Angel answered, acting as if he was truly hurt, eyes cast down, lashes fluttering against cheek, corners of his lips pulling downwards. But as funny as he thought his stupid act, he could never keep it for long, either out of distraction and desire to move on or the fact that feeling upset with Ander, false or not, was such a foreign feeling, so he quickly found himself chuckling and breaking the mask.
Angel had a sneaking suspicion that the child in question was pulling everyone’s chain, in a way. Perhaps he was distressed and didn’t want to deal with the small things such as spelling homework, and decided to take advantage of the situation, knowing everyone would give him leeway due to his circumstances. Or maybe he was truly troubled. Maybe Angel was conflating the boy’s situation too much with his own, and knew everyone reacted differently, but after Angel’s entire life had been upended and he lost his family…He didn’t start yelling choochoo. Then again, the boy was younger than Angel had been. All these things, he pondered, while ultimately knowing that if he hadn’t had the patience and understanding he was given by Doc, in the same way Ander was giving his student, he wouldn’t have made it. So in the long run, he was sure that kid was going to turn out okay. The Aurelius family had a way of helping with that. Like father, like son.
“My guy, I know you have a tendency to want to lift the entire world on your shoulders—why your parents didn’t name you Atlas, I’ll never know—But you are doing every possible thing you can for those kids. Case in point, most teachers would hear a kid yelling choochoo around the class and throw them out for disruption, hell, I’d be one of them, but instead you’re trying to take the time to figure out the why and help him through it. You’re doing the best you can with what you’re given, and more to be honest. So, for your shoulder’s sake, unburden the world for like, one night. Shake it out. Take a stretch. Otherwise you’re gonna end up looking like Old Man Parker and his hunchback.”
“Forgive me for not wanting to scrub your brain bits off the floor.” Ander jabbed a playful elbow into his friend’s ribs, careful not to dig too hard. An eyeroll accompanied the attacked, exasperated by Ángel’s feigned distress. He laughed regardless. “If you’re head explodes, you’re on your own, dude.” The whole shtick was admittedly ridiculous, but then again, so were most of their antics. It was almost their nature. Ander was almost surprised they hadn’t gotten themselves into more trouble growing up. How they’d managed to get away with things like breaking into the kitchens in the middle of the night or sliding down the hallways in their socks on the newly refinished floors was beyond him, but he wasn’t about to complain.
His eyeroll turns into a halfhearted glare at the Atlas comment. Ander knew Ángel had a point; his tendency to worry wasn’t some newfound revelation, especially not with him. Ángel had seen him through some of the worst of it, and Ander was eternally grateful, far more so than he could ever express to his best friend. Even if he tried, Ander knew he’d be met with a dismissive joke or a insistence that it ‘wasn’t a big deal’. But it was — at least to him — and while he knew the man stretched out beside him was aware of his appreciation, he often found himself wishing he had the vocabulary to accurately express it.
“You know, it’s annoying when you’re right? Like, really annoying. You should stop,” he huffed. Ander propped himself up on an elbow and turned his head to look at the other. “Except for the part about Mr. Parker, that was just a hurtful comparison and I demand an apology.” He’s joking again, same characteristically dry sense of humor. With just a few words, Ángel had managed to quell his worry, just as he always had. “I should give you detention or something.”
Hopes and dreams weren't exactly something she had been discouraged from having during her youth, her family had always seemed so endlessly supportive of her during her childhood that she had once believed that anything was possible. ( that optimism had continued into adulthood, just it was now tempered by a better grasp on reality ) It was only as she grew older and slightly wiser to the world around her that she realised that their support wasn't as unconditional as she'd once believed. Their love and encouragement that had seemed so endless was instead limited by their own beliefs and hinged upon her doing what they expected from her.
So despite the way she'd always felt some kind of tug towards teaching, always enjoying school and maybe being a little too eager to help her classmates, it was never a career that her parents approved of for her. No, as a member of the Silverhorn family her path was supposedly clear and all she had to do was put one foot in front of the other down the road they'd created for her.
So that particular dream had been set aside as she convinced herself that she'd be just as happy to follow in her mother's footsteps. The last place that she'd expected to be able to pick it back up again was in Thirteen but the notion of it finally being within her grasp was one that set hope bubbling up within her again. It was that hope that bubbled over into an excitement she knew might have been a lot to take so early in the morning ( he confirms that thought moments later by remarking about the hour ) and so she did her best to temper it.
It barely worked though, tone still ebullient as she took his hand to complete their handshake. "It's nice to meet you, Ander. And thank you for having me, I know it's probably the last thing you expected this morning - I was surprised when it came up on my schedule. A good surprise but not something I was expecting." She's not sure if she's intending for the words to put him at ease or not, she just knows that she can only restrain herself so much.
Head shook at the notion of there being any kind of boring task in a classroom and she found herself settling at the idea of having something to do. "Oh no, that's fine. I'm happy to do whatever's needed and it'd be a long day for us all if they can't write anything down." There's a light laugh given before she takes the box and finds a seat to get started. "I'd love to hear what you've got planned."
While it hadn’t been particularly exciting, growing up in Thirteen had been easy in a way. There was never a need to plan, never a need to make difficult decisions, never a need to think too hard. Everything had been laid out for Ander, just as it had for every other Thirteen native, printed right there onto his left forearm with every minute of every day accounted for. Though he’d submitted (and thankfully received) his own preferences, even his career was ultimately chosen for him. It was all systematic, and it all made sense, and for that, Ander was grateful. So even if Esme’s sudden arrival in his classroom had been unexpected on both of their parts, it was a sign that the system worked, fulfilling the needs of the population before they became too pressing. After all, it would be much easier to integrate her into the classroom dynamic now, with things still mostly under control, than later, when it would all inevitably fall into utter chaos.
He carefully sets the tattered box down on the desk between them. Like most things in the classroom, it was worn and probably should have been replaced ages ago. But worn was much different than worn out, and with a constricted supply chain, all those who had grown up in the district had learned early on that you only asked for a replacement when absolutely necessary. The box likely had another season or two left in it — or so he hoped. There were other things he was hoping to ask for first, such as some new books to read to his students, or if he were feeling particularly brave, some new crayons for the kids. Unfortunately, they couldn’t have it all.
“Please, you being here helps more than you could ever know.” It wasn’t flattery. With Thirteen opening its doors to more and more refugees, he consistently found new names being added to his class roster. What had started as a class of maybe of dozen had grown to nearly double, and Ander was finding himself stretched thin. “You’re very kind.” Ander returned the laugh. “I’m happy to have you, really. And if there’s anything I can do to help the transition, let me know.” He paused for a moment to dig around in the bottom drawer of his desk to find a practically ancient pencil sharpener. He placed it next to the box before taking his place at his own desk where a mountain of papers waited to be marked.
“You’re…not from here, are you?” Ander spoke gently, knowing it was a sensitive topic for many of the newcomers. “Have you gotten a chance to see much of the place?”
It had all officially become too much for Delly. She desperately missed her father and the way that he would wrap his arms around her and make her feel like things would be okay. It was what he had done after she had left the Justice Building after saying her goodbyes to Peeta. She had walked into their home above their shop and collapsed into her father's arms where she had cried for hours so sure that she was going to lose Peeta. She had been wrong, she had gotten him back.
Until he was gone again. What was the Capitol doing to him right now? He had risked his life to warn them and he had just been abandoned by everyone. It wasn't fair. Why hadn't they tried harder to get him and the other captives? She had spent enough time with the Whitvale children to know that they missed their mother. Why hadn't more been done to protect the people that Snow had taken? Why was President Coin allowing them to be held instead of going in to get them?
Delly didn't think that she could take much more of this all. She was being strong for Dirk's sake, but who was being strong for her? It would have been easier with Peeta by her side. Everything was always easier when Peeta was there. She wanted to believe that they were going to go in and rescue them soon but she had long lost hope that they would fix things.
The voice belonged to someone who looked vaguely familiar to her, but in the dark, it was hard to place him. She didn't mind when he sat down next to her, and despite the tears falling down her face, she laughed. "It's okay you don't want my help in a crisis either. Obviously." She reached up to wipe at the tears on her face. "I don't mind. I'm Delly," she introduced. "Are you from Thirteen?"
Growing up in Thirteen, Ander felt far removed from the other districts. Their struggles may have be similar, but they never quite aligned. In a sense, it was almost easier to pretend that they didn’t exist. As a child he wanted nothing more than to venture to the surface and to feel the sun on his face, but it had been a privilege to not live under the cruelty of the peacekeepers and the threat of losing everything in the Games. He could not imagine what the girl beside him had endured, and how difficult it must have been to try and start over after everything. She really was living his worst nightmare, and yet she had stll found the ability to laugh and joke with him. Ander was amazed by her strength and character.
“Ander.” He introduced himself gently, offering her a warm and friendly smile. He hoped it would ease the tension, even if just a little. “It’s nice to meet you, Delly. Though…Maybe it would have been nicer outside the bunker.”
Still seated, he turned his body to face her, such that his back was no longer against the wall of the cavern, but instead facing the open space. It was difficult to see her in the dim light, but Ander could still make out the tears falling from her lashes. He wished there was something more he could do, something he could offer her instead of small talk and some kind of mild reassurance that things were going to be alright. Then again, sometimes all someone needed was a moment of distraction, a respite from the pain, so maybe it was possible he wasn’t as useless as he felt.
“That I am,” Ander answered. “Thirteen born and raised. It wasn’t as bad as it may sound, I promise.” Though there had been times when he wished for more, they’d always had the necessities. He was fortunate, far more so than some of the refugees he’d met. “I take it you’re not?”
Closed starter | @angelbenningflint | District 13 | Day 57 - Night of the bombing
The screech of the bomb sirens brought Ander back to childhood — heart racing, hands shaking, shuffling his way out of his classroom and down to the bunker along with the rest of his class. The drills had always been anxiety-inducing, pushing him to the edge of his tolerance as he was reminded of the fact that his safety, his family’s safety, was never guaranteed. In those times, he would have sought out his mother and father and clung to them until the District officials concluded the drill and dismissed them all. Ander couldn’t help being transported back to that version of himself now, small and anxious as he sat on the cold, granite floor with his back pressed up against the bunk assigned to him. Part of him wished he could be six again, that he could go and seek comfort from his parents once more, but he was older now. He could face this on his own. The world around him trembled with each new wave of attack. Regrettably, the barrage didn’t appear to be lightening up any time soon.
Ander did his best to cope, rotating through nearly every grounding technique his father had taught him over the years. None of it helped. He just wanted it to be over. But suddenly, he wasn’t alone, and though his eyes were closed as he desperately tried to calm his pounding heart and churning stomach, he knew exactly who had come to take a seat next to him. Ander wanted to be annoyed. Ángel was always getting himself into trouble, and ignoring the rule about remaining at your assigned station until the bombing let up would certainly result in some sort of backlash.
“I’m okay.” Ander’s voice faltered; he was clearly lying, and he knew his friend would be having none of it. “You should go back to your bunk. They’ll be pissed if they find out you broke protocol.”
Location: District 13 bunker, middle of the night
Open
Delly had barely any time to react to Peeta's very obvious deterioration before the air raid siren had gone off, and she had to run through the halls of Thirteen looking for Dirk. This couldn't be happening again. They couldn't be bombing Thirteen the way that they had bombed Twelve. The only difference was this time she could protect Dirk, and she would protect Dirk. She couldn't always leave it up to Gale. Delly had found Dirk in their room, cowering in a corner, and it had taken everything in her to not break down in that moment and to get them both down to the bunker.
The first hit had startled her and sent Dirk scrambling under his bunk. Delly spent the next few hours calming him down and trying to not let herself fall apart either. Dirk couldn't see her like that. It wouldn't help anything.
It wasn't until things got quiet, the strikes farther apart, to the point that Delly thought that they were through, and Dirk was asleep that she got up to stretch her legs. They had long fallen asleep, and she was unsteady on her feet as she managed to wander among the people to find a somewhat empty corner where she collapsed and buried her face in her knees as the tears came. She cried for her mom, her dad, Peeta, and her brother. When were they going to get Peeta back? How much longer could he take the Capitol's torture?
Delly nearly jumped when she felt a presence next to her. The "I'm fine!" came without even thinking. And then she paused. "No, I'm not," she admitted, tears in her eyes. "But I'm not hurt, so you can just...I'm sure there's hurt people or someone else that you need to tend to."
Bombing drills were relatively common in District 13; citizens practiced filing down, down, down the dusty old stairs and into the very bunker they were all crammed into now. It was far from Ander's first time, then, but it was no less unsettling, especially with the incessant trembling of the world around them as bombs continued to hit. If he were this shaken, he could not imagine the fear some of the refugees must have been facing, especially those who had just watched their lives turn to ash at the hands of the Capitol.
The night crept on slowly, and though the strikes had slowed, Ander could feel the buzz of anxiety lingering amongst the crowd (but perhaps it was just him). Many had been fortunate enough to find sleep, but he had been far from being so lucky. Unable to keep himself still, he resorted to taking a quiet lap around the perimeter, running his hand against the rough granite walls which coated his finger tips in a fine layer of dust.
He didn't know the girl in the corner, but as he stumbled upon her and her shaking frame, Ander felt his heart constrict. She must have been one of the refugees from 12. Whatever pain she must have been fighting, it was too great for him to even begin to imagine. Still, he wanted to help, and despite not knowing the girl, he came to a stop beside her.
"Oh, I'm not a medic," Ander answered with a sharp exhale, almost like a laugh. "My brother's the doctor. I don't think you'd want my help in any kind of crisis." He took a seat next to her, ensuring to leave enough space between them. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel claustrophobic. "But it kind of seems like you might need some company?"
Mornings had always been the time of day that she enjoyed the most, finding something exciting in the possibilities that a new day brought. That had changed somewhat since arriving in Thirteen, with each morning bringing with it an uneasy and overwhelming sense of unknown rather than the anticipation she'd used to embrace the day with. It hardly helped that each morning marking another day she was separated from her sister.
The schedule helped, sort of, it made her feel like less of a spare part and gave her something to focus on even if her assignments weren't always where she would have chosen for herself. But she would take her hours being filled by just about anything else than being left to her own thoughts which never failed to drift to her sister, spiralling towards despondency the moment she let them.
But this morning she did feel cautious excitement bubbling within herself at the sight of her schedule. Despite everything else going on in her life she chose to embrace it. Snatching at the warm feeling it brought, wanting to savour feeling light instead of heavy. She'd gotten to the classroom early in her keenness to get started, a voice startling her slightly as she was considering what to do next.
Esme turned to face the voice, the smile that had been so frequent for her before all this settling itself onto her features once again. "Good morning." Tone was bright matching the sunny demeanour that was practically radiating off her. "I should really be asking you that since I'm here to help. Or at least that's what my schedule says but I'm guessing no one told you that so I don't have to?"
Despite her last words being phrased as a question, brown eyes wide with worry that he might send her away, she still continued talking without taking a breath. Hand was brought up to motion to the room around her. "I wasn't sure where you'd want to start with getting things ready so I just started neatening up all the desks, kids seem to really love leaving them squint, I hope that's okay. I can run and get anything else you think we'd need too, if you want?"
Another question, but this time she catches herself, lips practically pressing themselves together to slow anymore words that wanted to slip out of them. It's in this brief silence she realises that aside from her rambled explanation, he still has no real idea who she is. "I'm Esme." Sheepish smile settles on her features, finally allowing him the time to reply.
Ander would blame his blank look on the early hour, but the steady rambling from the woman standing before him was admittedly a bit too much to take in. Perhaps he should have gone to breakfast on the off chance the benevolent district gods had decided to grace them with the rare opportunity to snag a single cup of black coffee. Any hit of caffeine would help, really, and he wasn't opposed to groveling for it. Ander truly was not a morning person.
Regardless, it would appear that coffee would remain a dream to be actualized another day. For now, he would have to handle the situation unfolding in his classroom. The man blinked a few times as if to clear the fog from his mind. He really hadn't been prepared for this; both the offer of help and to have himself put together and functional so early. He could usually manage to get by in the mornings when it was just him, but having to field questions and whatever monologue she had just run through was testing his abilities.
"Esme, right," Ander finally said after a prolonged silence that bordered on uncomfortable. "Help, yes, of course." Her words were slowly starting to come together. Now that he thought about it, having an aid really wouldn't be so bad, not when the class size kept increasing. "Welcome, I guess. Sorry, not I guess, just welcome. It's early." He sighed inwardly. So much for first impressions. Still, he offered her his hand as if a handshake would fix the mess of a conversation. "I'm Ander, it's great to have you."
He ran a frazzled hand through his hair as he turned to survey the room. Fortunately, he had the foresight to clean it up before leaving work the day before, so it wasn't too much of a mess. Ander's classroom was perpetually cluttered, though, a fact he could do little about given the fact that is was his, but it was neat enough to be considered acceptable, even by Thirteen standards, but he couldn't deny that her efforts at straightening out the desks had made everything look more put together.
"You know, we have some new students starting today and I really need to get some materials put together for them." Ander moved to the small supply closet just behind his desk. The shelves were starting to look a little sad and empty, so a call down to Necessities would need to happen soon, but they could worry about that later. "I hate to give you what must be the most boring work imaginable on your first day but," he said, pulling a battered cardboard box from the middle shelf. "I really need someone to sharpen some of these pencils. If you wouldn't mind...? I can fill you in on the lesson plans for today as we go?"
It had taken years of work with Dr. Aurelius for Angel to appreciate the ability to be alone. Before, the mere idea would send him into a spiral. He would spin and spin and spin until he felt like a young child again, trapped in a room where he wasn’t the only body but most definitely alone. Utterly and achingly, alone. To this day, while he can tolerate it, he prefers the company of others.
Especially any of the Aurelius family. Perhaps it was overstepping the lines of the patient-doctor relationship, but Angel felt comfort in the family of 4. A sense of peace settled over the war drum beating in his chest whenever he had been invited to dinner or over to play with the triplets. Somewhat surprisingly, the quietest of the three had become the peace to Angel’s chaos, and even now as they lay sprawled in Ander’s bed, Angel wonders exactly what he did to be so lucky getting accepted into this family.
“Dead ass!” he exclaimed, hands gesturing wildly, Angel’s hands were a thing of energy, never at rest. “He’s going on and on about all the things he tried to make it work, but I know for a fact he didn’t, because you can’t if it’s not on.” It had been exasperating, but as he lay pressed up next to Ander, he couldn’t help but laugh about the entire thing, proud of the fact that his stupid work antics were able to bring a smile to the face of his best friend. “The only thing keeping me from having a brain aneurysm right in front of him was that I want that metal they scavenged above ground real bad. If they give it to weapons testing again, then you can witness my brain explosion.” he sighed. It was frustrating, he worked on weapons sometimes, but when he had ideas for inventions who’s purpose wasn’t to maim or kill, he found little support or materials.
“What about that kid–” he changed the topic, suddenly remembering that Ander had told him in passing of a new child from one of the districts that had been…Interesting to say the least. “Did he ever stop pretending he was a train who didn’t have to do schoolwork?” he questioned. He tried not to laugh about the story too much, because he knew many of these new children had gone through something horrible, and they were all coping in different ways. But honestly, that one was genius.
Ander never fully understood what went on down in technology or what exactly Ángel's job was. He knew in a vague sense, and that he was good at whatever they had him working on, but beyond the basics, it didn't make much sense to him. The work seemed to make his friend happy, though, something Ander felt he was so incredibly deserving of, so if Ángel wanted that salvaged metal, he believed he was far more entitled to it than anyone down in weapons.
"I'd kind of prefer it if your brain didn't explode, actually," he said in an almost thoughtful tone as he turned his head to look at his friend. Ander couldn't help but crack a smile at his companion's antics and animated nature. "I'm pretty sure you need it, and frankly, it would be just kind of gross." Growing up, his siblings often complained about his incredibly dry sense of humor, but Ander didn't care. He thought he was hilarious, and that's all that mattered, right?
Ángel turns the conversation to Ander's student and he can't help but sigh. It was hard to imagine the past lives of the children he had been welcoming into his classroom as of late. The undeniable horrors they'd witnessed and the fear they'd harbored in their short lives. It broke his heart to think about, but understanding their history was so important in helping them integrate into 13 and providing them with the support they needed to adjust to their new lives. The boy in question had come from District 6 just a few months before and the transition had been difficult for him. Ander had tried to help, truly and genuinely had done all he could to adapt class materials to fit his needs and capabilities, but every now and then they appeared to hit a wall. Such was the case with the train incident, where instead of working on his spelling, the boy decided to run laps around the room loudly proclaiming he was not a student, but a train, while occasionally pausing his sprint to scream CHOO! CHOO!
It wasn't funny. Or it shouldn't have been, really, but when you become so exasperated what else is there to do but laugh and embrace the chaos?
"He...got there eventually," he said, words punctuation with an airy, exasperated chuckle. "We may have all needed to take a break and run some laps, get some energy out, but we took it as an opportunity to learn how to spell freight, so I think it was a success." Honestly, being a teacher was exhausting, especially at the level he taught, but he never once regretted it. "As long as these kids are settling in and learning, that's all that matters, right?" He sighed and his laughter died out. Something heavy replaced it. "I just wish there was something more I could do sometimes, you know? I feel bad for these kids. They deserve more."
The dim light of the lamp cast a warm glow across Ander's cluttered quarters in District 13. Stacks of pre-war books piled high on the floor, a few pens and spare sheets of paper with hastily scribbled notes strewn across his standard-issued desk. He knew if the district leaders were to conduct a surprise inspection he would fail, but Ander couldn’t bring himself to care.
The cobwebs collecting in the corner whispered of neglect, but the recent influx of refugees to 13 had tied up his schedule as he prepared his already crowded classroom to accommodate even more students. His supply closet was starting to look a little sparse and they were starting to run out of desks, but he was doing his best with what he had. Tonight, though, he had managed to secure a much-needed night off, and all thoughts of the work he had piling up were left behind.
The cold air of his bedroom was mildly uncomfortable as it hung around them. This far underground, cold was a perpetual state of being, but it was fine. Having grown up in 13, Ander was used to it.
The two boys were sprawled across Ander's bed, the worn blankets and mismatched pillows providing a semblance of comfort and their bodies close together. The lack of personal space was never weird. He and Ángel had been friends for so long that, if anything, he found their closeness to be natural — comforting, even.
Their laughter echoed off the wall, melting together with the faint sound of distant footsteps echoed through the corridor, the only reminder of the world that existed on the other side of his door. It was nice. They hadn’t had the chance to catch up like this in a while, and despite the work Ander had waiting for him in the morning, he was thankful for the moment.
“You can’t be serious,” the man managed to finally choke out as the noise died down and they caught their breath. His shoulders shook with residual laughter. Ángel had been filling him in on the latest news down in Tech. Apparently, one of the district higher-ups had spent at least 20 minutes ranting about a ‘broken’ communicuff that — surprise — turned out to not be broken, just turned off. “I’m surprised you let him go on about it for that long. I would have paid to see that.”
The early morning starts did not agree with Ander. His eyes burned with lingering exhaustion, and he was having a particularly difficult time pulling himself together. But this was the life of a teacher in 13, and despite his burning desire to crawl back into bed and bury himself under his blankets, he had work to do. Or at least that’s what the schedule printed onto his left forearm said.
06:30 - Breakfast
07:00 - Prep
08:30 - Teaching period begins
15:00 - Teaching period ends
He had skipped breakfast; he usually does. It was hard for him to find an appetite so early in the morning, and he much preferred to spend that half hour getting some extra sleep than pushing around runny oatmeal in his bowl. Despite skipping breakfast however, and the fact that his quarters where closer to the school wing than the cafeteria was, Ander was still running behind.
In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t really matter if he stuck to his exact schedule. At 07:00, he was sure that he would the only member of the teaching team on the wing. He had been informed that he’d have two new students on his roster. A sibling set — refugees from 9 who had arrived just a few days prior. He’d need to move some things around in his classroom to make space, pull things from the resource closet and put an order in with Necessities for some new supplies. But with no witnesses, there’d be no one to tattle on him for turning up late.
He was so caught up in creating his mental to-do list that he had missed the light coming from his classroom. It wasn’t until he stopped to unlock his door that Ander realized it was already propped open. The man paused at the threshold. Inside the room was a woman he wasn’t quite sure he recognized.
How strange. Ander took a second to think. Had they reassigned him? No, surely not. He would have received notice weeks ago so he’d have time to prepare and make adjustments to the curriculum. But then if he hadn’t been reassigned, who was this woman standing at his desk? And how had she gotten in, anyway? He could have sworn he locked the door when he had left yesterday afternoon.
Ander took a cautious step inside. “Good morning,” he said in a gentle voice. He didn’t want to startle the poor girl, just figure out what he hell she was doing in his classroom. “Can I— I'm sorry, did you need something?"
Divorce mention, death mention, disease mention, bullying mention TW
Oleander Aurelius wouldn’t blame anyone for confusing him for his brother. He wouldn’t get mad when he heard people refer to him as just, “one of the triplets.”
He could get huffy about it, correct people, roll his eyes and complain about it just like Orion had fallen into the habit of doing, but what was the point? It was true, after all. He was one of the triplets, and sure, maybe he used his shared identity as a bit of a security blanket, but was it really so wrong? He didn’t think so.
Oleander (who much preferred to go by Ander when not being called “no, the other one,”) was one of three children born to Dr. Gabriel Aurelius and Evelyn Stryker, lifelong residents of District 13. Ander didn’t mind spending most of his life underground, childhood full of grey walls, grey uniforms, and strict schedules. As a child he often imagined what it would be like to live aboveground, but he knew it was safer this way. Everyone told him so. He and his siblings made their own fun regardless; the triplets thrived on the chaos that seemed to follow them around every corner. It almost made up for his general lack of friends in school. Almost.
Ander wasn’t funny and outgoing like Orion, and he wasn’t as confident and cool as Ophelia. Ander was just Ander; the quiet, awkward, bookworm of a middle child who couldn’t help but feel a bit too nervous when separated from his siblings. Perched on the edge of his bed late one night, his father once mentioned something about anxiety, and how they could “work through it together.” The irony of the psychiatrist’s son having his own inner demons wasn’t lost on him.
He doesn’t remember a lot of the specifics of the sickness that struck 13. He was 15, the halls were oddly quiet for weeks as the flu-like illness worked its way through family units, and even he himself had fallen victim to the virus. But he got better, and so did Evelyn and Orion. They all did.
Except for the family of the boy who moved in down the hall. That boy — Ángel, he remembered him from school — had lost everything. It was tragic, and Ander felt guilty for co-opting his pain as he lost sleep over pondering the fragility of his own family. Time passed, and much to his surprise, the boys became friends, with Ángel going as far as to stand up for Ander when being harassed by the worst of their classmates.
Things were good for Ander and the Aurelius family for a while, completely business as usual. His parents worked, and he and his siblings went to school and studied hard (or at least he did). The triplets grew up, moved into their own quarters, and were assigned jobs. Ander followed in his mother’s footsteps and became a teacher, a role everyone in his family would agree suited him.
However, it wasn’t long after the triplets moved out that Evelyn and Gabriel broke the news of their divorce. They told their children it was amicable, reminded them that they had been just 19 when they got married and that people change — that they changed.
Ander understood. He did not blame them for their separation. He wanted his parents to be happy, and if that meant ending the marriage, so be it. But the news still rattled him, leaving behind a gross and lingering sense of unease that he liked to pretend didn’t exist.
Regardless of the change, life went on, and eventually the war began. Ander enjoyed meeting the refugees who sought out the protection of 13, welcoming all the new children who were beginning to fill the empty desks of his classroom. He did not know the terror they had lived through; growing up in 13 he had been spared from the Games and much of the Capitol’s cruelty, but to an extent, he understood.
Ander knew there wasn’t much he could do to support the rebellion other than complete his mandated training and be ready to deploy if the powers that be commanded it, but he could make his classroom a safe place for those children, and it’s exactly what he tried to do.
Currently, Ander lives in District 13, working as a teacher. He supports the rebellion from a distance but isn’t too excited about the idea of being sent out on a mission.
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