Somewhere in the Training Center (@ncllysnge)
Once, Twig and Nelly ran in similar crowds. Capitol crowds, of course. That ended, and it ended because of Twig. He was younger, then, but he can’t say that he was worse. Can’t say that he’s better now. He turned his back on Nelly, who had been something like a friend, when that friendship had grown heavier than Twig could handle. And, over a decade later, he’d turn his back on Harbor, who he loved more than anyone in his life, because he feared he’d grown too dangerous.
And it doesn’t escape him that he hasn’t apologized to either of them. With Harbor, he can say that he doesn’t want to be selfish, self-indulgent, beg for Harbor’s forgiveness when there’s so much that’s more pressing than their relationship, than Twig’s guilt. (He could say, too, that he’s sure his penitence is clear in every line of his body when Harbor looks at him.) But that doesn’t make it the truth. The truth might be closer to this: he’s a coward, and he’s never learned how to say I’m sorry.
He doesn’t know how to say it now, either. Maybe the kinder thing to do would be what they seem to have been doing for years, silently skirting around each other, but today he doesn’t. They’re all in this shit together now, aren’t they?
“Nelly.” He says, keeping his voice low. “Is it true what they’re saying? You haven’t—you haven’t seen Cinna?”