“You’re home later than usual,” Hazelle Hawthorne says as her eldest walks through the door.
“Um, yeah,” he mumbles. His cheeks are flushed and his brow is furrowed. She watches her son cross the small area between the kitchen and the living room. “Are the boys awake?”
Hazelle rolls her eyes, “What do you think? Just be quiet when you go in.” She goes back to washing Haymitch’s clothes in the large bucket. She’s running low on soap, but she promised she’d get Haymitch’s suit back to him by the end of the day and she doesn’t have the money to go buy more soap. The boys’ clothes will just have to wait. They can wear the same pants another day or two.
When she looks over at the boy’ bedroom door, Gale is still standing there with his head rested against the door. For a second, she thinks he’s fallen asleep standing up.
“Are you okay? Aren’t you feeling any better?”
Gale turns around and sinks to the floor, she only panics a little. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, welcoming the splinters poking into his skull from the wooden door.
“Gale?” Hazelle asks him again.
“No, I’m not feeling very well at all.”
“Do you have a fever again. I don’t think we have anymore medicine, but let me check.”
“It’s all gone.”
She glances at the money jar sitting on the counter. Not a penny in it. She closes her eyes and counts to 10, telling herself to save her tears for well after midnight. She could make her way over to Heather Everdeen’s and ask how to make a home remedy or Emily Grayland’s to quietly ask for some change, but that will only worry Thom and have him come rushing over. Not a secret lives in that house. Plus, she’d be in debt to Emily, and although they’re better off than her, it’s not like Emily has much to offer.
She hated having to ask for money. Despised it, actually.
But did she have a choice? Her kid was sick and neither her nor Gale could afford the medicine.
She checks the cabinet anyways. Empty.
“Let me go get you some more.”
He laughs and it’s leaded with great sadness. “There’s not a penny in that jar, mom.”
“I know.” She makes it sound more pointed than she means it too.
“I’m sorry.” He opens his eyes for the first time since sitting down, and she hates the look on his face. It’s not his fault that he’s sick and had to take a day off of work. He shouldn’t have been punished for it either. She could see not paying him for the day he didn’t go, they’re weren’t salary after all, but four daysof no pay for working after that?
Her silence cost her.
“I’ll pick up more shifts. I promise, mom, I will. I’ll pick up more shifts.”
“You’re not working seven days a week, Gale. You’re already too worn out.”
“It’s just because I’m sick. When I get better, I’ll be fine. I’ll tell them tomorrow, they can start me on seven’s on the next schedule.”
“I said no, Gale.”
“Mom…”
They stare at each other for a long time. His face is still red, but she could see how gray he looks underneath it all. His skin sinks into his face, aging him beyond his years. His clothes, which always hung on his awkwardly, hang so loose that it didn’t even look like he had a body underneath them.
Whatever he had was bad.
She worried that he was dying from it. He worried too.
Neither mentioned it to the other.
“I’m going to get you medicine, but first you need to get in bed. Rory’s gonna have to move his fat ass and share with Vick.”
“I’ll just sleep on the couch, no need to wake them. It’s really not a big deal.”
“I should have a bed for you.”
Gale closed his eyes and turns his face away from her. “It’s not a big deal,” he repeats. He knows she feels like a failure because her eldest sleeps on the floor, her other boys are sleeping on blown out mattresses with yellowed pillows, and her daughter has to barely any room between her mother’s body and the wall. She can’t feed her kids seven days a week, her eldest has to risk his life every single day to get them food and lower himself into a ticking time bomb. He knows how heavily it weighs on her heart, he knows because it weighs on his too. He too feels like a failure. This isn’t even his family to raise, yet here he is filling his dad’s role. He knows he’s not doing any worse than he father did, but he feels like he’s constantly failing his dead father by not being able to provide for the family he left behind.
“You’re not going to get any better sleeping on the couch. It’s worse than the floor. You need to be able to rest, Gale.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, after I get you to bed and get you some medicine.”
“We can’tafford it.”
“I hate to say it, but I can’t have you dying on me, Gale. I can’t do this by myself. You know that…you have to get better. You’ve been sick for a week, and it’s only getting worse.”
They both refuse to look at each other. Gale feels the tears well up in his eyes as he looks at the cracked floor.
The pressure is just too much. It is eating at both at them. His chest starts to hurt again, and he knows it’s because he harbors stress there, but it bothers him all the same. His breathing hitches next and he has to squeeze his eyes shut so hard to keep the tears at bay.
He just can’t catch a break!
First, Madge is going on and on about his weight loss. Next, Mayor Undersee is calling him a whore. And now, now his mother is so worried he’s going to die that they’re both crying about it.
Theycan’t catch a break. And he is sick of it.
And maybe that’s why he lets it slip out before thinking about it.
“Undersee offered us food.”
His mother doesn’t reply at first, just stares at him. The statement sobers both of them up.
“Which one?” her voice is hard. It scares him a little bit.
Might as well get all the bad shit out of the way in one day.
“Madge.”
“You don’t even like her.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Gale.”
She knows. He knows she knows. She knows that he knows that she knows.
He swallows.
“Just don’t get mad,” he sighs.
“You’re fucking ridiculous.” She didn’t quite scream it at him, but she might as well have. Hazelle prides herself in not yelling at her children. There was no intelligence in yelling. But Gale really wishes she would have yelled at him instead of being calm.
“Mom, please,” he begs her. He can’t have this conversation now. Yet, he brought it down on himself.
“Why would you do that? I warned you.”
“I also have a meeting with the Mayor on Sunday…at two…”
“Why.”It isn’t even a question. Just an insult.
Tears weld up in Gale’s eyes. He just wishes he could make his mother understand. “Because they found out about us.”
“Was he mad?”
“What do you think?” he says, echoing her words from earlier.
“Goddamn it.”
“I’m sorry, mom. I really am.” The tears fall down his face. He hates disappointing his mother. She’s the only one who believes in him most days. So many people just write him off as Gale Hawthorne, the hot boy from the Seam that will never amount to anything. Gale Hawthorne, the boy without a brain, only a dick. Gale Hawthorne, the only redeemable quality about him is his big dick and sharp facial features. His mother has always seen a young, intelligent boy with a heart so big and too sensitive, born into unfortunate circumstances. She seems him for who he is, not the reputation placed upon his head.
He hated to disappoint the woman who has been by his side his whole life. Yet, he knew how selfish he was being when he made the decision to pursue Madge, and he hadn’t care then.
“You’re not sorry. Don’t waste your words on something you don’t mean.”
Gale sniffles loudly and stares at him feet. His head is pounding, and so are his sinuses. His body feels way to hot and his body aches so bad he never wants to move again. The worst part is how heavy his sadden heart feels. The thud thud thudfeel like nails to his coffin.
“How much damage is done?”
“I don’t know. Won’t until Sunday.”
“I’ll have to steam your nice shirt and pants.”
He sniffles again. “I know.”
“Well, you can’t go sick.” And with that, she left the house. Off to owe someone else money to fix the damage. She is tired of doing damage control on shit that isn’t hers, but she supposes her children’s baggage was her baggage too.
But they weren’t done with their conversation. Not even close, but it wasn’t one to have with a fever high kid and angry mother.
__________
A/N: Let me know what you think! Also check out Part 1 and Part 2, and leave a comment on FanFiction.net!
I just want to say that your story Elaborate Lives is one of the best renditions of the soulmate theme. I absolutely loved it! It's one of the best I've read in a while!
Thanks so much! It’s definitely been something different for me. I love the whole dynamic of all involved. So glad you like it. I hope to have a new chapter up soon. It is currently in the very capable hands of my beta. :)
A/N: Well, here's the first non-Gadge piece. I don't know why but Thom and Gale's relationship has always interested me, and I've been imagining what they'd be like together for a while now. We get very little of Thom in the books (bummer!), but I always imagined the two of them as inseparable. Not a whole lot of Thom/Gale romance going on here, today, but if you're interested, I'd love to continue the piece!
This piece is inspired by Netflix's The King. I'm kind of OBSESSED with Timothée Chalamet and have been watching all his movies again recently. I just finished The King for a second time and it inspired me to write another royalty piece.
Gale paused outside of the throne room, his spine stiffening. The last time he entered this room he told his father he was gay and was engaged to a man. Their wedding would be at the end of the summer – to mark their second anniversary – and he would be moving out and abdicating his direct line to the throne immediately.
Now, after six months, his hands still sweat the way they did that day. He curls and uncurls his fists, trying to wick away the sweat bedding on the palms.
He doesn’t know why his father has summons him to the palace after all this time. It certainly couldn’t be for forgiveness. Gale’s own siblings haven’t even been allowed to communicate with him since the day he had left, and – despite being invited to his wedding – hadn’t been allowed to come. It had hurt Gale more than he wanted it too, finally sharing a union with someone he loved without the witness of his family. Their absence had felt wrong then, and still do now. So, standing in front of the be wooden doors with the family seal engraved into its center put an awkward weight on Gale’s chest. The pressure came from within, bubbling his fears and worries with it.
The guards patiently waited for approval to open to the door – something they didn’t have to do now that they held no loyalty to him anymore. But now that Gale is standing in front of the doors…he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready to face his father again, to see the disappointment his father’s eyes placed upon him every time they were in the same room. He has gravely disappointed his father, ripping away the long-sipped cocktail of monarchal succession. The old-fashioned recipe sweet to thy country’s tongue and thy country’s citizens, a taste so strong and recognizable that one unbalanced flavor would spark an outburst. Gale is the glass hitting the bar top, his father’s voice the disgruntled complaint for a remake, but Gale wasn’t remake-able.
Gale has known for years that he desired male attention and only male. He fumbled with it, became connected with it, in darkened alleys and sticky bathroom floors. Gale’s body always ended up the same: pushed against the alcohol covered wall with someone’s impossibly hot hands pressured firmly against his stomach and their lips confidently pressed to his throat. It only came out in places where the other residents wouldn’t remember seeing him there when they opened their eyes the next morning, too drunken to spill the tea to the media about a prince with unroyal desires.
Very few people knew about his internal desires. He displayed them only when appropriate, as desires should be. At palace galas and garden parties, he tucked his desires away and forced himself to only admire the well-fitting suits with his eyes instead of his lips. His desires is his own problem to control, not exert onto anyone, but outside, in the well past midnight moonlight, he unleashed his desires with any willing body.
When he came stumbling back home in the early mornings, his oldest sibling, Lucinda, would just shake her head and lock the underground tunnel door behind him. As they stumbled through the old musty tunnels, they whispered about the men they shared their beds with – or rather the men whose beds they lay in. Once they pushed open the hidden library door, no words of desired hands or sharp teeth or warm thighs would ever be spoken. They kept each other’s dick appointments between themselves, immunity granted through shared collateral.
For years, so many men let him into their warm beds, whispering how beautiful and delicate his petite body was, how his unmarred skin glistened in the glow of the moon. More often than not, the men would rave to him about being in bed with the prince, but Gale pretended it was role play, convincing himself that in those moments he was nothing but an ordinary man.
He was anything but ordinary then. He was indeed a Prince of Panem.
It wasn’t until he met Thomas Michael Grayland that he finally felt the freedom only ordinary men felt. Thom rarely mentioned anything about royalty, and definitely not while in bed. In the rare moments where royalty passed his lips, it was of criticism, mostly toward Gale’s father. Thom resented the King for his oppressive tactics he used on his children. He hated the way Gale was stifled and silenced all because he was the eldest male and would be destined to ascend the throne. Thom was the first person Gale had ever breathed the words abdication to, and he was the only man who pushed Gale to follow what Gale’s heart said was true. He never pressured Gale to make a choice or to choose him over the crown, but a part of that might have been that Gale wore his weathered heart on his sleeve. There was never a moment’s hesitation about abdicating. Gale had wanted it for years, since he could remember understanding what the line of succession meant for him. And despite his sweaty palms, Gale had rolled into the throne room that day confidently covered in the smell of Thom’s day-old cologne and mint Chapstick.
And he’d do it again, just this time with a little more sweat on his palms.
He nodded and the doors slowly began to open.
“Your Majesty, your son has arrived.”
…
“Gale,” King Marcus said coolly, his eyes desert dry of warmth upon landing on his son.
“Father,” Gale bites out. He doesn’t deserve that title after everything, but Gale bites his tongue.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I have called you here today.” He waits for his son to nod before continuing. He confidently shifts in this throne, the unnecessary crown placed lightly on his head. It seemed to float there, like it was meant to be there, although Gale’s own shoulder felt its weight from across the room. Gale had always noticed the ease in which his father took to ruling, to the fancy and expensive suits, the heavy crowns and robes always appearing to float weightlessly on his shoulders.
Gale could admit that his father is an excellent king, there was no doubt about that. The kingdom took great pride in plastering his face everywhere and worshipping the ground he walked on. On the other side of that very same coin, though, Gale could also say that his father is a shitty dad. In the younger years, when royalty and lines of succession and duties were far, far away, he can remember the good dad he had. The one who taught him guitar and piano and how to write a song, the dad who would run through the big rain puddle that turned their backyard into a lake, the dad who would bake cookies with them in the kitchen and eat half the cookie dough before it even reached the oven. But as Gale grew older, their relationship changed, and Marcus became more of a dictator than a father. He disguised his harsh punishments and disappointed stares as a father’s love, but Gale knew that Marcus hated the person Gale had become.
Marcus had always viewed Gale as weak. He constantly told him that he was “too romantic,” and “needed to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve,” but Gale didn’t know how too, nor did he think it would be very beneficial. Gale – who dealt through most things with tears – would be told to harden his exterior and only cry on the inside.
“A King is meant to be a powerful leader, not a crybaby,” his father would rant at him constantly.
But Gale didn’t feel like a king, he felt like a child whose feelings got hurt.
As Gale grew older, and his tears were shed in the quiet of his mother’s arms in his darkened bedroom, Gale watched his dad turn into his father, who would eventually turn into his king. Gale’s emotional state and desire to be loved would sever all familial ties between them. They became harsh master and unwilling student.
After a long pause, Marcus spoke again, and much like the last time they had spoken, the words are condemning.
“You will be king.”
The words echoed through the empty room, bouncing off the marble floors and the gallery seats and passing through the crystal beads of the high chandelier.
“No.” It came out harder than Gale expected his voice to allow, but he reveled in the reverence of answer, the clarity that rang through the single syllable.
The King’s chin rises only a fraction. “You will be king,” he repeats.
“I will not.”
“It is your destiny.”
“I have not soughtit,” Gale spits out, “I abdicated the throne. Don’t you remember?”
“I remember.” His father’s eyes grow harden, the gray turning to stone and his fist curling around the armrest with great tension. “I know you did, but you mustbeking.”
“I do not wantit.”
“I cannot have your sister on the throne. She are far too devoured by her own interests. And your brothers and younger sister are too young. Rory isn’t even 13 yet, let alone 16. It must be you, Gale.”
“I don’t wantit,” he repeats.
“It isn’t about want, Gale.”
“Everything is about want, father. You can’t force me to place a hideous crown on my head. I abdicated; I’ve made my choice. Parliament won’t change the decision now.”
Marcus sits back in his throne. A spark a fear spreads through Gale’s chest as his father’s face twists with satisfaction.
“Your mother and I have spoken to Parliament.” His full lips spread into a wicked grin. He knows how much Gale values his mother and her trust. For her to agree with his father on this means the years of preaching to him to be himself and only himself has to be lies. “It will not be a problem. They have already agreed to reverse your decision.”
“This is bullshit!” the words echo harshly in the room. “You didn’t agree with my decision to leave this fucked up family, despite the years of abuse at yours and Parliament’s hand. You wouldn’t even throw me a bone and allow me to be who I am. I abdicated for a reason, father–”
“So you could suck a cock.” It wasn’t even a question, just a statement.
“And many indeed I did, but I did that with a crown on my head. My loyalty lies with only one cock outside these walls.”
“You’ll grow out of it. Once that crown is on your head, you’ll find the pleasures of a woman. Of an heir.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?”
He knows the weight of that insinuation, of the repulsion that will rise in his father’s chest being associated with such a comment. He knows this, so he uses it.
“You disgustme!”
“My happiness — your own son’shappiness — disgusts you? This is the reason I left the family, Father. I gave up my title to be who I am. To be with him, to celebrate the beauty of who we are, of love. I never asked for this life, Father. I never wanted royalty or a crown or a title. I wanted simplicity and someone to love me.”
“England loves you.”
Gale spits on the floor for real this time, stamping his foot into it and smearing it into the floor.
“England has showed me time and time again it does not love me, and she will not love me,” he growls.
Marcus’ voice lightens for a mere second, “Gale, I wish this could be diff—“
“It canbe different, Father. You choosefor it to proceed this way.”
“We have to sacrifice our lives for our country. We are born to be dutiful, to love England.”
“But do youlove me?”
He father stills in his chair, his head shifting to one side, his eyes widen a fraction. “Of course I do.”
“Just the old me?” Gale volleys back.
“Yes, the old you. The only who isn’t drunk off satanic desires, yes.”
“It. Is. Not. Satanic.”
“Isn’t it? Nowhere in our church does it say to engage in such relations.”
“FUCK THE CHURCH! Fuck you, Dad.” He chest heaves with such weight. Gale likes to think of himself as a calm individual, a steadfast partner. The only man who can make Gale lose his shit is Marcus. “If you love me, leave me alone. Don’t call me back to palace to rip the life I’ve built from myself.”
His father’s face boils red. “You likeliving in poverty? You likethe disgusted looks? You likebe disgraced among your own people?”
Gale rolls his eyes. “Father, please, they were worse when I had a sparkling crown on my head.”
Marcus shifts in his seat again, crossing his ankle over his knee. It was the first time that Gale had noticed that his father is incomplete. His bare foot pokes out from under the heavy robe, his poke tattoo of a crown on the bottom of his foot is almost completely worn off now. Much like his reign over his kingdom.
But what bothered Gale the most was the fact that his father couldn’t even be bothered to dress for him, but had time to put on a crown. Gale was such a disgrace and afterthought that shoes weren’t even important enough to be worn in front of him.
“Of course you’ll have to marry again,” his father began. “We can move Thom somewhere no one will know him, make a deal with a neighboring nation. We can say he died, or you made a mistake – although that might cause a national scandal. Mmm…we’ll figure it out later. Margaret Undersee is still available to marry and we–“
“Father, stop.”
“Gale, there’s a lot—“
“To do? There is nothingto do, Father. I will not be king no matter how hard you try to ignore my answer. You’ll just have to remain king until Rory is of age or bend the rules to make him king at 14, like you’re clearly willing to bend the rules to break my abdication.”
“Gale, it is your—“
“No, no. I reject your offer.”
“You cannot do such a thing. I am the King.”
“I’m going to ask you again…Do you love me?”
“Of course I do, you’re my son.”
“Do you love me more than England?”
“Gale, please. This isn’t a discussion worth having.”
“Answer me, Dad.”
Marcus’ face softens are the mention of ‘dad.’ He sighs, looking across the room at his son. His pale, thin son stares back him. The clothing that once fit him now hangs off his shoulders and pools against his withering body. The shadows under his eyes were darker than night and his once smooth hands are now puckered with scars from broken guitar strings. Marcus could almost hear the sad melody playing off his son’s aura, the single violin playing a soft note of a sinking chord.
“Of course I love you,” he finally says.
A silence settles over them as Marcus waits for his son’s reply. He could see the tears well up in his son’s eyes. And despite the words of criticism being on the edge of his tongue, he lets his heart speak first. He lets his son drown in his emotions just this once. He watches a single tear run down his son’s cheek, the tips of fingers tingling to wipe it away.
“I wish you loved me as much as you love England.”
He had seen through. Gale had seen through the lie.
Gale turned on his heel and made way for the door. The guards raced to pull open the door in time for Gale to run through them, but Marcus stops their descent. Gale would have to push through his own door. He didn’t mind, his father always made things difficult.
His hands wrapped around the steel handle, the thick metal cold in his hands. He stopped, leaning his forehead against the door, wishing he could leave without the last comment, knowing he couldn’t.
“I hate you!” he cries out, his breath heaving in his chest.“I hate you.”
“Gale.” His voice was light, soften by the moment of emotion.
Gale turns around, peaking through heavy eyelids and tear stained lashes. His breath catching in his throat, choking him. He wails unapologetically into the open air, his hands the only thing keeping him from sinking to the floor.
“You must be king.”
He collapses.
_____________________
A/N: Should I continue?
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Gadge: The Mini Stories
Gadge: The Mini Stories: Chapter 37 (if you wanna leave a comment here, that’d be much appreciated!)
Gale’s body hurt. Every step he takes sends up a dizzying shot of pain up his spin. His back hurt from leaning over all day. And the coal dust was so bad today that his lungs are tight and his head is pounding. He grips the tree limb above him and leans his forehead against the trunk, allowing himself to get use to the pain. It will take him five minutes to climb the tree in this state. He almost considered not coming, but sleeping on the floor next to his night owl brothers isn’t going to make him want to get up at 2:30 a.m. He can’t afford missing another day of work. The new mine manager – of course a Capitol person who didn’t make the Peacekeeper Force – is a Bitch, with a capital B. He started just as Gale was getting comfortable in his routine, where his body wasn’t in pain every day. Now, if they miss one day they don’t get paid for the next four. He can’t miss another week’s worth of pay, and he really doesn’t have the will power to be in the mines for four days knowing he won’t get anything out of it.
He glances up at the window. Staring at the light filtering through the window. And he wonders, what it must cost to have lights that you could turn on and off no matter the time of day it is…and that didn’t smell like vanilla. Add candles to the list, he thinks. His mother has been asking for them for days, but Gale just can’t find any right now. He asks everyone in the Hob every day, and no one has any for him to trade for.
The backdoor swings open.
Fuck. I’ve been standing here too long. Think of something to say, think of something to say!
“I forgot to tell you that my parents are at a dinner party tonight, you can come in through the back door, babe.”
He leans his forehead back on the trunk, sighing in relief. It’s just Madge.
He hears the leaves crunch under her feet as she walks toward him.
Her hand, warm on his back, “Are you okay?” she places her hand against his forehead, “You aren’t running a fever again are you?”
“No, Madge.”
She places her on his cheek and he leans into it. “But you still don’t feel well do you?”
“No.”
“Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
He nods as she wraps her arms around him. Her skin is warm against him, and her hand is even warmer against his butt.
She helps him with his jacket and shoes, shoving them behind the servants door as he strips down to his boxers.
She places her hand on his stomach, putting pressure on her fingertips into him. “You’re getting to skinny. It’s starting to scare me.”
He leans down to kiss her cheek, hoping against hope that she can’t see him wince as he does so. “It’s just because I’ve been sick.”
“But you don’t gain it back, Gale. That’s what scares me. Let me send you home with food, please. For peace of mind,” she says against his lips.
He pulls her against him, trying to soak in every inch of warmth from her.
“No,” he says.
“Not even a box of cereal.”
“No.”
“You’re impossible.”
“But I’m yours,” he says as his intertwines their fingers and leads them up the stairs. He remembers the first time he ever step foot in this house, how his heart raced because he was terrified of leaving behind even the small spot of coal dust. He still worries that her parents will find some trace of him here and throw him out. He even worries that once they find out, they’ll go running to his mom. And he knows Hazelle Hawthorne will not be happy to hear that Madge Undersee is any closer than just the strawberry girl.
She throws back the covers while Gale pees. As he comes out, she’s pulling off her pants at her vanity. He curls up under the heavy blanket, and watchers her change.
“How did work go?”
“Well, it’s the last day of not getting paid.”
“At least that’s good.”
“I guess.”
She pulls her head up in bun, she watches him through the mirror as she does so. “Do you need a hair tie,” she smirks.
He laughs under his breath, “No, I don’t. Thank you.”
“I don’t know, I might roll over on it tonight. It’s getting pretty long.”
He shakes his head as she crawls into bed. “Perhaps I like it this way.”
She runs her fingers through his shoulder length hair for a few minutes. It fizzes his hair; and she knows he hates it, but he doesn’t stop her. He watches her eyes follow her hands, and enjoys the moment of silence that his house never has.
“The longer it gets, the curlier it gets.”
“Mmm.” He leans back into the pillows, but she does not remove her hands.
“It’s cute.”
“Oh yeah, it’s cute,” he rolls his eyes.
“It makes you look so much more approachable.”
He blows air out of his nose, and grabs her hand. He brings them down to his chest. She stays sitting.
“I worry about you, you know?”
He doesn’t say anything. Nothing he stays will satisfy her. They have this conversation every night.
She traces his body with her eyes. His bones stick out of his skin at odd angles. His skin folds slightly under his rib cage; and his hip bones stick out sharply, creating a gap between the space where his underwear should lie against his skin. She knows he’s been sick, and she knows that he lost at least five pounds – which on his small frame looks like 100 pounds – but he lost more than five pounds since they started dating. Which, for the record, has been almost a year.
“Just say it.”
“Say what?”
“Say what you’re thinking or stop looking at me like I’m in my coffin already.”
She pats his chest, “You keep losing weight, and you’ll be in it soon.”
He moves to sit up. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. How can he tell her that he’s been sick for the past week, and it’s not getting any better, and it probably needs medical attention, but the one doctor in town won’t treat people from the Seam, and because he’s been sick he can’t get to the woods or go to school, which means that his family is starving, and his mom is mad at him, and feels like he’s going to throw up all the time, but he can’t accept food from her because a) what if her parents notice, b) he’d owe her for life, and c) he’s pride would be annihilated because he had to ask someone else to take care for family for him.
“Just come back to bed. You won’t get better unless you sleep.”
He rolls his eyes. He’s been getting enough sleep since he hasn’t gone to school all week.
She pulls his shoulders back. And he lets her pull his legs up and pull the covers him. She curls into him, saying, “Okay, we won’t talk about it anymore.”
“Thank God.”
…
“Madge!” a voice screams from the bottom of the stairs. “MADGE!”
He feels a thud thud thudagainst his chest.
“Madeline Undersee! Get your ass down here!”
“Shit, shit, shit! Wake up!” She slams both hands on his chest.
He looks at her. Her hair frames her face wildly and her tank top is around her elbow.
“Madge Undersee, don’t make me come up there.”
Gale freezes, and stares at the door. His heart pounds, and instantly there’s a slim layer of sweat on his brow.
“Fuck.”He stands up, his hands flying to his hair, looking for pants.
“Your pants are downstairs.”
He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, and running his hands down his face.
“Fucking hell.”
“Madge!”her mother yells.
“I’m COMING!” Madge throws on her ruby red robe, tying it tightly around her middle. She takes her hair tie out and runs his fingers through her hair.
“How do I look?”
“What about me?” He gestures to his boxers, and naked torso.
It was her turn to lean her head back and squeeze her eyes shut, and bring her hands to her face and say, “Fuck.”
“Madge!”
“I said I’m coming!” She shoots him a double fingers crossed.
She peeks her head around the corner of the door, and there her dad stood with Gale’s pants and jacket clutched in his hands. She closes the door.
“You better come down too.”
“WHAT?”
"Yeah, tell him to get his ass down here too!” her father yells.
They both glance at the window. He debates jumping, she debates pushing him, but they both know that isn’t the best idea.
Gale sits on the plush chair of the Undersee household dining room. He keeps pulling the red robe tighter around his chest with one hand and pinches the robe tighter around his hips.
Madge's mother sits across from the table with a soft smile on her face. Her face is kind, but Gale suspects she's fuming on the inside. Out of all the people in the world to come spilling out of her daughter's bedroom, it just had to be him. How disappointed her mother must be that her perfect little daughter would choose Gale Hawthorne to mess around with. The guy from the Seam. The one with no future, no money, and no amount of anything to offer to a girl like Madge Undersee. He knows it. Madge knows it. Mrs. Undersee knows it. Her father definitely knows it.
Oh fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…
Why the fuck didn't he just listen to his mother? If he had just listened to her, he wouldn't be sitting in the Undersee dining room with nothing on but boxers and Madge's robe.
He feels the blood rush to face. He looks at his lap.
Madge's toes fold over the top of his foot.
"Sleep good, Mr. Hawthorne?" Her father practically yells at Gale.
What the hell is the right answer? Say yes, and he'll think you're a whore. Say no, and he'll think you're ungrateful and used his daughter.
"Cat got your tongue, Hawthorne?"
"Um, I like cats. I used to…have one…" Gale says into his lap.
He can feel everyone's eyes on him. And this is the first time Madge has ever seen the high and mighty Gale Daniel Hawthorne look shy and uncomfortable.
"So, did you enjoy your night?"
"Dad, please."
Her father stares daggers at her. His and Gale's faces match, but not quite in the same manner. His hands are balled into fists on the table. She has never seen him that mad.
"Madge, please. You bring a boy home to fuck, and out of all the boys in this District you pick the whore?"
"Daddy."
"Am I wrong?"
"He's…" Madge begins.
Her father interrupts her, "Let the whore explain himself."
Gale's hands begin to shake under the table, and he hopes his shoulders are steady. He's humiliated. Absolutely humiliated. How does he explain to the Mayor of all people that he's not like that. Truly not like that.
For the most part, Gale's reputation didn't bother him. It was just a reputation anyways. Reputations precedes people.
But now…now? He's sitting in front of Madge Undersee's father, the Mayor and has to explain to him that Gale Hawthorne is not a whore and make him believe it?
"Well?"
Just pull yourself together, Gale. "Well, um, sir…" he wipes his brow. It's. So. Sweaty. "Well, sir, I've only ever slept with two women, and one of them is your daughter," he quickly glances over at the Mayor.
"Yeah," he laughs, "Only two people? That's hard to believe."
"Sweetie, if he says he's only slept with two people, then he only slept with two people."
Mayor Undersee looks at his wife. Her soft eyes are pleading with him to be kinder to the boy across the table. But this is his daughter their talking about. No one should be taking advantage of her. Especially Gale Hawthorne, King of the Slap Heap.
"Babe, you're a Senior, right?"
Gale looks over to Mrs. Undersee. She smiles at him, her frame open.
"Um, yeah. I should be done in December."
Her face lights up, and she claps her hands together. "Oh how lovely! You're graduating early!?"
"Yeah. Would have graduated earlier, but I had to take a year off."
"Really? Why?"
Gale looks at his hands again. "Um, because my dad died, and we had a hard time making ends meet."
"You're still graduating in the same school year you would have, right? You're two grade ahead of Madge?"
"Yeah," Gale nods.
"How wonderful!"
Gale shoots a quick glance toward Mr. Undersee. He's just staring at Gale, but his gaze has softened a tiny bit.
"What do you plan on doing after you graduate?"
Gale laughed a little bit. "Same as I am now. The mines."
"You already started? Don't you have to be of age? Are you 18?"
Gale smiled sympathetically at her. Oh, the shit she doesn't know. "You can apply for early employment at 17." Gale awkwardly nods toward the other man at the table, "Um, your husband approves or denies the request forms."
"You do!?" she looks over at him.
Her husband answers calmly, "Yes, I do."
"Did you know who he was when you approved it?"
"Well, honey…who doesn't know who he is? And second, I don't deny any of the forms that come across my desk."
Both women look at him, but it's Madge's turn to talk. "Why not?"
"It's not like the people applying are exactly in a position to be denied. It's not like they are applying for kicks and giggles."
Gale nods along with the Mayor. It's the only thing they've agreed one so far.
"Speaking of work, I have some work to do." He stands up and extends his hand out to Gale. "It was…interesting to meet you. I wish we could have met on better terms. Do you work on the weekends?"
"It differs per week. I'm off Sunday…"
"How about you meet me in my office on Sunday at two? I'll provide lunch. See you then."
He didn't even give Gale anything to answer.
Once he leaves the room, Gale stands up. "I guess I should be going too." He stands there for a few moments before saying, "Does anyone know where my clothes are?"
"Yes, sweetie. They're in the laundry room. Let me go check to see if they're done."
"Done?"
"I washed them for you, Sweetie. I'll go get them."
She leaves the room. Madge stands up and grabs the front of the robe, pulling Gale closer to her.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that."
"It was gonna happen at some point."
Madge wraps her arms around his torso, and squeezes him tight. He leans his head against hers and allows his heart to slow down.
"I can feel you smiling," he whispers.
Madge's mom winks at her from across the room.
"I have a lot to smile about."
"Oh, yeah?"
"You just said you think we have a future."
He pulls away from her. And takes her upper arm in his hands. "Well, yeah. You don't?"
"I try not to think about it. You're you! You're the Gale Hawthorne."
"My reputation precedes me!"
She pads his chest. "I know, babe."
"God, I hate pet names."
"Your clothes are the table. Go change and get out of here. See you, Sunday!"
"Oh my God. Don't remind me!"
A/N: Here’s a link to Part 1, my Fanfiction account, and Gadge: The Mini Stories!
(Background: Sobiean (pronounced So-be-en) and Daniel have escaped his sacrifice and are now on the run. They are currently trying to piece together the clues of her father’s murder and it lead them to Amarna’s Nomark’s wife, Azizi. This is where the scene begin. However, there are a lot of inside jokes that happen before this scene and, if you would like, I can post earlier scenes. “Soybean” is his nickname for her because Daniel thought that’s what she said her name was. Her reference to his eyes are because their violet. Feel free to request more and ask any questions! Comments are always loved and adored! Enjoy!)
“What would a Queen as beautiful as yourself want with a slave?”
“Everything.” I whisper.
“It was Cairo!” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in the air and pace back and forth across the Nile’s dusty ground.
“Who!?” Daniel asks.
I ignore him. “It had to be Cairo! That bastard’s the only one who would do such a horrible thing! He’s always wanted my crown, that greedy-no-good-for-nothing-ass.” I grumble and my fingers curl into fists, my fingernails digging to the fleshy parts of my palm.
“Again, who are we talking about?”
“Cairo!” I scream, my dark green eyes narrow at him and anger flares in my chest.
“Like the city?” he asks.
“Yes, like the city…no, like the Nomark!” Every time I think of that man anger over boils in my chest and in my veins. I nearly tear my hair out just thinking of him. He’s evil, absolutely evil and greedy and ungrateful and…a murderer. I pace even though my legs still ache from running and my mind whirls in a thousand different directions. “How could I have missed it? Huh? How?” Daniel looks like he’s about to asks me something, but slowly closes his mouth, “It was right in my face this whole time. He’s always wanted the crown. He’s been so vigilant towards me, always putting people against me.”
Daniel stops me in my crazed path, his hands on my shoulders, his voice oh so gentle, “Sobiean, what happened with the Nomark’s wife that has got you all mad?”
“Azizi said it was a Nomark.”
He’s quiet for a moment and his hands feel like lead on my shoulders. He’s eyes are far away, lost in thought. It was almost odd to look his eyes so unfocused, lost in the void of the human mind. They are always so intense and now they are cloudy with thoughts. His brow wrinkles and his lips are pursed. “So you think ‘Cairo’ did it?”
“Yes Cairo.”
“You know he has a name.”
I shove his hands off of me and fringed anger. His eyes become intense again and they watch me.
“Oh! You know his name, but not mine!” the gig is up when a laugh pushes passed my lips.
He smiles, “Who’s Soybean again? I’ve never heard of such a ridiculous name before. Gods, I’m glad my parents were smarter than to name me Soybean. That poor child!” he teases.
I teasingly shove him back and he lets me, “Well at least my parents did give me such a ridiculous eye color! Gods, that child must have no friends because of it! What a shame because he’s…”
“He’s what? Ridiculously handsome that even Queen Soybean dreams of them?” he presses himself inside my personal space, but I allow it…just this once.
I laugh, “More like ridiculously hideous, according to the Queen.” I flick my hair over my shoulder, “I would know, we’re like this.” I hold up two interloped fingers to his face.
“Well fine,” he exclaims, “She can’t have me anyways.” He smiles. Butterflies flutter in my stomach and I love the way we playfully tease one another. I crave these moments and hate the moments he remembers just how different we are. “Neither can you.” He whispers.
“And why’s that, Daniel Dakari?”
“Because what would a Queen as beautiful as yourself want with a slave?” he’s smiles as he says it. At one point unknown to me, his hands wrapped around my wrist and he swings them between us as he talks. The moment feels charged, but I don’t think he notices it.
“Everything.” I whisper.
If ANYONE would like to make COVER ART for this that would be AMAZING. I know some of you are talented out there and I would love to see what you create. I do not know how to make cover art that well.
I hope you enjoyed the snippet as much I loved writing it - especially the ending!
Madge unfolds her legs to rest them on the coffee table and for the next ten minutes, Gale is completely oblivious to what’s happening on screen.
All he can focus on are her legs, long and toned and bare. He imagines starting at her feet, then kissing his way up her calves, her knees, her thighs to the tiny shorts she’s wearing tonight, sliding those shorts down her legs and then starting his exploration all over again. He imagines those legs wrapped around him as she lies beneath him, writhing and moaning. He imagines kneeling in front of her, draping her leg over his shoulder and using his mouth to pleasure her as water cascades down from the shower.
“Can you pause it?”
“Huh?” Gale comes back to reality with a jump as Madge’s hand rests on his arm. The episode has ended and the next is about to begin. Sometimes Madge likes to pause between episodes so they can dissect what just happened. If that’s the case, he’s fucked because he has no idea.
“I just want to use your bathroom,” Madge says.
“Sure.” Gale grabs the remote and pauses while Madge skips lightly down the hall. He leans his head back against the couch and breathes slowly to get himself under control. He needs to do something about this growing infatuation with Madge. He’s going to ask her out. Tonight. When she gets back.
He jumps off the couch, gathers his empty beer bottle and Madge’s wine glass and takes them into the kitchen. The lasagne dish is soaking in the sink, so he scrubs it out and puts into into the dishwasher, then gets himself a beer and pours another glass of wine for Madge.
Gale is not quite sure how they got to this point. When he had moved into this apartment a year ago, shortly after breaking up with Katniss, he had not been at all pleased to find that her snobby, rich friend lived across the hall. Nor had Madge been happy to see him. But somehow, despite themselves, they had managed to become friends. He happily admits this was down to Madge being a sweet and kind person whose shyness he had mistaken for snobbishness. Their friendship had flourished in the intervening year, and even survived his foolish, inebriated attempt at making Katniss jealous by hitting on Madge after he had learned Katniss had been quietly seeing Peeta Mellark since she’d dumped Gale.
Now his favorite thing to do is hang out with Madge, making dinner together, talking about their day and watching Netflix together. He just wishes that instead of curling up at the end of the couch, Madge would curl up against him, and that instead of saying goodnight and going back to her own apartment at the end of the night, he would carry her to his bed.
He sits back down on the couch, but he’s so nervous his leg is jiggling. So he stands and paces instead. Then he sits again.
For the past few weeks, he’s been obsessing over what Madge had said to him the night she’d turned him down. At the time, he’d felt so stupid and embarrassed he hadn’t given it much thought, but now it plays on his mind constantly. “I don’t want to be just a one-night hook up,” she had told him. It is that tantalizing ‘just’ that he obsesses over. What did that just mean? Did she want something more with him? Was she open to dating him? Did she like him?
Of course that was eight months ago, and maybe she had changed her mind and just wants to be friends now. Maybe asking her out is a huge mistake that will ruin their friendship.
Gale jumps off the couch and paces again. Shit. Now he doesn’t know what to do.
No, he does. He’ll ask Madge out to dinner. Or better yet, he’ll cook something himself. Properly cook something from scratch, not just reheat a lasagne his mother sent him home with. He’ll set the table, light candles, flowers, the works. Madge will love it. He’ll romance her the right way, here in his own apartment. Where luckily, his bedroom is twenty feet away.
Satisfied with his plan, Gale sits again and waits.
Madge still isn’t back. He checks his watch. It’s been ten minutes. That is strange. Normally, she’s pretty quick. If she needs a longer time in the bathroom, she makes an excuse and goes back to her own place. What’s she doing?
He jumps up from the couch goes into the hallway. His bathroom door is open, Madge’s shoes lie on the ground in front of it. He frowns and looks into the empty bathroom. “Madge?”
There’s no reply, but he sees something else lying at the corner of the hall. He steps closer and picks up Madge’s sweater. Two more steps and retrieves her shorts from the ground.
His bedroom door is ajar, soft light spills out. There’s something hanging on the door handle. He lifts it up, Madge’s tank top.
Gale’s mind is in overdrive. He has all the pieces and he thinks he sees the picture, but he can’t be right. Because if he is…Holy shit!
“Madge?” He knocks on his door before pushing it open gently and stepping into the room.
He catches sight of a blur leaping from bed before he turns around and faces the door. A naked blur? It happens too fast to tell. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Shit, this was so stupid. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I tried to do that. Please, just forget it. ”
“Tried to do what?”
There’s a long moment of silence, and when Madge does speak, her voice is muffled. “Tried to seduce you.”
Gale whips around to stare at her.
Madge is wearing a t-shirt belonging to him; the bottom just skimming the tops of her thighs. Her face is ducked, and buried in her hands. If Gale thought it was bad when Madge was wearing her tiny shorts, it had nothing on how it feels so see her dressed in only his t-shirt.
“Are you naked under that?” he blurts out. He immediately winces at how stupid that question is, but it’s impossible to think straight right now when all the blood from his brain is flowing south.
“No,” Madge says with a whimper. “I have things on.”
“Things?” His voice cracks like a pubescent teenage boy. Jesus.
“Can you please just get me my clothes, so I can get dressed and go home and kill myself,” Madge pleads.
Gale looks at the bundle of clothing in his hands and drops them onto the ground. He takes a couple of steps closer to Madge. “Why did you change your mind?” He grasps her wrists gently.
Reluctantly she lowers her hands but she’s still refusing to look at him, still hiding behind the curtain of her hair. “Because it’s so embarrassing. I thought I could do sexy and seductive, but I can’t. It was a dumb idea.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Gale releases her hands and instead pushes her hair away from her face before cupping her cheeks and tilting her face to look up at him. “Madge, does it help to know that I was planning on seducing you too?”
“What?”
“I was going to ask you out, or cook dinner or something first. You know, be a gentleman,” Gale says. “But I like your direct approach better.”
Madge cracks a smile. “Were you going to drape yourself across my bed in sexy lingerie too? Because I wouldn’t recommend it. It feels really stupid.”
Gale laughs. Then because he can’t wait a second longer, he leans down and kisses her. Madge responds immediately, pressing herself against him and winding her fingers through his hair to pull him closer.
His hands drop lower, down her back to cup her ass before sliding under the hem of her shirt.
Madge pulls away with a gasp. “You don’t waste time,” she giggles. She gives him a push, so he stumbles and falls backwards onto the bed. “Shirt off.”
Gale happily obliges by whipping of his shirt before she has even finished issuing the command. “Your turn.”
She bites her lips nervously, but pulls the shirt off to reveal the lacy red lingerie beneath.
“Holy wow,” Gale groans, pulling her towards him and kissing her again. She sinks onto his lap, her legs wrapping around his waist. Their lips fuse together again. Gale flips them so she’s lying beneath him. He takes a moment to drink her in before he begins his worship of her body.
