@sunpersists, “ i know you can take care of yourself. i’m just not sure you will. ”
thirteen is dust and confinement, tight walls and circulated air that leaves him suffocating. the capitol is now a battlefield, as though it had ever been regarded as anything else to their kind, and peeta is soon to touch its treacherous ground. here, dazai is not privy to the decision making of the rebellion's leaders, though it would be believed that more than one serves the cause, he knows the truth - tyranny is recognisable in smell alone, tinging the air with iron and smoke ... and it lingers only on one. she sends him now and dazai thinks to see for himself just how her mind works. the pieces fall into place for him quickly. the outfit adorned looks slightly out of place on his approach towards peeta, not suited for war. lips twitching though never giving any such indication of his dissatisfaction for it, even now so careful not show too much that of which he values most: emotion, or its lack thereof.
what can he say but, “ take care. ” a warning, if nothing else. the gentle lift of his shoulder, passive enough. at the returned sentiment he ducks his head, allowing the upward twitch of his lips to linger with the quiet laugh shared between them. “ not really my style. ” he lifts his hand in gesture to the walls encasing them beneath ground, as good as the grave they have been denied thus far. “ if it all falls to pieces up there, spare a thought for those of us left to the rubble though, will you ? ”