thecapitol | You were made to make it hurt.

The candles had long since burned so low that there was nothing but hardened wax in random dripping patterns all along the floor and along the wall. The little statues were nearly half buried in wax.

He spent almost all of his time alone, save when Venus managed to drag him outside. His thoughts were jumbled and broken and his gut felt permanently twisted, but his face stayed stone. Ferox prowled the District suite with an anxious gate, even as Maximus drew his cloak around himself and prepared to step out into the cold. He needed the air. (~~Couldn't have what he needed.~~)

He patted the cat on its head and locked it in his room before heading to the elevator. He pressed the button for the bottom floor and prepared to ride down in silence.

Edited 2014-01-01 19:22 (UTC)

The cold was bracing. The biting wind and sharp snowflakes almost enough of a pain to distract him from his other hurts. Numbed him, for a few moments.

Head down, he silently worked the buttons of his coat closed with slow, deliberate fingers. Dwelling on the physical, one step at a time, keep him from focusing on the other.

Helped, at least.

The elevator slowed and his hands fell away, head coming up.

But it wasn't the Lobby.

His heart skipped at the little three aglow the elevator, and then kicked hard, when the doors opened.

He almost didn't notice the other man inside the elevator when the doors opened. His eyes were firmly on the floor so he was about to step inside when they caught sight of the boots. He stiffened, immediately, disturbed to be caught so off-guard, and stood up straight.

"Wyatt." His voice was rough. He hadn't used it in a little while. He hesitated, visibly, considering turning tail and pretending he hadn't called the elevator, but that was nearly too ridiculous for words. So instead, he carefully stepped inside before the door closed behind him.

"Max."

It was an effort, to get the man's name out. His name and nothing else. Wyatt had been so careful not to say it, not to mention the man at all, he feared it might be like a dam. The first crack giving way to the churning tide inside him.

Biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, he shifted closer to the wall of the elevator. Suddenly, painfully, aware of how small it was. How he had no real choice but to invade Max's space.

"...Goin' down?" he murmured after the doors had closed and the quiet had stretched for an uncomfortable moment, eyes fixed on the safety of the button board. The one for Lobby already alight.

"Yes." The word was clipped, tight, his lungs constricted as if they would break if he allowed them to breath properly. Every muscle in his body was stiff and taut, and he lowered his eyes to the floor again as he took his place inside.

There were a hundred thousand things he wanted to say and a hundred thousand things he shouldn't and the irony was that everything left unsaid was weighing down his tongue more fully than any willed silence could have done.

The need to speak was a much better keeper.

His fingers twitched at his side, wanting for something to do however small, but he nodded and resigned himself to the itch in his hands. The memory of what it felt like to hold Max, against how heavy and empty they were just then those scant inches apart.

The elevator began to move again and the silence returned. Weighted and uncomfortable.

His head fell under it, chin against his chest. The hollow inside him opening wider as he began to realize just how far they'd fallen.

Just how different things would have to be. (How much he'd really lost.)

They'd spent much of their friendship in silence. The silence was an old friend, comfortable and warm. Or it had been. Now it was sharp at the edges and ached hollowly. He flexed his fingers at his side, gripped them again.

That he'd behaved badly, he knew. That he regretted it, he knew. But nothing changed the underlying problem, and Wyatt had told him to forget. Had said that he would, also. He wasn't about to disobey that command and dredge up everything. Even if everything in his chest screamed for it.

But the silence was a gaping maw that tore at his heart, and the unsaid words kept piling and piling and piling--

Surely he could say something that wouldn't break his word? Surely they could go back to the way they were, before? (No. They couldn't. No discovery that profound could be unlearned.)

"I-- I have never known a Winter so cold," He said after a moment, lamely.

He had believed - hoped - in the days following that night that they might be able to be friends again, given enough time. They'd find a way to put the things they'd done and said aside and go back to the way it had been between them before.

Another lie he'd told himself, he realized with a sharp pain, listening to Max speak. The man struggling for something to say to him. To pass what had once been easy silence.

Max spoke, and he couldn't stop himself from hoping that he would take back what he'd said before. Would tell him that he'd made a mistake.

"Max..." Swallowing down the heat, he glanced over, voice soft, but ragged. "It's alright. ...Ya don't have to do that."

It was worse, how obvious his attempt was, how Wyatt was trying to reassure him, when the man had done nothing wrong. His face only turned harder, his grip tighter.

"Wyatt--" But his throat tightened and refused to let the words out so instead he cleared it roughly. He parted his lips again when the elevators doors opened into the lobby. It was quiet - everyone was still sleeping off the holiday - but it still took any words he might of spoken as he was forced to step back out of the elevator.

Wyatt had no choice but to follow, a step behind, but he paused, just outside the car as the doors gliding shut behind him. He wanted to keep going, to just, let whatever they were now be, but he'd started it. He had to see it through.

He might not have the strength next time. (If there was a next time. He was still a tribute. Death was still in his future.)

"You were right, Max. I didn't realize before--"

I thought ya were happy. The confession was there, a hard lump in his throat. The truth of how blind he'd been, how wrapped up in his own happiness he'd been to not know what Max was really feeling. But he couldn't get it out.

He had to force himself to look up, knowing that Max deserved at least to be looked in the eye. "But I understand now, an' ya don't have to worry. I won't... I won't get in-between ya again."

Edited (added a little bit) 2014-01-02 10:08 (UTC)

"Wyatt--" The halt was instant, and the interruption. His gut twisted horribly because he hadn't even noticed his hand come up as he had turned, hadn't even noticed how he was reaching before he caught himself and placed it firmly back at his side. He grimaced to himself, his fist clenching as if to force it to hold its place.

You were right, Wyatt's words echoed in his ears and he felt his stomach drop, a pit of nothingness where it had been before.

(Even Wyatt agreed. Even Wyatt could see the dishonour on him.)

His chest tightened, stealing his words before he could speak them. How could he beg for forgiveness now?

"Wyatt, I-- You've done nothing wrong. Your honour is in tact," He assured him, though he could barely get the words out.

Something wrenched, painful and sharp, in his chest as Max turned and reached out. His heart falling as the man's did. (A fool again, in hope.)

He supposed, a resigned voice murmuring from somewhere low inside him, that it was better than being pushed away again.

"What ya said, that was true, Max." His shoulders broke, dropping in defeat as his head shook, a small, slow turn from side-to-side. "I didn't think about 'em. I thought-- I wanted more than I had any right to ask for."

A brutal truth. For those few weeks, he'd believed in that whispered future. That life beyond the games and the Capitol. He'd taken that joke of Max's - all that talk of those things they wanted but would likely never see - and his heart had made them real.

A hope for the future. Something bigger, something grander, something better than merely surviving the games. Something he wanted more fiercely in those few days than he even wanted justice for the Capitol.

"I deserved it."

"Their memory is not yours to bear, Wyatt," Maximus said quietly. "It never was. Their honour is mine, not yours, and I could never ask or expect that of you. My decisions and my actions are mine, and my dishonour likewise."

He wanted so badly to reach for him that it felt like his body would split in two, if his heart didn't give out first.

"You deserve far better, Wyatt. For me to allow you to believe less would shame me deeply."

Wyatt winced. That word again, no easier to take the second time around than the first. Even with days to chew it over, even with it echoing in his head, it still hurt to hear it aloud.

A dishonor - that's what being with him had been to Max. He was a mistake. A regret. A stain in Max's memory.

He had to force himself to breathe, swallowing it down with some effort. His gut churned and his heart thumped, a hollow knock inside his chest.

(He couldn't even be angry about it. Knowing how unfair it would be. Family came first, he'd always said that.)

"...They're lucky to have ya, Max. I--"

I didn't deserve ya.

"Ya don't have to worry," he echoed softly. That resigned voice back in his ears. "I won't... say nothin', er do anythin'." A promise better than the one he'd made about forgetting. He knew now he couldn't do that. But he could hold his tongue. Could save Max further shame.

"I won't hurt you er them again."

Edited 2014-01-03 16:28 (UTC)

"Nothing I do, or could do, here, would bring them honour," Maximus interrupted, taking a step closer as he really couldn't help himself. But somehow he managed to keep himself from just grabbing him.

He couldn't help but think of Venus. She'd understood.

"I don't know what to do for them - the only thing I could do, I- I don't want to." I don't want to die, even though I should. "You didn't hurt me, Wyatt. Though I fear I have deeply hurt you."

"A dishonor, Max," Wyatt said carefully, the word just as unpleasant to say as to hear. "That's what ya called it. Ya say I didn't hurt ya, but I know you, I know what that means to you."

The same that it did to him. More than, even.

"Ya did what ya had to." He nodded stiffly. Trying to be appeasing in-spite of his pain, in the face of that of a husband and a father. "I jus' wish ya'd told me sooner."

He studied Max's face for a long moment, blue eyes roving over his features. A steady memorization.

As if he didn't expect to see him again, when this was done.

(Why would they, once the last goodbyes were said? Why drag it out, but to hurt each other more?)

"I swear I didn't know how ya really felt, if I had..." He trailed off, the words unspoken. No real point in them, he supposed. He hadn't known, he couldn't go back.

"I jus',... I want ya to know, I'm sorry."

His gut twisted, hearing his words parroted back to him in ways that he'd never meant, and it felt so much worse than it had before (which seemed almost impossible).

He shook his head roughly.

"Wyatt- you've never -- You've only ever brought me honour, Wyatt. You never brought me dishonour. But I did not -- I do not know how to do this--" He accented the word by motioning between them, "-- without forgetting my family. My words were never meant for you, Wyatt. I would never call you a dishonour. But I dishonoured them by ignoring them, and I dishonoured you by doing so, likewise."

"I know-- you asked me to forget, Wyatt, but I can't. Just as I cannot forget my family, I cannot forget you. I wanted to heed you and obey your request, but I cannot. So please don't ask me to, again."

His mouth opened part way through, meaning to interrupt, ready to say that he'd never asked Max to choose... but even as he started, he realized how untrue it was.

Every time he'd asked Max to stay, every time he'd gotten in the way, every time he'd stopped him from giving up... Wyatt had done even worse than that. He'd taken away Max's choice altogether.

His lips pressed together again, eyes closing and swallowing hard as he listened.

"I jus' wanted ya to be happy, Max. I thought if we pretended it hadn't happened..." He forced his eyes to open again. "I know now that we can't go back. I can't stop--"

He tasted the word before he said it. A heat in his throat, like his heart trying to escape through his mouth. He clamped down on it hard. Hearing that outloud would hurt more than anything else they'd said.

Knowing it meant nothing.

"But I still want ya to be happy."

He looked at Max, a resigned stare, forcing himself to straighten up in front of the General. To prepare himself for orders.

"Whatever that means."

Edited 2014-01-03 20:52 (UTC)

Listen to all the excuses you're finding to justify making yourself feel bad, Venus' words echoed in his head and managed to make him feel more miserable, if it was possible. But she was right. As much as he hated to admit it, she was write.

"I will not be happy without you, Wyatt." He said eventually, after a very long silence. "I cannot be. I can barely allow myself to be happy with you, but somehow nearly against my will you managed to make me happier than I have ever deserved."

He paused, his brows drawn tightly, as he struggled to find the words.

"I do not-- I do not how to honour them, but I-- Please, Wyatt. I cannot do this alone."

The longer the silence stretched, the more resigned Wyatt became. The stonier the tension in his face, as he prepared himself for whatever Max would say. If he said anything.

When the words finally came, it took a moment for them to sink in past the wall he'd carefully constructed. Surprise, slowing the impact. Confusion stalling it.

He wasn't sure he understood what that meant -- if he had any right to be hopeful.

"I don't wanna lose ya, Max, yer... the best thing I got." He hesitated, knowing he should leave it that. Just run with what Max had given him. "But I don't wanna add to yer guilt. ...I don't wanna be yer regret."

"I would not ask you to do anything against your character," Maximus said carefully, flexing his fingers and balling them again, "Or your conscience. But if your concern is for my feelings, Wyatt, and not your own, then all I can ask of you is patience."

He let out a long breath but did not lower his gaze.

"I should not have-- I acted badly, because I acted like a coward, and realised it too late. But if you are willing to be patient with me, I... I would wish to discover a way to put my past to an honourable rest. And I-- I believe that would on be possible if you were to work with me."

He looked increasingly uncomfortable, but he'd had a while to think about this.

"I do not want you to believe that you tarnish me, Wyatt. I would not wish that, not for anything. The truth is, I--" But here the words honestly completely failed him.

Unbidden, Wyatt thought of Dora then. Imagining there, as Max asked him for patience, how it must have felt for her every time he'd asked the same of her. Every time he'd chosen his job over her.

You an' yer duty... I can't say I'll here, when you get back.

Not quite the same, he realized, but close enough to understand. To recognize the feel and shape of her hurt as he never had before.

"I'll wait, Max," he said quietly, filling the silence as Max trailed off. "When yer ready, I'll be here."

God, and Capitol, willing.

He shifted, as if he might reach out, but then stilled again. The lines had been redrawn, and once more he didn't know where he stood.

His chest wrenched, and he gave up fighting it, reaching out to slide his hand around Wyatt's neck, to push his fingers into the man's short cropped hair.

"Not-- Not that kind of patience, Wyatt. I've tortured us both long enough, I think." His grip firmed a little bit, but he looked absolutely miserable.

"I'm not asking you to wait. I'm asking you to help me. I do not know how to do this, but I want to try, if you'll let me. If you'll have the patience to forgive me, when I inevitably stumble."

The skin beneath Max's fingers shuddered, the muscle jerking. The touch so longed for, his body didn't know what to do with it now that it had it.

Small, simple, but still almost enough to take his knees from him if not for a concentrated effort. If not for the step he took, for the way he leaned, surrendering with a gentle touch of his forehead against Max's.

"If you'll do the same, when I do."

He probably should have cared where they were. The lobby was hardly a private place, and he should have cared, but he didn't. He didn't even realise how upset he had been until the relief flooded through him, until the giant knot in his chest was released.

It wasn't solved. Far from. The ghosts had not disappeared, but he knew now that they would not.

He would not keep punishing Wyatt for things he could not change.

He didn't reply. Not directly, anyway. Instead, he tilted his chin, leaning in to press a very careful kiss to Wyatt's lips, just barely brushing past his moustache.

Wyatt didn't know what happened next, how they went about easing Max's pain. Didn't even know for certain that the man wouldn't turn him an hour from now, tomorrow, the next day, and tell him he'd been mistaken. That there was no hope....

But just then, he was content to have that moment. To be able to reach out again - to hell with anyone watching, to the cameras and the Capitol - and pull Max into his embrace.

The kiss was chaste, more a mingling of breath than of lips, but he was content with that as well - his mustache brushing gently against the dark hair of Max's before he shifted and pressed his forehead against Max's shoulder.

He would worry about the rest, when it came.

He didn't pull away and he didn't speak - his hand still in Wyatt's hair as the man's head lay on his shoulder, and he held him there - loosely, it seemed, but deceptively firmly.

He didn't speak for a long time, and when he did it was into Wyatt's hair and incredibly quiet.

"I'm sorry."

His fingers curled in Max's cloak, fur scratching against his palms. He held tight for a long moment, then forced his grip to relax again.

"It's alright, Max," he murmured. Slowly, he lifted his head again, meeting Max's eye. "I don't blame ya."

That didn't exactly ease him - whether Wyatt blamed him for his wrongs or not, he had still committed them.

"I will be better," He murmured lowly. "I will do my best to deserve you. I promise."

Wyatt reached up, a rough palm warm on the side of Max's neck, thumb brushing the underside of his jaw.

"Ya already do, Max," he whispered, the words rough and low. "More than ya know. I--" His thumb dropped, rubbed gently over the pulse beating in Max's neck.

"We'll make it work, together."

He let out a breath, and gave a heavy nod, and only then seemed to realise where he was and clear his throat.

"Where were you headed? I can accompany you, if you'd allow it."

Feeling the moment coming to an end - like surfacing from sleep, from the depths of a warm pool - his hands returned to himself, his throat clearing.

"I'd intended on a walk. I couldn't sleep, thought it might tucker me out some."

His room was too quiet, too empty. Reminded him too much of Max and how they had shared it in those stolen nights before.

"I'd enjoy the company, if ya liked to come along."

"It seems we had the same purpose," Maximus said, offering a very slight apologetic smile.

"But yes, I would... like to."

Wyatt's mouth twitched gently, almost hopefully. Wanting to take Max's offer as a good first step. (As proof that they could get through this. That they could both still be happy.)

Nodding, he turned toward the doors and pulled one open, gently gesturing Max through.

Outside snow was falling again, soft, but thick, and the ground was covered in a layer of white. They went a few yards in silence, broken only by the shift of snow beneath their feet, then he murmured quietly, "I've missed ya. It... ain't the same without ya."

The silence this time was easier - still not quite as comfortable as it had been, but infinitely more comfortable than the silence he'd been keeping himself in.

He felt another twinge of guilt (could he love no one without hurting another, he wondered?) and let out a long breath through his nose that curled into fine mist, moistening his beard and causing it gently to crystallize.

"No. Nor without you," He admitted, his voice low.

Snow dusted the brim of Wyatt's hat, slipped under the collar of his coat - a sharp bite against the warmth of his skin. He reached up turning the collar up to protect the back of his neck.

His mouth opened on a breath, intending to speak... but it closed again after a moment, the breath sighing out through his nose.

There was really nothing he could say, nothing he could share, that didn't sound like he was asking for something. Wanted something more than Max had made clear he could give.

"...Whatever happens," he began finally, the words slow and careful, as if he expected them to twist up and change on him, "I want ya to know I'll be here. Whatever ya need."

He wanted Max to be happy with him, but understood if he couldn't be, and would still want him to find whatever would make him so.

"I know, Wyatt," Maximus said after a moment. He'd never had any doubts as to Wyatt's feelings toward him, or his loyalty. He felt incredibly guilty that he had given Wyatt reason to doubt him.

"...I did not wish-- I did not want to give you cause to doubt my loyalty, Wyatt. You will always have it."

"I didn't."

And he hadn't. Not really.

Not the man's loyalty. Not even that he cared.

Wyatt knew better than that. Knew Max better than that.

He was as certain as the sun would rise again tomorrow, that Max wouldn't have done the things he had if he hadn't felt anything. The man wasn't the simple distraction type.

Wyatt had just foolishly believed that there was more to it than there really was. He'd mistaken affection, and a healthy, if unexpected, dose of lust, for something else.

He'd let himself forget that he was second choice.

...But he could be content with that.

He reached across, wrapping an arm across Max's shoulders. Giving him a pat, and a squeeze.

Couldn't he?

"I'm sorry too."

Maximus let out a breath, relaxing slightly and nodding, the feel of Wyatt's arm around him - however friendly - more comforting than he could say.

The street was quiet, and empty, and that was good enough for him. He pulled to a stop, and pulled Wyatt to do likewise, looking him firmly in the eye before leaning in and giving him a good, sound kiss.

Just in case the first had felt like duty.

There was a moment's uncertainty, but then he softened, warming just as easily, just as readily. He lips moved against Max's, meeting the kiss, pressing back, lingering until his need for air forced him to break away.

But he didn't go far, mustache brushing Max's lip as he breathed, fingers reaching up to knead gently at the back of his neck.

"We'll be alright, Max," he murmured, leaning in again to touch his lips against Max's again. "We got each other... we'll figure the rest out, whatever it takes."

And he would be content, he told himself as the familiar warmth in his chest chased away the chill of the winter night, with all that Max had already given him, knowing full well how lucky he was.

Maximus nodded, not fully trusting himself to speak, but he nodded all the same. He took another warm kiss and then pulled himself back so that he could get a good look at Wyatt, bringing his hands up so he could fuss with the man's collar and make sure the jacket was snug warm around him.

"We'll manage," he agreed quietly, brushing snow from Wyatt's shoulder.

Wyatt stared back for a moment, watching Max's face even after he'd looked away to fuss over his coat. He thought about telling him again that he understood - that he didn't blame him for how it had turned out - but decided against it.

Words only went so far. Wyatt would show him instead, that he meant it.

He touched him, a brief rest of his palm against Max's cheek, thumb brushing over the wiry hair along his jaw, then forced his hand to move away. Ready to fall in Max's side.

Letting him lead the way.

Satisfied that he'd done all he could to protect Wyatt from the cold, he let out a breath and allowed his hands to drop with a small nod. He turned, waiting for Wyatt to fall in at his side, and then kept walking.

They fell into silence again, compounded by the snow that kept the noise of the city to a muted distant roar, but Maximus didn't have anywhere in particular he had wanted to go. He had wanted to walk to try to clear his head, to push Wyatt from it, but he was only too happy to have the man here, instead.

He didn't mind the cold - he never had, despite being brought up in the warm sun. So when after a few long minutes his fingers reached to clasp Wyatt's, it wasn't for warmth.

Wyatt had no designs on the moment either; he was simply happy to have it. So he moved in at Max's side, matching the stride, and letting the silence between them.

It wasn't quite the same - it was still a bit uncertain - but it was good. He could have been content with it.

...Until he felt the brush over his knuckles, the slide of Max's fingers over his own, and his heart squeezed in time. Until Max showed him an even better moment.

He looked over, a glance to take in the beloved face at his side, and, without a word, opened his fingers to make room for Max's. Linking them together in a rough, warm, knot.

He glanced up just as Wyatt looked over, and he offered a very small, sheepish smile as he squeezed his fingers.

Could believe, for a moment, that everything would be alright. (That's what Wyatt did to him.)

You were made to make it hurt.

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wrap, i think c: