Hi, Mental here, with a completely random two-shot that's not related to the Hunger Games at all!

So yeah, Haiden (aka klismaphilia) my awesome bestie, thought it would be kind of cool if we wrote a little thing with two of our characters together. I mean, it started off as a friendship thing, but then it kind of turned into fluff? I don't know, either way, it's cute af! Haiden wrote Thallis, and I wrote Blyke, because those are one of our characters that we play in Guild Wars 2.

Speaking of playing Guild Wars 2, if anyone of you out there want to play with us, just shoot us a message if you see us online and we'll happily play with you! You can find my GW2 IGN on my profile, and I have a link there with Haiden's name on it, which goes to his profile (which I'm assuming has his GW2 IGN as well).

Anyway, to anyone who's reading, we hope you enjoy. Any support is greatly appreciated! :D

Disclaimer: We do not own Guild Wars 2 in any way, shape or form. All rights go to it's respective owners.

It would have been infinitely better had it never happened. Had Thallis kept to himself, never left the limits of Divinity's Reach…had he never met one Blyke Argentum at Shaemoor, and let a single misstep of an event ruin the shambles that had remained of his life, then maybe things would have been different.

It wasn't all that serious, but nothing ever was, and maybe that was why he was here, because he couldn't even look in the mirror without seeing his mouth slashed open, feeling the blood on his skin, like sweet, sweet rivulets of red rain. He didn't know when exactly he'd lost it; he hadn't exactly had it to begin with, he thinks, as he throws back his head and lets loose a hollow laugh. It's a high pitched laugh, echoing on the wind, and he wonders if anyone's around to hear it, if by some miracle it will carry a tune into Ascalon, and reach the ears of that goddamn elementalist.

He's been shattered himself, one too many times.

But it doesn't matter anymore, what does? What matters in this godforsaken world? The Queen? The fight against Zhaitan? Regardless of popular opinion, Thallis had never pledged allegiance to anyone; hell, there was no need for allegiance. Not in this day and age, when all he could see was himself, when he was surrounded by himself, drowning in himself, staring into those black eyes and toppling over. He didn't know how to survive, not now, not with his mind splintering, fracturing and fragmenting into a million pieces. What did it mean, being sane?

It had taken some time to get over the blow, to get over the long nights spend alone yearning for something...if nothing but another presence, someone to help him, someone to heal his mind, because he'd been isolated for too long, and he was certain that was one of the reasons why he was now faltering. His hands shook when they grasped for his staff, knees caved in beneath him when he tried to stand. It didn't mean anything anymore, and neither did he. He was meant to be forgotten, because he was always second best.

He wasn't the Hero of Shaemoor.

And maybe it was that very incident, that pressing envy of Blyke that had encroached upon his mind, because envy was as great a taker of men as any, but with that still, he didn't…hate him. How could he? What was hate, in the end? No different than love, and even if his affection was matched only in mirror shards and an unearthly scream against the wind, it was little more than the fire that Blyke had shared with him during the cold winter in the Shiverpeaks or the feel of a hand on his chest, taking away the pierce of a blade too far tainted…

Maybe it was all meaningless, in the end. He certainly wasn't anything to be marveled at, and neither was Logan Thackaray, not anymore.

So that's why he swallows when he looks at the figure on the doorstep, still partly shrouded in a dark cloak that's discarded upon seeing him, standing at the doorway with dark circles under his dark eyes that are sunken into his dark face, and Blyke still looks too goddamn perfect for words, all flawless snow white flesh and that reddish-brown hair, not a lock out of place.

He may have been nobility once, but the words that leave his mouth are anything but hospitable, not showing a shred of dignity.

"You can't be real." He says, and it's that simple, a few short syllables stuttered through chewed-up lips that he can't help but to purse.

And it's clearly not the welcome Blyke was expecting, because the smile on his lips passes away into a frown as Thallis raises his hands to rub the tiredness from his eyes, choking on what would have been a sob as he tries to shield himself. He doesn't want to look, doesn't want to see anything else, because the sight soon will turn bloody. He doesn't know how many times he's thought of Blyke Argentum with his throat cut, or impaled on the spear of a centaur, or driven into the dirt as nothing but bones seared by a dragon. Because he worried...he spent too long worrying; and there might have been letters, might have been visits, but he'd never gotten any of them, hadn't even seen the man in what had to be a year, at least-

He takes a breath, swallows, lets him in.

Before he knows it, Blyke's sitting on his couch and is looking up at him and he hears tales leave his mouth: the Vigil, the death of his superior officer, the overtaking of Claw Island by the Risen…he's not sure if the hollowness he detects is real or imagined. He wants Blyke to be as scared as he is, as hollow, as indifferent, but it's not him at all, it's someone else, an actual human being, and he doesn't know why he's here, so he just poses a question.

"How did you find me?" It doesn't answer what he wants to know, but it's a start.

More than anything, it's a start.

"Your sister's a talkative one," Blyke says, with an offhand smile, as he gestures for Thallis to sit beside him, but even then, he doesn't want to. He wants to stand there and crumble into dirt and be crushed into dust and disappear in the hollow remains that I'm surrounded by. Memories, nothing but memories. Memories of Blyke, standing over him with his staff in hand, fighting and pushing back the centaur whose sword was about to pierce his chest.

He wishes, sometimes, that his own blood had been spilled, had leaked out freely and covered the stones under his feet. He wishes that he hadn't been captured, hadn't learned anything, wishes that he could hide, because being here with Blyke is so unnerving…so surreal.

"You should come with me," Blyke whispers to him before he stands. He's walking toward the mesmer with arms extended and Thallis is pulling back, withdrawing, looking down at him with his chest pounding, unable to form words…

"I-I can't." He finally says, because this was what he'd wanted for so long, but it was nothing but a fantasy, and fantasies weren't likely to come true, not anytime soon. Blyke was off in Ascalon or Orr or the Wastes, and he wasn't here, and he wasn't going to be here anytime soon. This wasn't real, and Thallis isn't sure what is anymore.

He's dropping his staff and looking back at the doorway - ever so empty - and then he realizes that it was only ever himself, because his doppelganger is standing there now, staring back at him, and he knows he'd imagined the whole thing. He feels the awful pang of agony, of heartbreak inside his ribcage, and he thinks about splitting his chest open and pulling out the heart so he doesn't have to feel anymore. Emotion is what kills on the battlefield, it's useless, trivial, and more than anything, unwanted.

But even then, he swears he can feel the touch of a hand on his arm, can see that icy white skin extended, a pale hand wrapped around his pitch one, and he's never felt so uncomfortable in his skin. He imagines it rotten, dead, and imagines himself as lifeless as a corpse, in a coffin sunk in the Krytan sea.

And then he blinks it all away.

He's standing before the mirror now and staring into those dark eyes, like deep pools where the Risen drowned before, and his skin is tingling, filled with an insurmountable awe that's almost destructive, volatile. He wants to see Blyke, wants to see him so badly it hurts, yet all he sees is himself. He doesn't know how long it's been since a visit from Logan, doesn't know how long it's been since he was free, since he'd left the shrouded wood of Sparkfly Fen and wandered across the continent. He thinks about the tales of Elona, thinks about returning, thinks about faltering in poisoned sand and dying in the desert.

He thinks about his spirit drifting away to freedom, but he's too scared of death to die. He wants to live, but living is so difficult, so painful, full of suffering that he doesn't want or need, suffering he'd gladly dispose of if given the chance. But he didn't have a chance, at least not an offered one, although if he did, he wasn't sure he'd take it anyway.

He thinks about the suffering of his race and he thinks about the suffering of all the races, of every being in Tyria, all the suffering that Blyke was out there pushing back against when Thallis Everett was too goddamn scared to do anything.

He looks in the mirror and he winces, and lets down his guard. His shoulders drop and his knees give way and he draws a breath and lets it out with a keening whine, lets his eyes close as he tilts his head back and screams, the tears streaming down his face and slipping from his jaw and falling on the floor, where they pool and grow beneath him until he feels soaked.

He drowns again in his own unfortunate tears.

He doesn't know what to say, because everything he's ever thought of, everything he believes in…everything was a fucking lie. It was a lie, and his own life was just as much of one, and if he had to choose between staying here or disappearing, he'd gladly fade away into the Mists.

He doesn't know if it's Blyke or if it's him, but it's too much.

And then, before he can blink or let another tear fall, there's a knock on the door.

He doesn't want to open it.

Before Blyke Argentum, stood the biggest obstacle in history.

It stood there in it's frame, thick, wooden, and paint flaking away with age. The handle was cold to the touch in his pale hand, and almost like a bite, it was painful. He wasn't sure why he was standing there in the blue air of the dusk, just waiting for something to happen. It was almost as if he expected the door in front of him to reveal something, a truth maybe, that he'd somehow missed upon his arrival.

Blyke was rooted to the spot, plunged into a sea of angst, fear, and worry. Thallis had sent him a message via crow just a few days before, and the letter had sounded more painful and lonely than Blyke was used to. Blyke remembered tracing the letters of Thallis Everett's inked scrawl, imagining the man scribbling on the paper in a ferocious and hurried manner, possessed by some frenzied desperation that called out for help. It was a plea, one that Blyke could uncover so easily that it was almost written word for word before his eyes. At that moment, sweating in the depths of Caledon Forest, Blyke knew he had to turn back.

He'd never originally been cut out for this. His sister had always taken the lead, and he'd let her. Many spoke of how his confidence in her drove her to new heights. Some even suggested that Blyke had been his sister's banner; she never forgot him until the day she died. And now, he was in her place, a copy of sorts, just something else for the people to get distracted by so they wouldn't worry about their livelihoods. While Zhaitan roamed the skies, and kingdom fought against kingdom, Blyke was well aware that people needed a distraction.

Being the distraction was not his plan.

That's why Blyke hated himself. He hated himself so much that he wished that he'd simply dissolve, lost to the wind like fine grains of golden sand, flying over Tyria itself and being free for once. He'd never intended to become the famous "Hero of Shaemoor", and he'd never wanted to fight the battles of others. He'd simply wanted to explore, and help other people, simply for the purpose of hiding and ignoring the pain he felt inside of him.

His black cloud, a thunderstorm of tears...it was always over his head, raining down on him with every passing second. He felt the anchor in his heart and the chains around his lungs, leaving him breathless and panicked, filled with a sense of saddened hysteria that he could never erase. It was the sickness that he could never cure, the cyanide that slept with him each night and rose with him each morning, the gnarled tree that once stood so tall and strong but now curled back in on itself.

He was hiding.

He was running away from himself, running away from the horrors that the night held and the hell the darkness brought in its wake. And all for what? Freedom? Happiness? Retribution? No. It was the safety he looked for, but he could never find it. It flew from one corner to the next, and he'd always be running after it. He never looked back at first, simply because he felt so confident. He knew he'd find his safe haven, the sword that broke the chains and released the anchor inside of him. But he never realised that there were nightmares that followed him.

Years ago, hidden in the shadows, he met his first nightmare. Shot after shot of pain was pushed through him as he blindly tried to escape, but with no such luck. He felt like he'd been stabbed, not once, not twice, but over and over again, a repeating beat for something that lasted hours. Even now he can remember the sharp, rough feeling of stone on his cheek, and the force of a hand on his head. They'd taken everything away from him and left him there in the darkness, sobbing and curled up in a ball, left there to rot in his own embarrassment.

Yet here he stood, wiry and strong, blue eyes shining like moons and filled with a fire that kept him going. No...he wouldn't think about himself, but instead he had to dedicate his life to others. Thallis was just one of the many people he'd helped. He remembered waving his hand and blocking the blade from piercing the man's heart. He was in bad shape that day, his dark skin glistening and life falling onto the stones beneath his worn shoes. Blyke had simply stepped in.

But what was he to do now? Would Thallis just let him walk back into his life like he'd always done? Blyke had always been forced to walk away, but he'd dragged himself back, no matter how long it took. All this time, he'd asked himself why. Why did he always come back? But the answer was there in front of him, and it was simple.

Thallis was his sword.

He was the clear sky in his thunderstorm, his candle in the suffocating darkness, and although Blyke knew that Thallis had never known him well, he felt it in his heart. He felt the safety he searched for so long, and it was like music to his ears, a symphony that lulled him into a sense of serenity that he craved to feel again.

A warm hand fell on his shoulder, and Blyke felt cool breath on his neck. A small sigh ruffled his hair as he stood there, staring at the door. Blyke wanted to turn around, but he knew that he was plagued by his imagination, his desire for Thallis to be there for him, to understand him, because nobody had ever understood him before. He knew that the real hand on his shoulder was the pale ghostly palm that was his own. The cool breath was simply the breeze from the window open in the hallway. In a second, the feeling of Thallis' presence behind him became a wisp that faded away.

He was behind this door, and Blyke knew it. He'd heard a sob or two, and he was aware that this was not a time for him. It was never a time for Blyke, because he didn't deserve to be safe. Everyone else had always been more important. Thallis was more important.

He had to knock, and so he did, pale knuckles meeting the splintered door three times in a row. The room inside became silent, as if the world itself was muted. Blyke didn't wait to be let in. He couldn't wait for safety any longer, even if that safety was in the form of a broken soul like Thallis.

With a small click and a loud creak, he opened the door.

He couldn't run from the darkness for much longer.

Thallis doesn't know if he should run away, if he should turn and scramble across the floor and tuck his knees to his chest like when he was a child, out of sight and out of mind. But even then, he couldn't shut it out of his head- the creak of the flat wooden door as it swung inwards, as he tried to press himself back against the wall, pull himself away and just watch.

In a way, he didn't want to, because he knew that it was never an effect of the mind, the fear when a door opened. He tensed, knew with every inch of his skin, the pulsing in his bones that he was going to die. It couldn't be prevented. It couldn't be stopped. And maybe that was all he had been waiting for; waiting for someone to step into the light when he couldn't, to take their blade and pierce his already cracked-open ribcage, impale his heart until all the blood leaked out.

Even then. Even then, it didn't matter. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, like the drums before war, aching, piercing, pounding as he looked up, his eyes widening, and almost let out a cry at the sight. He didn't know whether it was out of the agony, the illusion, the fact that it was all a fucking lie, and Blyke couldn't be there, he couldn't…

He doesn't know if the cry was from panic, or if it's because of how desperately he wants it to be true. To be real. Not just the fantasy world of a pathetic mesmer, conjured up by books and mirrors and staffs, but an actual truth, one that is so real it can't be deciphered. He doesn't understand, doesn't know whether he should inch forward or wrench himself away, so he just…closes his eyes.

You don't have to see things. Sensory perception…it was a trick. His eyes were tricking him, betraying him, wounding him so deeply and all because of magic, the whirlwind of illusions that wouldn't leave.

"B-Blyke?" He finally questions, pulling the word from his throat with an almost inevitable crack in his voice. If it was real- if Blyke was here- he knows he should feel ashamed of himself. Letting his voice croak and his body tremble, nothing like the noble he was supposed to be. Gentry didn't behave like this; nobility were always in control of themselves, always had a front. They didn't lose it. They weren't mentally unstable. They weren't fragile.

But regardless, it doesn't help him, not now. It feels like he's a butterfly in the grasp of a young child, wings being ripped from his back as he tried to flutter desperately against all odds...the illusions he'd seen ever since he was a child, the silver and purple butterflies that flew in and out the window with his magic…

Camille hadn't understood. His parents hadn't understood. It wasn't proper, not for him, not for someone of his class, with the potential to be a Lord or a Duke. But in the end, Thallis had never been gentry material. He was just…lost. Like a foolish child, mentally incompetent, snapped in the head. He'd heard it from the villagers themselves- had tried not to take it to heart, but he knew better than anyone how right they were.

He knew how weak he was.

He wasn't sure how he ended up lying there, his arms curled around Blyke's knees as he held onto them, his legs tucked under him and robes askew, hair frazzled and uncombed, barely able to focus on anything but his reflection in the mirror, clutching to this tall, icy stranger, who was looking at him with more warmth in his gaze than he'd seen in anyone's before. He didn't know if he should let go, if he should apologize, or if he should keep clutching onto him, trying to assure himself that Blyke was there, a tangible human being...

"Y-You…the letter…f-felt so cold, Blyke…d-didn't know how to…missed you. Only damn thing I w-wanted to see. Why…why did you c-come back for me? You…fucking idiot. Shouldn't…shouldn't have-"

He felt something clinging to his arms, barely notices until he looks up that there are glass fragments, shards dug deep into black skin, so deep he hadn't noticed. And the mirror isn't there, and perhaps it never was, but there's that figure in front of him, leaning down and reaching out and so impossibly surreal he isn't sure what he wants.

Blyke is here. He's real. He's real.

Thallis tried to cast aside the other thoughts, darker unwanted things floating on the fringes of his mind, but he can't possibly do it, too overwhelmed, unsure of whether he should feel shame or joy, or anger or guilt.

He supposed his emotions were illusions too; like everything else in the world. Just fictional pieces placed together in an abhorrent way by someone without the strength or skill to mend a thing.

The door opened slowly, too slowly in fact, in a way that made Blyke feel as if a wave of water would crash down on him from behind it. Already he was overwhelmed, and all he'd done was open a stupid door. Hesitantly, he stepped inside, the soft clunk of his boots colliding gently with the floorboards.

The first thing he noticed was that the room was cold. The windows were wide open, curtains billowing wildly in the wind's embrace. The candles weren't lit, and the world was the same blue hue as it had been out in the hallway. An unmade bed laid to one side, with various possessions strewn across the room. A small breath passed through his lips, a white mist that hung in the air for a second, air that was rich with the scent of restless sleep and unending worry.

The room was nothing to Blyke. All that mattered was the man cowering in the corner. Thallis sat there, leaning against the wall, curled up into a ball and sniffling like a child. He eyed Blyke with what looked like a kind of fear. Blyke could see the battle in the man's eyes. He was itching to move forward, yet afraid of something that Blyke couldn't process. Blyke made the first move.

Glass snapped under his feet as he drew to closer to Thallis, but he didn't dare look down, instead staring straight at his goal. A small whimpering sound bubbled up through the black man's throat, a panicked warble that held enough pain to make any man cry. A few more seconds passed before Thallis finally found the words to speak.

"B-Blyke?"

Hearing his voice sent a shiver down Blyke's spine. It was an old memory, his voice, and Blyke remembered it clearly. The warmth escaped Thallis from every pore, but now Blyke sensed that only the cold was left within him. Maybe it was the open window that held this effect, but maybe instead it was what had broken his friend deep inside. Blyke felt numb, and his mouth couldn't speak because his throat was so dry. Actions could always speak louder than words, so Blyke did what he could, by kneeling down next to his dishevelled friend and attempting to comfort him. Almost immediately, Thallis reached out, shakily hugging Blyke's knees before speaking once more.

"Y-You...the letter...felt so cold, Blyke...d-didn't know how to...missed you…"

Blyke let his companion stutter out his words. Thallis had missed him so much that he'd written a letter for him? Of course he had, he remembered reading it. Blyke felt uneasy, for he knew that there was something his friend was hiding...or maybe not. Blyke didn't know, for he wasn't the one to always see things as black and white. He prefers to cross boundaries and read between the lines...to lose himself in what had been said to him and to analyse people. Blyke let his staff clatter to the floor beside him, and looked more closely at Thallis. Several shards of glass had been buried deep in the man's arm, and he shivered from the cold.

Again, Blyke chose to act rather than speak. Consolement came after safety. He rose from Thallis, ignoring the pained whine that followed, and he closed the window. He strode over to the candles and lit them, unfastening his cloak and laying it over his arm. He made a speedy return to Thallis, and studied his injuries intensely. For a second, Blyke thought Thallis shrunk somewhat under his intense gaze, but he was far too absorbed in his thoughts to dwell on it.

Thallis was in trouble, and Blyke was well aware that he had to push his constant pain to one side. In that respect, he'd always been the same, helping others without too much thought. And here he was, ignoring the heaviness in his heart and using it to pick up the pieces his friend had left in his wake. He put his winter cloak around Thallis' shoulders and cast a simple healing spell, one that was powerful enough to heal his wounds at least.

If there were any screams of pain, Blyke simply didn't hear them, for he was far too immersed in his work. The glass shards rose slowly out of Thallis' arm, and the wounds closed, the space between the duo filled with the white light of his healing spell, spiralling sigils twisting and turning, reflected in Thallis' eyes.

Blyke was captivated at this moment, watching with a small smile at Thallis' expression. The man appeared to be almost transfixed by the fading spell, before redirecting his attention back to Blyke's face once more. Grabbing Thallis firmly by the elbow, Blyke rose, pulling his friend up with him.

You fucking idiot. You shouldn't have-

His friend's words resounded in his head and hung there, but he simply smiled to himself again. Of course, he had to come back. He didn't have a reason not to, and Thallis was important to him. Even now, holding Thallis steady as he leaned against him, he could feel the warmth blossoming in his chest. He'd finally returned home to Thallis, and in this moment, that was all that mattered.

"Come on you," Blyke finally uttered, his voice soothing and warm. "Let's get you sorted out."

Because when Thallis couldn't do something, then Blyke would do it for him.

So there you go!

This is the first half of the two-shot, and the second half should be up in a few days, so don't worry about waiting too long (the second half is already written). We just want to point out that we do have two very distinct writing styles, so we hope that the transition between points of view was smooth.

If you have any advice for us, then feel free to review or PM us about what you thought and what things we could change or improve. We really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and we appreciate all the support we can get!

What did you think about Blyke and Thallis? Do you have a favourite? Do you ship them? (We do #Tyke XD)

We hope you enjoyed this, and we'll see you next time for the second half of this!

Over and out!

~Mental and Haiden