vi. THE LOVER
"Fat lot of good it did me to quit smoking," Everett quips, shaking his head as they walk.
Azaire huffs a laugh behind his mask. "Bad bounce." He frowns. "Do you want this?" he asks, tapping the gas mask. "I've had it pretty much the whole time."
"Nah, I'm good—"
"Here, take it." Azaire peels it from his face, passing it to his newfound ally. "Sorry if it reeks."
A noise of disgust comes from the other boy. "Thanks though," he says, his voice now muffled. "That shit certainly ain't helping." He gestures to the mountain range, where a thin trail of smoke leaks from the tallest peak.
Azaire hums in agreement.
If he's being honest, he's still trying to wrap his head around Grace's death. That was her cannon yesterday; they'd found out last night, and Azaire just knows it had to be one of the Ones.
Look how easily they turned on Remora, Cosmin, and me.
Will Everett do the same? Will I?
He'd voiced his suspicions to the Thirteen boy, who didn't know enough about the Ones to have input, but it felt validating to have someone to bounce his thoughts off of.
Since morning, they spent the day walking towards the towering rocks, as it was better than wandering aimlessly, though Everett hadn't been too keen on the idea. The lure of a decent shelter convinced him; not like he had a better idea.
What unnerves Azaire, however, is the strange white stones they're beginning to find scattered among the cracked ground as they ascend.
At least the magma rivers seem to have cooled somewhat; that, or they've found a part of the arena free from that particular hell. Azaire pokes at one of the white stones with his sword. It skitters ahead of them, but when they catch up to it, he realizes he's looking at a skull.
Azaire stops.
It's from some sort of small animal; he loops his rapier through the eye and lifts it to examine closer. "Oh, I hate that," Everett says, his tone oddly jittery and sing-song. "I haaaate that."
"The rest of them, then…"
"Yeah, no, that's what I was thinking."
Sure enough, the more he looks, the more nearly-complete skeletons he sees. Ahead of them, they only grow in size; Azaire and Everett pick up the pace to a hasty jog that becomes a run when they pass a skull the size of a human's, a bear's, an elephant's, a… Azaire doesn't know what the fuck that is, but it's huge.
When it starts to rattle, they sprint.
His surroundings are a blur. Everett's presence is only a vague sensation at his side; all he cares about now is getting away. The only information that passes through his mind are his footfalls— lava or not lava? Step there—!
Through the heavy rattling of bones behind them, a cannon sounds overhead; Azaire's head whips over his shoulder. Everett's still there, thank fuck, but behind him, the skeleton that rose from the ashes takes the shape of a fucking dragon.
"Azaire—!"
"I'm not fighting that, let's go." Azaire's hand clamps around Everett's arm and he practically drags the other boy to higher ground. They tear across the rocks, swerve past rattling skulls; the thundering footsteps of the skeletal dragon shake the ground, but Azaire never falters, never slows—
He skids to a stop. A glaring, churning river of lava impedes their path.
Even from here, the heat is staggering. He glances at Everett; his mask has fallen halfway off his face in their desperation. It's far too wide to cross in one leap, and even on the other side, sheer cliffs rise from the ground, footed by the barest of beaches. Please, give us something. Azaire makes a quick right turn, scanning for anywhere to cross. Behind them, the muttation emits a horrific growl of bone-scraping-bone, and there!
A divet in the flow; a slab of solid rock in the midst of the oozing lava. It's closer to this side than the other, but Azaire comes at it from a wide turn, picking up his speed. Now or never. He can't hear Everett's cries over the wind in his ears and he leaps.
For longer than it should be, he's airborne. Beneath him, the magma churns, and he lands, one foot to the other, and leaps again.
He's so close to the edge; not close enough. Red-hot liquid envelops his shoe as it plunges into the shallows, not even enough to cover his foot before he yanks it free. On the other side, and he's panting; aside from the now-cooled lava beneath his sole, his shoe is unscathed.
More importantly, his foot is unscathed, unburned, merely warm from the work he's put it through.
He gives the shoes an appraising look. Capitol tech, indeed.
"Azaire!"
Everett's still on the other side. "You have to jump!" Azaire shouts. Terror clouds the boy's face; he shakes his head, glances over this shoulder. They'd done a damn good job outrunning the dragon, but time's running out. "Everett! You have to!"
He takes a few steps back, focusing on the slab of rock.
"You can do it!" Azaire calls.
One step. Two. He runs, leaps; his feet touch their holy grail and he pushes off again—
Azaire already knows he'll fall short, just like he did. Except it's much shorter, enough for Everett's entire leg to plunge into the lava, up to the knee. A strangled cry tears from his throat; his other foot lands shallow enough for the boot to protect, and Azaire's hands latch onto his, yanking him from the fiery depths. They collapse on the bank, Everett on top of him, half-sobbing half-screaming in pain.
On the opposite bank, the dragon skeleton hesitates, and Azaire could nearly die from relief.
But he doesn't trust it. So he hauls the shrieking Everett into his good leg, slings the boy's arm over his shoulders, and drags him up. Everett protests with everything in his body, but somehow, Azaire manages to get him to a crack at the foot of the cliffs. It's wide enough for them to squeeze through, hollow enough for them to collapse in safety, and that is all they can do.
• • •
Everett passes out from pain before the anthem, and Azaire's too busy fretting over him to pay attention to who died. He's not a medic, but he's all the other boy's got, so gently, gently, he peels the hardened fabric from Everett's leg, pries the boot from his left foot. Azaire's no expert, but it looks like both the boot and the fabric have some sort of fire-resistant quality to them. Azaire can attest to his own boots, sure, but a fat lot of good any of that did when there's solidified lava sticking to Everett's blistered leg beneath that.
If Azaire were a shittier person, he'd rip the gas mask from Everett's face to block the stench of burned flesh.
Even looking at it is almost enough to make him hurl. Everett flinches in his unconsciousness, and Azaire resolves to be more gentle with his touch, though there's little he can do when he's not the source of the pain.
All he knows is it could've been a lot worse.
Azaire rifles through his pack, pulling out the aspirins, the bandages, a tube of soothing cream about as long as his thumb that he found at the bottom. It's pathetic compared to the magnitude of Everett's injury, but it's better than nothing. He can't imagine the agony of touching a wound like that, let alone rubbing something into it, so he plasters the contents of the tube to the bandage before wrapping the wound. No doubt the toxins in the air will only inflame the burn.
When Everett wakes, Azaire has him choke down the last sandwich half before he practically shoves an aspirin pill down his throat.
There's only two left. That's all he's got.
The light in Everett's hazel eyes is dull; Azaire already knows what he's going to ask before the question leaves his lips. "Why are you bothering?"
Azaire shrugs, but that's not good enough for the Thirteen boy.
"You shouldn't," he huffs out, the words half as audible as they should be. "I'm not one of… one of your Career pack. You don't need to bother with me."
"I want to."
"Why?"
Maybe Cosmin's rubbed off on me too much. Hell, Roe's rubbed off on me too much. Azaire shrugs again. "It's better than being alone," he says quietly. The brutal honesty is enough to make his skin crawl.
(There's a thin line between honesty and vulnerability— that line is trust.)
He doesn't know what it is about the Thirteen boy that pulls the truth from his lips, but it's too late to take it back. He's not cruel enough to tell Everett the truth about his district partner, not right now, but for all he knows, the other boy will eventually pull that one from him too.
"Thank you, then," Everett says softly, "for not leaving me alone."
• • •
Around midday, Azaire pushes him to move. 'Makers won't let them sit still forever, after all. "We need to get to higher ground. I don't want that dragon after us."
Everett only grunts a response.
It takes the rest of the day to move him. Azaire manages to find something of a pathway up the top of the cliff, something built more for humans than lumbering bone dragons. It's precarious and painful, the latter mostly for Everett; Azaire can't see his expression behind the mask, but he feels a pang in his chest anyways. Once they reach the top, Everett collapses to the ground and refuses to move, ripping the mask from his face. "Fucking hell."
Cautiously, Azaire helps him settle into a more comfortable position. "You doing okay?"
"You're an asshole."
"Hey, better this than that thing, hm? We'll be alright up here."
"Don't you lie to me."
"I'm not!"
"Liar." Everett flicks him weakly in the arm. "You know what my dad used to say? 'Never trust a person whose frown is just as pretty as their smile.'"
"Listen, I can't help it."
The Thirteen boy barks a laugh at that, and Azaire bites back a snide comment about his own father. Why waste the energy? "Hm, but your smile is so nice, though," Everett says with a wistful one of his own.
Only now that he says it does Azaire feel the smile pulling at his cheeks. "You think so?"
"Mhm." Everett flicks him again. "Don't act like you don't know it."
"Believe me, I know."
The other boy's hand brushes his cheek, and Azaire lets him press their lips together. He can feel the tentativeness in Everett's kiss, but it doesn't bother him.
It doesn't stop him from kissing the other boy like he's the only source of water in this barren wasteland.