IN WHICH,
The boy who frequents your father's workshop carves a place for himself in your heart.
'He's looking at you. He's looking at you as if you're his whole world. If anyone could see him right now, they would immediately understand one thing:...
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You were a creator, some would say. During those nights when sleep often managed to evade your grasp, you would sit at your old table in your room, wielding a pencil. The gunmetal grey of it would contrast the blank horizon of the amber-toned sheet. Staining the paper in such an authoritative way, you would mar it with various lines that formed a design of some sort. You wanted to tire yourself out, drain your mind of your ideas and impart them onto paper, in hopes of lulling yourself to sleep.
"Oh, these designs are absolutely gorgeous dear!!" You recalled your mother encouraging you when you had sheepishly showed her the product of your nightly endeavours, "Why don't you help your father in the workshop and make these beautiful designs of yours a reality, hm?"
The distant echo of your father saying your name slowly drew you back into the busy atmosphere of the workshop.
"Hm?" You replied quickly, acknowledging his attempts to get you to focus.
"Look kiddo, I know it's been tough since... the new laws, but let's try get some work done today, okay? You just let me know if you ever need a break." He looks at you sympathetically and pats your head gently. He's always done this, no matter how old you were. You were forever guaranteed those comforting head pats from your father, which served as one of the few moments of solace in this harsh reality.
"I'm fine, Dad!! I was just zoning out, that's all. I'm already used to the workload you know, it has been 4 years you know."
You're met with the sound of his hearty laughter and with that, you resume your work momentarily. Your hand effortlessly guides the sharpened instrument across the wood, shaving and smoothing out any imperfections. Raising it up and examining it, you internally approve of your fine handiwork.
"How does it look? Do you think those Capitol snobs would like it?" You direct the question to your father, holding up the wooden carving of a deer head in your hands.
He pauses for a moment and pretends to think carefully, before nodding. "Why, this would be a perfect accessory for our collection of other carved animal heads!" He laughs, and it's clear he's joking, imitating the materialistic character of the Capitol.
This impression causes you to laugh along with him. After all, if you had faced the oppression of the Capitol it would be hard to resist mocking them in the safety of your own home.
Suddenly, the door of the workshop creaks. A bell rings, and your father and you instantly put on poker faces. If it were the Peacekeepers, the worst punishment they could legally deal for mockery would be a beating. Perhaps a shot to the head if they were feeling it, because it was common knowledge the Capitol never played fairly.
To your relief, it was just one of your father's friends and his son. Your father instantly brightened up and greeted the two.
"Hey, you two got some wood for us?" Your father smiles.
"Yeah, and a whole lot of it too. It's been much easier harvesting all this wood with my son to do most of the work for me!" The other older man jokes, slapping his son on the back. Your father responds with a chortle of laughter and nods approvingly at Treech.
"Same goes for me too. With my kiddo here she's taken half the workload off my back."
Three pairs of eyes direct their focus towards you, and you stray your attention away from your wooden deer to meet a set of hazel ones. As the fathers continue their conversation, the boy about your age approaches you. The sun pours into the workshop and illuminates his brown curls, bleaching them a shade of caramel.
"You made this?" He asks rather abruptly, but he makes up for his tone with the way he sends you a boyish smile.
You laugh softly and nod, "Yeah, I did."
"It's beautiful. I don't know how you turn a log into a masterpiece like this."
"Thank you, I try! Just a bit of carving and patience, that's all."
He continues to admire the fine handiwork you've done, gingerly running the tips of his fingers across the grooves of your piece. It was almost as if he was scared to break it, but wanted to dare to feel it for himself nonetheless.
"What's your name?" He asks, his brown locks spilling out from under his hat. Upon asking this question he quickly diverts his gaze back to the deer ornament, but after a few seconds he dares to meet your eyes again with an unfaltering look. As you utter your name, his mouth widens and it's almost as if he had been entranced the moment you said your name.
"The name's Treech. Hopefully we'll see each other more often?" Treech asks and it's during this that you take the chance to notice his angel eyes. The mixture of hazel and chestnut, sprinkled with hints of sage and the colour of the sky.
You watch him slowly retreat back to his father who is about to exit the workshop and you quickly take in the situation, "Yeah. Yeah, I'll see you around?"
Treech looks back, sporting a sweet smile to you before leaving. It seemed he had left as quickly as he had entered, and a small part of you had hoped he would wander in again soon.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE!!
okay honestly i've been holding back on writing this but i couldn't stop myself honestly i just NEEDED to publish this i've been actually obsessed with treech for the past month LMAOAOA </3
i'm torn between naming this book 'district 7 sweethearts' or 'the lumberjack and that which he loves' please lmk what you think would be better!!
thank you for reading the first chapter and for putting up with my writing style if it gets unbearable with how fancy or slow paced it is pleasepleaseplease feel free to let me know!!! until the next chapter, enjoy! xoxo
