Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Little Relentless

AN ENDING BEFOREHAND:
"LITTLE RELENTLESS"

As Aikin's always seen it, the world is a cold place, where only the cold prevail, only to end as a cold body. And if that is truly the case, all that coldness is wasted. The saying, "You can sleep when you're dead" applies in the same case as this. Yes, he's spent eight years of his life cold, and, in a way, he prevailed. Success is usually short-lived. But behind the cold, there's always a hint of warmth. Beneath the snow, the frosted ground, miles deep, there are pits of magma waiting to burst. When a body trembles from the cold, their insides still pump with warm blood. Aikin's blood? He likes to say it boils.

Nothing can be more true than that as he stands outside the maze, finally free. He holds his head high, back straight as he approaches Theodore. He stood with a sense of false-confidence. Aikin doesn't say anything. His mind whirs with doubts after each step. A fountain to the left spouts fresh water, sparkling in the remnants of evening sunlight. Purples streak the sky, accompanied by smears of orange and pink. The air is clean, and he takes a deep breath. After two weeks - has it been two weeks?  -  of nothing but the same reused air, trapped between stuffy walls, this is a gift.

But so is Theo. Days had passed without any interaction with him or Gwen, countless hours of subconscious nail-biting and pacing. Aikin had been left to worry on his own. But now they stand across from one another, wary of the other's intentions, but completely trusting the other at the same time.

Aikin glances up at the sky once more and can't help but think that everything is all too calm, all too perfect.

When he looks back down, he doesn't expect to see Theo's face mere inches from his chest, but there he is. The way he gazes at Aikin's face makes his cheeks heat up, and he takes a step back. Why is my face hot?

Theo's face softens further, every bit of his face relaxed, excluding his jaw, which is clenched like the mouth of a jammed nutcracker. "Here you are," he manages.

"Here I am," Aikin replies, placing a hand over his own heart. The rate at which it pounds is profound, and he swallows a lump of saliva collecting in his mouth. Although he's not the smartest, never has been, he's not an idiot. And he knows the exact outcome of this encounter. Well, not exact, but he has a pretty good idea. One of them will leave unscathed, while the other writhes on the ground in tremendous pain, cursing out the other.

Just thinking of Theo experiencing the latter makes a noose tighten around Aikin's heart, and he lets his eyes meet the ground. He blinks quickly, hoping his eyes aren't too red.

There's a moment of awkward shuffling in front of him. "It's okay to cry, you know," Theo says. The rope around the main source of Aikin's pulse tightens at the quiet voice. It's so calm, so hushed, endearing in a way, like that of a life-long friend comforting another. The sting in his eyes heightens, and he can't control the few salty tears that eventually slip out. Immediately he brings his arm up, wiping away the streaks with his sleeve.

"I'm supposed to be that big, tough guy of the Games," Aikin says, his voice the quietest it's been since he'd first spoken. "I'm supposed to be the intimidating one, the merciless one. Guys like that don't cry." He lets out a disbelieving laugh. "Hell, I've never even seen Sparrow cry. She's a fighter." His mood falls once more, and he somehow gets quieter. "I've let everyone down. They expect me to be ruthless, and, and... indifferent."

Theo bites down on his lip, staring intently at his own fist before looking up once more, slamming his striking blue gaze into Aikin's dull browns. And at that moment, he's swept away in just comparing themselves. Theodore, the quiet boy with a slender build, skin paled to a ghostly white. Everything about him screams fragility. Then you have Aikin, the silent boy with a muscular build, skin browned considerably, even after weeks of seeing no sun. Some have told him he's unbreakable, invincible, even after looking at him for only a minute or so. It was these people, along with countless others, that he'd ignored for eight years. The girls had wanted his body, the boys had wanted bragging rights to successfully making him speak - both of which failed in their conquests.