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Quinten Killian was suffocating on the ungodly scent in President Snow's rose garden

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Quinten Killian was suffocating on the ungodly scent in President Snow's rose garden. He was genuinely gagging on the smell, burning in his chest and ripping it's way to his throat without a care.

"You don't enjoy the company of roses, Mr. Killian?" Snow asked.

"I much prefer daisies."

"You know, Quinten, daises were once used to bring joy to the parents who had lost children in childbirth. A long, very long time ago, much simpler times before we evolved."

"Evolved? You're a sadist at best," Quinn hissed the word.

"I am running Panem. I hate to say it Mr. Killian, but you have caused something of a problem for me."

The boy watched the old man in such a way that you would think him a predator, but disappointingly his prey was poisonous.

"You never learn to hold your tongue, Quinten. I'm giving you a chance to use it in better ways in the Capitol."

"How dare you talk about me in such vulgar ways?" Quinn hissed. "How dare you propose I do unhinged things in your city of silver where the people are made of silicon? How dare—"

"I very much dare, Quinten." Snow cut him off with a cold glare, the boy's rage clear to anyone a mile away. "As much as it pains me to admit it, you're very observant. How about I promise to be straight forward with you as you have with me?"

"Don't promise me anything."

Snow pursed his lips, nodding haughtily as he held up a small projection.

"This is your sister, sister in-law, and nephew taking their daily stroll in the meadow in District Five—"

"You wouldn't kill victors, you're too conceded for that. One maybe? Jordan I'm guessing since hardly anyone remembers Ophelia's games."

"You're very right, dear boy. Two victors seems suspicious, but their son having a terrible train accident seems fairly believable, no?"

"If you touch him—"

"Now, Mr. Killian—"

"If you f—fucking touch him I will burn your precious fucking city to the ground."

"Come now, Quinten. It isn't a complete loss. I'm sure Mr. Odair will adore your company."













Quinn let the smoke fill the air, wincing at the lights bleeding in from the windows and past the blinds in front of him. He had bruises all over his body, not knowing who had left them behind, when they had got there, what he had been doing when they appeared.

He felt nasty all the time, like his skin was crawling, something beneath his chest clawing away.

"Did you sleep?" Came the soft voice from beside him.

"I always sleep beside you."

"Did you rest is a better word now that I think about it."

"I'm restless every moment we're apart."

"Would you give me a break?" The boy who smelled like saltwater pressed his lips to the blond's shoulder, all too aware of the smile on his lips. "I'm trying to look out for you."

"If I wanted a babysitter I would have called Ophelia."

Finnick Odair sighed, softly running his fingers through Quinn's hair.

"I wish they were gentle with you," came the whisper. Pressing a kiss to the dark purple bruise on Quinn's hip. "I wish they treated you like porcelain." To his neck. "Like you would break under too much pressure." To his wrist. "They're far too careless." His collarbone. "You're far too precious to be misused like this."

"Haven't you heard?" Quinn was careful to angle the smoke away from Finnick's face. "I'm supposed to be their bad boy. Their poster child for someone they don't like, but he sure is handsome so they have to let it slide."

"You are more than anything they see. How could these shallow people see how beautiful you are? How could these animals know anything when they spend so much money just to leave bruises everywhere in their wake?"

Finnick pressed his lips to Quinn's hand, a delicate feeling the boy hadn't felt in days creeping over him, like it always did with the Odair.

"How could anyone want to hurt you like that?"

"I'm all used up," Quinn lightly pushed him away when he went for a kiss. "Go find someone else, Finnick."

"I want you," the man leaned in once again.

"I'm all used up."

"I know how you feel, believe me," Finnick whispered against his neck. "I know you feel like something was stolen from you. I know you want to scratch your skin off. I'm not going to bruise you, my love."

Quinn found tears falling down his face, Finnick taking his jaw into his hands with a warm smile.

"You are far too gentle, don't you think?" Finnick hummed when he didn't get a reply, Quinn nodding softly in return. "You are so kind."

Quinn always found his heart swelling around Finnick. He had been called a lot of things, but never had it been kind. Finnick surprised him every day with a new word, a new tone that made Quinn ache when they were apart.

First it was gentle, kind, soft, loving, tranquil, surreal, it went on and on every day he was with Finnick.

No matter how revolting he found himself, even the nights where he was physically sick in the bathroom with Finnick hovering over him, the victor from Four had always treated him with such empathy.

Despite the lives Quinn had taken, despite it all, he was astonished by the way Finnick treated him.

"I adore you," Quinn whispered against his lips. "I adore you, I adore you, I adore you..."

Over and over and over, like a prayer while the two held each other close. Finnick brushed his lips over Quinn's forehead, the Killian finally relaxing into the touch.

He realized, only now, that his body felt so incredibly heavy. Quinn despised every single person that had been the cause of him feeling so drained.

The time he spent with Finnick was so close to his heart, so healing, and he wanted to revel in every single moment.

"The sea and the sand," he whispered fondly.

"The sea and the sand," came the echo.

Finnick; the sand sticking to your skin even when you swore it was all gone, unavoidable, consuming, always sturdy, and never wavering.

Quinn; the sea that was so untamable, reckless, would pull you under the tide with one wrong move and hold you there until your drown.

But at that calm place on the edge, where the sand met the sea was probably one of the most peaceful spots. Where you could always hold your footing, and the soft sound of the waves would grace your ears.

That was the best way to describe what Quinten Killian and Finnick Odair had.

The spot where the sea meets the sand.

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