[drabble] Stardust
This shouldn't even get a title, but it is basically part two of the previous post. breila_rose took issue with my casting James as Cinna for realsies, because apparently Annie is Finnick's one true love and James HAS to be Annie. So I agreed to write her a drabble where James is Annie. Which I have.
It is very short.
For you, bb.
Stardust
588
Kendall/James
---
When they call James’s name at the Reaping, Kendall’s first thought is: this is a joke. Because Kendall already lived through hell. How can they condemn him to another bout of the same? Worse, by proxy, because it is James.
James, who is his light.
James, who keeps him going through the night terrors and the cold, numb days.
Beautiful, insufferable James, the love of Kendall’s goddamned life.
It isn’t fair. James is eighteen. It’s his last year. And yet, he’s drawn the short straw. Kendall is no longer even eligible to take his place. So.
A joke.
It must be.
Except that the Capitol does not have a sense of humor.
Kendall finds comfort in the idea that James is a career, like him. He’ll be fine. That’s what Kendall tells himself. Over and over and over again. James will be fine.
He trains him. He gets him all the best sponsors. Kendall makes sure that James will want for nothing. But James is not fine. He is not cut out for blood or gore or death rattles. Despite all his time lifeguarding their white sand beaches back home, he can’t handle it when someone’s pulse dwindles to nothing beneath his fingertips.
And then James's District partner, Camille, loses her head, courtesy of a sweet faced blonde from District One, and James loses it completely.
Watching the final hours of the Games, Kendall thinks of home. He clutches his fingers into the smooth, suede surface of his viewing couch and thinks of nights where he and James would stare at the sky, watching comets slice through the black like dolphins through waves.
James would dig his hands into the sand, sifting grains through his fingers. “You know what this is?”
“Quartz, garnet, chert-“ Kendall began ticking off his fingers, reciting back what he’d learned in school.
James threw a handful into his face, most of it catching in the sea breeze. “No, idiot.” In a reverent voice, he said, “It’s stardust.”
Kendall laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed. “Stardust?”
Looking back on it, he wasn’t very nice. James was right to tackle him, to tickle him, to make him beg for mercy.
Kendall still couldn’t help laughing, even after he admitted surrender. “Stardust. What idiot told you that?”
James punched his arm, but it didn’t hurt. He was lying sprawled across Kendall’s body, too lazy to move far. “We learned it in school, moron.”
“When?”
“When they talked about how the world was made. From stardust.”
Kendall did not remember that lesson, but he may have been sleeping. Or James just might have heard wrong. That happened a lot. “So it’s not just the sand then.”
“Nope,” James smiled, one of those huge beaming grins that stretched across his face and lit him up brighter than the lighthouse looming in the distance. Maybe he was kidding or maybe he wasn’t. Did it really matter? Kendall hugged him tight, happy.
He loved James more than he’d ever known he could.
“Right. So you? You’re stardust?”
James nodded eagerly. “You too.”
“Great.” Kendall nuzzled into his neck, kissed the shell of his ear. “I feel so enlightened.”
“You should.” James bit his lip and looked up at the sky, the moon, the stars. “One day we’ll be stardust again.”
Those words had weight that Kendall never let himself consider until now. In the present, Kendall whispers, “But not today, James.”
The arena begins to fill with water. A monsoon. A flood. A blessing.
Like a mantra, Kendall repeats, “Not today.”
It is very short.
For you, bb.
Stardust
588
Kendall/James
---
When they call James’s name at the Reaping, Kendall’s first thought is: this is a joke. Because Kendall already lived through hell. How can they condemn him to another bout of the same? Worse, by proxy, because it is James.
James, who is his light.
James, who keeps him going through the night terrors and the cold, numb days.
Beautiful, insufferable James, the love of Kendall’s goddamned life.
It isn’t fair. James is eighteen. It’s his last year. And yet, he’s drawn the short straw. Kendall is no longer even eligible to take his place. So.
A joke.
It must be.
Except that the Capitol does not have a sense of humor.
Kendall finds comfort in the idea that James is a career, like him. He’ll be fine. That’s what Kendall tells himself. Over and over and over again. James will be fine.
He trains him. He gets him all the best sponsors. Kendall makes sure that James will want for nothing. But James is not fine. He is not cut out for blood or gore or death rattles. Despite all his time lifeguarding their white sand beaches back home, he can’t handle it when someone’s pulse dwindles to nothing beneath his fingertips.
And then James's District partner, Camille, loses her head, courtesy of a sweet faced blonde from District One, and James loses it completely.
Watching the final hours of the Games, Kendall thinks of home. He clutches his fingers into the smooth, suede surface of his viewing couch and thinks of nights where he and James would stare at the sky, watching comets slice through the black like dolphins through waves.
James would dig his hands into the sand, sifting grains through his fingers. “You know what this is?”
“Quartz, garnet, chert-“ Kendall began ticking off his fingers, reciting back what he’d learned in school.
James threw a handful into his face, most of it catching in the sea breeze. “No, idiot.” In a reverent voice, he said, “It’s stardust.”
Kendall laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed. “Stardust?”
Looking back on it, he wasn’t very nice. James was right to tackle him, to tickle him, to make him beg for mercy.
Kendall still couldn’t help laughing, even after he admitted surrender. “Stardust. What idiot told you that?”
James punched his arm, but it didn’t hurt. He was lying sprawled across Kendall’s body, too lazy to move far. “We learned it in school, moron.”
“When?”
“When they talked about how the world was made. From stardust.”
Kendall did not remember that lesson, but he may have been sleeping. Or James just might have heard wrong. That happened a lot. “So it’s not just the sand then.”
“Nope,” James smiled, one of those huge beaming grins that stretched across his face and lit him up brighter than the lighthouse looming in the distance. Maybe he was kidding or maybe he wasn’t. Did it really matter? Kendall hugged him tight, happy.
He loved James more than he’d ever known he could.
“Right. So you? You’re stardust?”
James nodded eagerly. “You too.”
“Great.” Kendall nuzzled into his neck, kissed the shell of his ear. “I feel so enlightened.”
“You should.” James bit his lip and looked up at the sky, the moon, the stars. “One day we’ll be stardust again.”
Those words had weight that Kendall never let himself consider until now. In the present, Kendall whispers, “But not today, James.”
The arena begins to fill with water. A monsoon. A flood. A blessing.
Like a mantra, Kendall repeats, “Not today.”