The Desert's Edge ➣ Gloss/OC

That burns the brighter with each pass of time;

Chapter Six | That burns the brighter with each pass of time;

"Tut, man, one fire burns out another's burning;

One pain is lessened by another's anguish."

1.2, 45-46 Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare

It's been four months since that breakfast between Gloss and her. She hasn't seen him since, unless of course you count seeing his face on the TV screen or on Capitol Weekly's cover page. She doesn't. It's okay, though. Elara's glad. She doesn't want to rely on a District 1 Victor who she probably won't even see until the next Games. They live hundreds of miles away from each other and she doesn't need him anyway.

It's just nice. Having someone. Being in someone's arms. It's nice to know that she can still feel something sincere. That the desire she occasionally has for him is not fake or exaggerated like it is for her clients.

That's all there is to it. She knows he would never want more from her, and she doesn't even think she wants more from him either. Besides, it's not as if they ever could have more, so why bother thinking about it at all?

She tells herself that, but it doesn't work. When she's lying in a stranger's bed in the Capitol, waiting for her client to fall asleep so she can go home, she wishes she was in Gloss's bed. She tries to trick her mind into believing that she is. That she can smell his cologne and feel his body next to hers. That the arm thrown around her waist is his. That the moans which spill against her skin belong to him.

She doesn't know, exactly, why she does it to herself. Maybe it's because he's the only person she's been with so far who has actually cared about making sure she's comfortable. That, in the two times they've been intimate, he's never treated her like some plaything that he owns. A part of her wishes she'd never gotten involved with him at all, because it only makes everything that much harder. She doubts that there is anyone in the Capitol who could ever live up to the standards he has set.

Maybe that's why she finds herself standing outside of his apartment door, the next time she's in the Capitol and has a night to herself. Maybe that's why she knocks on it before she can stop herself.

God, what is she doing? She doesn't even know if he's here or if he's in District 1. If he's not here, she's wasted a trip. And if he is...

She finds herself both hoping and berating herself simultaneously, even as the doorknob turns and Gloss appears on the other side. And – she just stares at him in total silence, suddenly not knowing what to say, or why she's here, or how he could possibly help.

He looks understandably confused when he says, "...Winston? What are you doing here?"

Suddenly mortified, Elara stares at him in stricken silence and doesn't respond. She wishes she hadn't come. What had she been thinking? She's supposed to be realistic and grounded and here she is, going to him like this – and for what?

She can't answer his question because even she doesn't know why she's here. All she knows is that she really wants to see him again. He makes her feel safe in this great big city where she's all alone and hardly human.

Gloss stares at her for a long moment, watching her open her mouth, then close it. The process repeats a few times until he grows impatient, grabs her wrist, and tugs her into his apartment. He tells himself it's because if someone sees them, the tabloids would go crazy and Snow would be furious, but the real reason is because in a way, he's missed her, too.

It's probably silly. He barely knows her, and yet he rather likes what he does know. He likes her dry sarcastic drawl and he likes the sound of her voice in the mornings, when it's creased with sleep. He likes when she wears the color red because it makes her hair turn into fire, and he likes how confident she pretends to be, even though he knows that at least part of it is an act.