Author Games: Panem Entangled

When You Have No More Friends </3 | Entries 1-6

District 1 Male: Morgan Ruidhir

Regardless of how diligently he'd trained, the Games had thoroughly exhausted Morgan. A dull ache had settled deep into his bones, sapping the strength from his limbs even as he slept or ate or rested. It might have been the environment, gloomy and metallic where Morgan had always sought out life; it might have been the pressure, the eyes constantly peering at Morgan from district squares and marketplaces across Panem; but it was certainly not Nereus Ramsay, because when Nereus glanced at Morgan or brushed up against his still-bleeding arms, Morgan forgot that he ached at all.

Nereus was energy, raw and untapped, and he hovered and buzzed just beyond Morgan's fingertips. In the abandoned hallways of the Gamemakers' maze, Morgan would catch Nereus smiling every so often, revealing brief flashes of teeth before turning away, and suddenly the overhead glow of lightbulbs would become outmatched by the blaze of a sun. Nereus would linger at the thresholds of doorways and hold out a hand in warning, instructing Morgan to wait until he'd confirmed the area was safe, and yet Morgan would follow him anyway. How could he not follow Nereus? He wouldn't wait behind Nereus, letting the bolder boy protect him; he wouldn't charge ahead, letting that untidy mop of hair and alabaster complexion disappear from his sight; and so he would walk in Nereus's footsteps, letting the unwavering glow of Nereus's face soothe his wounds, feeling as if he would never need or want to close his eyes again.

They'd have to leave the maze eventually. Bafflingly, there seemed to be no end to the metal corridors and winding passageways—every corner seemed to be one that they'd rounded before, and every room resembled the one behind it. Nereus would want to escape, Morgan knew; Nereus was the type to avoid confinement, to kick and claw his way out of cramped spaces like these never-ending hallways. With each doorway they passed, Nereus seemed to scan his surroundings with a bit more urgency, and his eyebrows seemed to furrow deeper into his marble skin. Finding an exit would be best, before the smallness of their environment caused Nereus to fracture and burst.

But Morgan found that the maze didn't bother him. Whenever Nereus looked behind him and offered that half-smile, as if he was only now realizing that Morgan hadn't fled into the maze alone, the inside of Morgan's chest would burn just as fiercely as the tips of his ears. When Nereus looked like that, almost placid in spite of his limitless energy, Morgan could forget that they were trapped and that the world watched them as they scampered through a Gamemaker experiment. He could forget that Nereus was likely stronger and smarter than him, that Nereus might have preferred a mirror-man whose depth could match his own, that Morgan had never proven enough for anyone whose blood did not run through his veins. No, these fragments of time were moments in which Nereus and Morgan were alone, and Morgan was unabashedly himself, and Nereus was content all the same.

Nereus wasn't content, not really. Morgan knew this, knew that he was agitated in spite of the distraction that Morgan provided. The maze made Nereus's movements jerky and his gait uneven, and he swore every time they'd turned a corner and the doorway to the outside world did not loom in front of them. Nothing Morgan did would help, not the usual strategizing or joking or bantering, and so he remained silent as the maze stretched onward. He might have basked in the golden glow that had enveloped him, but instead he found himself worrying, and soon the weight of Nereus's discomfort grew larger than Morgan's personal gratification.

As they entered another empty room, Nereus's hands practically shook. Morgan could look at nothing but the subtle tremor in his fingers, the taut blue veins that cut through his wrist, and suddenly Morgan was grasping Nereus's hand without quite realizing that he was doing so.

"You all right?" said Morgan quietly. These were the first words he'd spoken in a while, and they seemed to fall as soon as they'd left his mouth, struck down by the weight of the atmosphere.