a/n: so because I only wish massive amounts of pain on myself, I have written this lovely doomed ship some fic. This is for Jade.

Title comes from 'Turning Page' by Sleeping At Last, which, honest to god, is this ship's anthem.

–

bringing kingdoms to their knees

seneca/cinna

–

i.

Cinna has the most beautiful skin, and really, he was always the prettiest boy because he didn't have to change his face or hair or clothing to be considered beautiful. His mother used to tenderly run her fingers through his dark curls, whispering in his ear, 'don't you let them change you, baby, not ever.'

So he didn't. He didn't change when he entered the first year of design school and was told he would never become anything looking like that. He didn't change when he applied to work for the Games and was placed in District 12 after having noses turned up at him by other districts.

Cinna needs nothing more than gold eyeliner and a black t-shirt to make everyone around him envious. Katniss may have blamed herself, but he was a threat to the Capitol long before she ever volunteered. He was a time bomb, and there was only so much time left.

Seneca knows all about the lifestyle of the Capitol; he hears every rumor, sees every misguided look as the designer for 12 passes him during his first year as Game Maker. Maybe it's because he doesn't smell like roses and his dark skin is unblemished, but Seneca can't breathe until the scent of cinnamon has left his senses.

It's easy to slip into watching Cinna when he casually breezes through Capitol meetings, his fingers constantly stained with charcoal dust, sketch book never out of his sight. He doesn't speak much, it seems that he's smart enough not to gossip, but foolish enough to think no one will ever notice. Because Seneca can't stop noticing him.

A lot of Capitol residents think Seneca enjoys his job, and many praise him for the edginess he's brought with him to the arena. But Cinna's not stupid. No one enjoys the Games – not Snow, not Seneca, and not even the citizens of Panem. They're expected to enjoy them, so they've deluded themselves into thinking they do. He refuses to live in a world where everyone is just fine with ruining the innocence of children and stripping teenagers of all their dignity.

(When Katniss Everdeen sits in his styling room, he knows this one is a fighter. She will not lose her dignity, though she lost her innocence long ago. He knows then and there he's going to fight until the end for her.)

He finds Seneca after Katniss is nearly burned alive, and forces him against a wall, elbow to throat.

"Nice touch with the fire, Game Maker, but it'll take a helluva lot more to bring that girl down." His words are laced, and he knows Seneca understands, because he doesn't fight. "If she dies because of what you did, I don't care what happens to me, I will find you."

He releases the other man, and turns, not realizing Seneca's eyes following his every movement, more in awe of hearing him speak than having his life threatened.

–

ii.

There's a moment, somewhere between the tracker jackers and Katniss waking up that Cinna has to leave the room. He walks and walks and walks until his legs give out and he falls against a wall in the dying light of the sun. He doesn't cry, (he stopped crying a long time ago), but he places his face in his hands and prays.

It's stupid to pray. He doesn't even really believe in anything, but he just wants it to all stop. He wants to give that little girl another shot at life. One she never truly received.

"She's okay." It's a soft voice, familiar in it's smoothness that greets his ears, and Seneca's small shadow embraces the designer. "She's asleep, but the little girl from 11 is taking care of her."

He knows that what Seneca is doing is technically illegal. He's not supposed to talk about any of these things to people close to the tributes, but what Cinna doesn't understand is why? Why risk himself like that?

"Look, I know you think I want her dead, but I don't want anyone dead." He breathes very quietly, almost like Cinna imagined the words.

"You know what it's like here. Sometimes you have to use what power you're given to try and right the wrongs." His cryptic words don't make much sense to Cinna, but he stands, his legs not betraying him, strong and proud.

His dark eyes latch onto the hypnotizing shade of blue coloring Seneca's, and for the first time he really sees the Game Maker. The bags under his eyes hidden by make up, the bitten nails on his hands, even the nervous tick of his fingers. Cinna wishes irrationally to reach out and hold Seneca's hands until they stop shaking.

"How do you do it?" Seneca finally asks, his eyes firmly on the concrete ground, "How do you just... not care what they think?" How do you not fear them? How do you not fear me?

Cinna just smiles a little, "I didn't let them change me. I don't care because even if they beat me, they won't break me, they'll just kill me." He shrugs, plucking absentmindedly at his shirt, "I'm not afraid of death. Anything's gotta be better than here."

It would probably be strange if there were any on lookers to see these two men, so stark in contrast, six inches apart. So that, when their lips touch, neither is really sure who leaned in first, but Cinna can feel the smooth texture of Seneca's beard against his own chin.

The kiss is effortless, like sketching and singing, he forgets that they are in public and they'll probably be killed for this, but instead allows himself to feel the warmth of another person, heart thudding under his hands.

How he'll miss that heartbeat, later.

–

iii.

Seneca doesn't make Katniss a martyr. Snow expects it, demands it, but he won't. He knows he won't when he catches Cinna's quiet eyes waiting for him to enter the side door into his room. He won't hurt Cinna like that, not when he's just gotten this small taste of forever.

He will later regret thinking that anything in this world could be as permanent as forever.

They work together in the dark, cool hands clutched in a firm grip, and lips exploring places that would cause blushes during daylight hours. Cinna finds a release from everything that the Capitol has tried to take from him and Seneca gets what he's always wanted since he first laid eyes on him: Cinna. It's not a struggle of power, both men equal in their passion and desire.

Five days is all they're given. Five days of whispered secrets in dark rooms and gentle smiles in public. Five days. But it's enough. Enough time to watch nearly all the tributes die. And even enough time to fall in love.

He kisses Cinna goodbye the night before the victors are declared, his lips drier than usual and his kiss more desperate. He knows what awaits him, but he wants to make sure someone will care when his body is lifeless on the floor.

He's taken into the cool room, nightlock before him, and he closes his eyes. He wonders what they'll do to Cinna, but then he thinks of his words from so many days before, "I'm not afraid of death."

So with eyes closed, he pulls two berries up and places them in his mouth and his last thought is of Cinna's dark skin in the glow of the dying sun.

–

Cinna's strong. He doesn't cry when he hears of Seneca's death. He doesn't cry when he finds out that he wasn't even buried. He doesn't cry when Katniss and Peeta are sentenced back into the arena. He doesn't cry because he's too intent on avenging Seneca's memory and Katniss' future.

He carries a faded picture in the corner of his sketchbook, it's of Seneca during an interview with Caeser Flickerman, but he's smiling a soft and real smile. Sometimes he can't look at it, his chest swelling with anger and injustice and heartbreak.

Still, he soldiers on, designing wedding dresses and secret outfits. He makes sure that Katniss is given the send off she deserves during her interviews and makes peace with his demons. He wishes he could tell her about Seneca and love and that it was going to be okay.

He doesn't speak when she is put in the tube, though he sees the men reflected in her eyes before they grab him. The pain is blinding, but only for a split second. They don't drag it out, not like they had with others before him.

They place his face on the ground and as they lift the gun, he clutches the picture in his jacket pocket, thinking that no, death won't be so bad, after all.