Chapter Text
Mark did not volunteer.
His parents had long accepted that he was going to be the family disappointment. That was long before he was eligible for the Games. Mark was the less attractive son; the gangly, awkward one who laughs too loudly at inappropriate times. He considers himself, at the very least, to be considerably smarter than his older brother; but in the grand scheme things, that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters when your brother is Lee Taeyong, victor of the 98th Hunger Games and the Capitol’s sweetheart.
The 99th annual Games had been a massive failure; the arena was entirely underwater and all but five tributes died in the initial “bloodbath.” It wasn’t a bloodbath, those nineteen children drowned to death, all in a matter of minutes. Three of the remaining tributes teamed up against the other two, the pair from Four. Of course the tributes from Four, the fishing district, were able to survive in water. It came down to them in the end, after the tributes from One, Nine and Ten were unceremoniously swallowed by a sea serpent.
Jennie Kim was crowned the winner of the 99th Hunger Games after Song Minho impaled himself with his own spear to spare her life. From the initiating gong to the cannon for Minho’s death, the Games lasted six hours. All of the creative staff and Yang Hyunsuk, the Head Gamemaker, paid for their exquisite execution of his poor ideas with their lives.
Jennie is a recluse now. She might as well be dead.
No one cares about Jennie. The Capitol only cares about the dangerously pretty victor from the year prior, and Taeyong is pretty much regarded as the reigning victor.
The 98th Games were a hit in the Capitol, before, during, and after. It seemed to be mostly about Taeyong. As a rather attractive tribute from the more privileged District Two, this was to be expected, but Mark's sixteen year old self was proud of how well his brother had wrangled the unexpected publicity.
In the week before the Games, the training period, Taeyong was caught with his hand down the pants of a Capitol housekeeper, Kim Doyoung. The story blew up, and contrary to the fears of his parents, the Capitol ate it up. Forbidden love, the headlines called it, Lee Taeyong's passion and beauty and unwillingness to deny himself his desires.
Mark still thinks it was a sloppy handjob. No romanticization needed.
The arena was a desert. Sand and parched earth stretched for miles in any direction. There was a Cornucopia filled with weapons, and since this cast had been particularly liked, they were each awarded with a bag containing a water bottle, already full, and a sleeping bag.
At first, the Games were a little ridiculous. Each tribute spread out on the flat ground, mere yards apart, sipping their water and trying not to dehydrate in the dry, hot weather. Every now and then, a particularly bloodthirsty tribute from Ten, Choi Seungcheol, would challenge another person to a duel. Seungcheol always won.
After three days of this, and 6 lives under Seungcheol's belt, Taeyong receives a note from a sponsor, telling him to run to a cliff soon, and the numbers 0802.
A day later, when the fire starts, Taeyong runs.
It licks at his heels the entire way, but he gets to the cliff and jumps. The Capitol holds its breath.
Taeyong doesn't die. He falls on a jutted out platform but the impact stole the breath from his lungs. He murmurs those numbers — Mark's birthday — while he believes he is dying. A door reveals himself, and struck by sheer disbelief, Taeyong crawls through. The games become much more interesting.
There was an underground network of tunnels behind that door. There was water, and air conditioning, and Capitol food; like he'd won the Games already. Taeyong finally begins his killing, but from underground, shoving his sword through the thin layer of soil and someone's throat, or stomach, or eye. People are dropping like flies and the tributes are in constant panic because they don't know who's next.
The Capitol loves it. The Capitol loves him .
Once all of the average tributes are dead, Choi Seungcheol finds his way into the tunnels from a different entrance. Taeyong wastes no time cracking his opponent's skull against the concrete walls of his own personal paradise. The cannon sounds.
Taeyong wins.
Taeyong and Doyoung's reunion is televised and teary-eyed. The Capitol, the districts; everyone finds it precious. Mark supposes it is.
Taeyong stays in the Capitol for months, spending equal parts of his time falling in love and being the pretty apple of the Capitol's expensive eye. When he returns back to Two for the Victor's Tour, the applause is uproarious. Taeyong glows, pretty face unmarred even after those ten days of grit and violence, but this glow was different than usual. This glow was from victory and success. It was from pure, unadulterated love and admiration.
Taeyong is in love; he is beautiful and lethal, and above all, he is successful.
And Mark is, well, Mark.
His family had long accepted he would be the family disappointment, but seeing him hunched over and on the verge of tears standing in front of unarguably the most formidable district just solidified that image of him.
It didn’t help that he was chosen alongside Yeri, his best friend from childhood. She was standing with her chin held high and her face blank, yet beautiful. She was the very image of what people expected from District Two. That being said, she did not have any additional pressure on her shoulders.
Every twenty five years, the Capitol has a Quarter Quell. It is a version of the Hunger Games with a new sick twist that comes into effect at the reaping. These twists are meant to make the Games more personal, with more bloodshed, and in turn, more memorable.
In fact, the way President Lee Sooman introduced the Quell Twist was, “As a reminder to the Districts that even our strongest are at the mercy of the Capitol, the tributes for the one hundredth Hunger Games will be reaped from a pool of relatives from past tributes.”
Tributes. Meaning that if someone in your family has competed in the Games, you are eligible for reaping.
With the way Mark’s life usually goes, it’s no wonder he is the only tribute of twenty four that is reaped from a victor. The most beloved in Panem history, at that. He’s doomed from the start.
Mark is assigned a visitation room that he knows no one will visit him in. He can hear the doors to Yeri’s room opening and closing, can hear the tear stricken voices wafting through the thin walls. Mark envies her a bit. Yeri arranged her life in a way that she could be both Mark’s most loyal and thoughtful companion in addition to their high school’s golden girl. Once one person leaves, the next person comes in, and this continues for forty five minutes. In the back of his head, Mark knows that the only person who would have come to see him off is waiting in the Capitol, biting down on his fingernails in worry.
The Justice Building is musty and the smell only reinforces Mark’s dislike of the building. He passes this building every day on his way to school, and the district representative is always out in the front, smoking cigarettes and flicking the butts into the pretty grass. It’s gross and it irritates Mark, though far less than what actually goes on inside this building.
The slip of paper that sealed his fate is produced inside the building. It’s where his father works.
Mark’s father is a true District Two man. He pities the fact that he has never been chosen for a Games, so he married a woman who was a victor and the child of a victor. He also went and got a job in the building where all the magic happens. One day, he comes home and tells his family that he got to write Mark’s name down, and he looks as happy as Mark has ever seen him. His excitement is jarring; most parents wouldn’t be eager to send their child to death. Mark is so used to this behavior that it just rolls off his back without doing much damage.
Mark’s mother is a little more cautious about it. She still participates in her husband’s Hunger Games festivities, but she doesn’t ever pressure Mark into joining. She knows he hates everything the Games stand for, and cuts in whenever her husband gets a little aggressive about Mark’s lack of participation. Mark’s pretty grateful for his mother.
That being said, he’d much rather attend his father’s neighborhood 'Bloodbath Barbeque' instead of being inside the arena. That’s not an option anymore.
Mark heaves a sigh, looking out of the window in his room. From his position, he can see the main entrance of the hospital, and the air around it is still and unmoving. He sighs again, thinking about everything he’s leaving behind.
He’s always wanted to be a nurse. He genuinely likes to help people, but he doubts that he could perform under the pressure of the looming threat of death, so he feels that the job is suitable for him. He has an internship at the hospital, where he receives his medical education on top of his regular school work.
Mark bows his head and wills himself not to cry.
Reaping Days are always emotional; families are torn apart for the entertainment of rich merchants in the Capitol, who watch children die over racks of lamb and red wine. In poor districts, there's also added guilt, because once one child goes, that's one less mouth to feed, and thinking of a child, their child's death as anything positive rips people to shreds. Mark is privileged enough to live in Two, so he never sees anything like this with his own eyes, but he hears stories on the news. He reads the articles about families that literally die from guilt and sorrow, and thinks the other side of the reaping is almost as soul shattering as the one everyone acknowledges.
Mark can make that comparison because he's experienced both.
He distinctly remembers the day Taeyong leaves. Taeyong was strong for the public, and for the majority of his many, many adoring visitors, but cried in the arms of his little brother, letting his fear overtake them both. They've always been close, and this fact manifests itself in the way Taeyong's arms tremble around Mark's neck. It's Mark that has to detach Taeyong from himself, who has to be the sensible one and tell Taeyong that he has to go. Taeyong's sobs echoed in Mark's ears as he quietly left the Justice Building, and then Mark went home and responded with sobs of his own.
Reaping Days hurt—they are supposed to.
Days after Taeyong wins, Mark jokes with his mother, saying that if he ever gets reaped, to not come see him during his visitation hour. His mother, ever forgetful and rebellious, chooses this one sentence to remember and obey. His father, who didn't visit Taeyong, doesn't visit Mark either, claiming that 'visits are for pussies.' Mark doubts his father would want to see him like this.
The allotted hour is almost over when there's a knock on Mark's door. Shocked, he jolts up from his half asleep state just in time to see Joy and Seulgi, Yeri's girlfriend and best friend respectively, slip past his door.
They give him hugs first, express their sorry feelings about his fate. They are warm and comforting, and Mark is slightly less tense once they let him go.
"I didn't think I would have any visitors," Mark says, rubbing his thumb along his knuckles absentmindedly. It's something he does when he gets nervous, but he hasn't spent enough time around anyone but Yeri for them to pick up on it.
"Yeri said this room has been awfully quiet," Seulgi responds with a sad smile. "I think everyone deserves a warm goodbye."
"Ah, a pity goodbye?" Mark asks, smiling wistfully. It's what he expects.
"No, Mark. We came to offer words of encouragement," Joy reprimands gently.
She continues talking after Mark’s features arrange themselves into an expression of confusion. “We all know how you are, Mark. You like to protect and save everyone. And being reaped with someone like Yeri…”
“You guys are close,” Seulgi picks up from where Joy left off, but cannot seem to complete the thought herself. They are beating around the bush, Mark realizes.
“Are you two asking me to try to save her?” He asks, equal parts bewildered and confused. Bewildered because asking someone to sacrifice their life for their loved one is more than a little ridiculous, and confused because the idea of Mark being able to protect someone from anything is just about the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
Joy shakes her head feverishly. “No! No, oh my god. We could never ask that of you.”
“Then what are you asking?” Mark questions, leaning back on his hands that rest against the windowsill.
“We can’t ask you to protect her, or to even watch over her. But all we ask is that you’re not the one to kill her.”
Mark flinches at Seulgi’s request, the implication of it hitting him like a train. “What—You think I’d do that?”
“The Mark Lee standing in front of me would never dare,” Seulgi says. “But you don’t know what it’s like out there, what that kind of pressure can drive you to do.”
“Think about Boa. She was so sweet and bright before she was reaped, but she had the most kills in her Games and she was ruined when she came back,” Joy provides, and now their concerns make sense.
Kwon Boa won the eighty eighth Hunger Games at the ripe age of fourteen, the youngest ever. She was the brightest, most angelic girl while living her life in Two. She arrived in the Capitol and got a high score on her individual evaluation, and then the pressure comes. Everyone was so sure that she is going to win, making banners for her and cheering her name wherever they saw her in the rare moments when tributes are allowed to go outside, and anyone with functioning eyes could see the toll it was taking on her.
They are right though, she does win, a whopping fifteen kills under her belt, and all of them were on the offensive. She becomes a Capitol legend, but all of the smaller districts hate her because of her willingness to play. After getting booed everywhere but the Capitol and Career districts on the Victory Tour, Boa retired to the Victor’s Village and is a frequent abuser of alcohol and hallucinogens. Mark thinks really hard, but he doesn’t think he’s seen her sober after that tour.
“I won’t kill Yeri,” Mark promises, shudder passing through his spine.
“Good.”
A knock on the door rips their conversation apart. “Time’s up! Dismiss your visitor and come out to the train platform.”
Seulgi and Joy give him hugs once again before making their way out. Mark takes a deep breath and wishes the musty room goodbye.
Yeri makes her way out of the room at the same time, and they nonverbally decide to walk together, next to each other. To anyone else, it may seem like a strategy, present a united front and all of that jazz, but Mark thinks his best friend’s proximity is the only thing stopping him from making a run for it.
They follow the Peacekeeper to the platform, and suddenly there are cameras flashing everywhere. Yeri’s footsteps stutter unsurely, and Mark pities her. So when her hand timidly searches for his, he lets her take it, giving it her hand a reassuring squeeze.
They are from District Two. Mark knows they will be hot topics among Capitol people. He knows there will be some kind of headline about the tributes from Two holding hands, but in that moment, it doesn't matter. He wants to make Yeri feel better.
Yeri is back to her usual self in no time, coaxing laughs out of Mark as they reach the metal doors of the train. He’s cracking up as they step past them, his situation momentarily forgotten because the sensation of laughing with Yeri feels too familiar.
The peacekeeper that was leading them stops in front of another set of metal doors. “This is where I leave you. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”
He offers them each a handshake along with his genuine words and takes his leave. Mark thinks he’s oddly kind for a peacekeeper.
Even after the peacekeeper leaves, Mark and Yeri stand in front of the door, just looking at it. “Our escort and mentor are in there,” Yeri comments.
“Are you ready?” Mark asks. Yeri nods, and they step through the doors together. Mark is horrified to find a familiar face.
Irene is a sweet woman that was once Mark’s elementary school teacher at the Academy. She now works as a District Two escort, shoveling children back and forth to their deaths. She knows what her job is, and she barely stops herself from bursting into a fit of tears when she sees Mark and Yeri, all grown up and not sticky little five year olds, on their way to death.
She hugs them, and they are both shocked. There is a kind of familiarity and warmth in hugs that is not typical among tributes and their escorts. Mark’s heart aches, saturated with memories. He welcomes her embrace just as he had the ones from Joy and Seulgi.
“What am I to do?” Irene cries as she steps back to look at them. "My little babies, all grown up now.”
Yeri’s responding laugh is soft, like her. “It’s okay, Ms. Bae. You can still think of us as small children if you want. I’m sure Mark wouldn’t mind either,” she says, nudging him with her elbow.
Yeri’s calmness still confuses Mark. He’s always been the more cool headed one, the better equipped to handle stressful situations. The role reversal is difficult for him to wrap his head around.
“Where’s our mentor?” Yeri asked, slightly peering over Irene’s shoulder, as if the mentor would be hiding there.
“He is in the Capitol. He anxiously awaits your arrival,” Irene says, eyes flickering between them quickly.
Yeri smacks her teeth. “Ugh, it’s a guy? I wanted Yoona!”
Mark slaps her arm gently. “Don’t be an ass, Yeri. You’ll only know the mentor for about a week anyway.”
The way he phrases it is offensive and Mark knows it as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. It implies that Yeri won’t be coming back, reminds her that she’s going to die. She rolls her eyes, turning her back on Mark and asking Irene where she’s meant to sleep.
Mark means to apologize, but Yeri is swishing out of the room in her red dress before he can open his mouth. He knows everything is okay when she comes knocking on his room not even an hour later, poking her head in his room to ask, “Do you want to watch the reapings with me?”
No apology needed. They’re like siblings, arguing with no clear resolution, just reconciliation after a period of silence.
When they arrive in the common area, Irene is there too, with cookies and blankets. “I figured you would want something to eat before supper.”
Both Mark and Yeri thank her before they sit down next to each other. Irene turns the TV on, searching for the recording. Suddenly Leeteuk, the national announcer, is on the screen and oh. Mark didn’t know this was going to be a commentary.
Mark doesn’t particularly like Leeteuk. It was him who sold the information about Taeyong to the news stations, and even though they’ve never met, Mark will probably never forgive him for that.
Everyone watches in silence as two girls, Sana and Momo, are called from One, both of them crying. They forego standing on their separate pads, both coming together to stand on Sana’s while the national anthem plays once more before the ceremony closes.
Mark and Yeri are next, and the square in Two is surrounded by whoops and hollers, crackling with excitement. No one really notices Mark’s hunched over frame and Mark watches as himself from hours prior tries to coerce himself into smiling. It’s awkward, and so visibly ingenuine that he can’t help laughing at himself.
“That Mark Lee,” Leeteuk says, and the smile slides off of Mark’s face. “You’d think he would be stronger, with his brother, and that District Two victor's lineage. What a shame.”
The room is very quiet, and Mark doesn’t say anything. Leeteuk isn’t worth it.
The recording continues on, and the tributes from Three are called, but neither of them really catch his attention. There’s a seedy looking girl named Lisa from Four, but none of these tributes are particularly interesting. Or threatening for that matter.
A girl named Lee Jieun is called from District Seven, then Kim Doyoung is called right after and Mark’s blood runs cold in his veins. He thinks that there is perhaps another with that name, but when the man steps up with his hardened face, it’s unmistakable.
That’s Doyoung. Taeyong’s Doyoung.
There isn’t one bit of this that makes sense to Mark. Doyoung is a Capitol man, living in the Capitol with Taeyong in the lap of luxury. Why he is in District Seven and being reaped is beyond Mark’s mental capacity.
He gets up and leaves the couch, walking through the train cars to get to his room. He scavenges through the sheets, finally locating his phone, and he is dialing Taeyong’s number with shaking fingers. He picks up on the first ring.
“Doyoung?” Mark is the first to speak.
“Hello, Mark. How nice of you to call your brother after such a long time.”
“Cut the bullshit, Taeyong. Why is he in Seven? I thought he was in the Capitol with you.”
“His uncle,” Taeyong starts, voice quiet. “He died, and it was his money keeping Doyoung afloat. He had to move back to Seven for a little while to try to get things situated.”
“Go on,” Mark urges after Taeyong falls silent for a little while.
“Well, when you live in a district for more than six months, you have to register for citizenship,” Taeyong says, and Mark can pretty much hear his teeth digging into his lip in anxiety.
“Wait a minute,” Mark begins, finally becoming aware of why Taeyong would be nervous. “When I called you last month, you said he was there with you.”
“Yes.”
“And he wasn’t.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you come home?” Mark tries really hard not to sound like he’s wounded, but he knows he has failed when a soft sigh comes through the phone.
“I had to keep up the facade for him, Mark. He didn’t want anyone to know.” Taeyong’s voice sounds watered down and weary, and Mark decides to give him a break.
“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he decides to say, deeming it appropriate.
Taeyong scoffs at him. “I’m sorry this has happened to you ,” he counters.
Mark smiles despite himself. “I’ll find a way to visit you. I’ll sneak off the premises or something.”
“Mark—”
“I have to go, hyung. Yeri will kill me for running out on her if I don’t go back soon,” Mark cuts him off.
“Okay,” Taeyong says simply. “I’ll see you soon, Mark.”
“Bye, love you.” Mark says quickly, hanging up. The words felt odd in his mouth, but he doesn’t know if or when he will be able to see or talk to Taeyong before the Games start.
Mark arrives back in the living room in time to see a pair of tributes get whisked away, the crowd chanting ‘Avenge him!’ at an alarming volume. Mark can hardly hear the anthem as it plays, the distressed shouting drowning out the blaring of the recorded brass instruments.
“Wow,” Mark says. “What district is that?”
“Ten,” Yeri says, eyeballing him head to toe. “I hope you told Taeyong oppa I said hello.”
“I...didn’t,” Mark responds. “It’s okay, you can just come with me when I go visit him.”
“Visit him?” Irene cuts in, confused.
“You’d cover for us, right Ms. Bae?” Mark asks, batting his eyelashes. “I’d really like to see him.”
Irene pinches her lips tight. “Of course, honey. Anything for you.”
The train arrives at the station then, the recording coming to an end as well. Irene stands them and makes sure they look clean, presentable for the public.
“Okay, children. The beginning of your Hunger Games experience begins now.”
Mark’s hand finds Yeri’s without looking down, and together they step out of the train to meet their mentor for the first time. Mark is hoping for Shindong, Taeyong’s mentor. He marketed him in the best way and made sure he kept the sponsors coming.
“Taeyong?”
Mark’s voice comes out choked with shock. The train station has twelve separate entrances, one for each district. Underneath the '2', his elder brother is standing there in a sleeveless white shirt with a flannel wrapped around his small waist. He has a mask on his face, but Mark would know those eyes anywhere. He appears to be in training clothes, likely in an attempt to blend in, but they are in the Capitol. Everything is about drama and glamour, attempting to be superior, so Taeyong stands out like a sore thumb.
“Hi, Mark,” Taeyong says shyly.
Yeri giggles. “Look at the bright side, Mark. At least now you won’t have to sneak out to see him.”