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Michael looks up at the sky with a sigh. The sun is already up and he knows he should get back home if he doesn’t want to be late for this yearʼs lottery. He loves getting lost in the woods, but timeʼs up and he has to be at his best during the lottery if he doesn’t want to risk his family being punished once again.
He hastily makes his way back to the barracks where he moved a year ago, when they got Max and Rosa back in pieces after their intense but short participation in the Hunger Games. He couldn’t stand the general air of creepiness and sadness that took over Isobelʼs house after they buried Max, and he wouldn’t stay where he wasnʼt welcome — Ann Evans had made it abundantly clear in the wake of Max’s demise. Michael had had to fend for himself once again, just like when he was an undernourished child living off the streets in District 12, way before Isobel and Max took him under their wing.
The activity in his neighborhood is crazy, even more so than usual. Mothers are making sure their kids look presentable for the lottery, combing hands through unruly hair as though a clean appearance might bring them luck and keep them out of danger. Michael can see whole families hugging their eligible children as though theyʼre going to war.
Maybe they are.
He rushes into his own barrack, and throws the bow heʼs been using to hunt some meat for himself and the rest of his street, one of the most endangered by the poverty devastating the district. Today he hasnʼt had luck and heʼs come back empty-handed, but he has a more important task now. He needs to remain in the district and not be selected in order to keep making sure the poorest of his neighbors have a chance of surviving the winter.
He changes into an almost-clean shirt that once was white, and adjusts his trousers. His boots could use a bit of shining, but there’s no time for that. He casts a glance at himself in one half-broken mirror before rushing out again, making his way to the drawing before Panem police officers are set to chase him through the streets. They have done it more than twice in the few years Michael has been eligible, and he doesn’t want a reenactment of being dragged through the mud and punished for not being in time for the lottery.
He makes a beeline for his spot in the queues, and greets Isobel who’s standing at the other end of the lane, dressed in a beautiful purple dress with her hair braided along with a few flowers. Beside her, Maria DeLuca and Liz Ortecho are looking way more nervous than they should — it’s their last drawing, they will all be over eighteen the next time the lottery takes place, and therefore all they have to do is survive this and manage not to be chosen before they can live the rest of their lives being poor but alive. He can only wave at Isobel before the draw starts.
They go through the motions, explaining once again the mechanisms and how the Games work, and then an innocent hand — and how does Michael want to laugh at those words and the irony they hold — is drawing the name of the one girl from District 12 whoʼs going to die for them all.
“Isobel Evans!”
And his whole world crumbles.
He hears the cries at the other side of the lane; heʼs able to distinguish Ann Evansʼ anguished scream and Isobelʼs fainting protests, and heʼs moving before his mind can even register what his body is doing. All he thinks is that he canʼt lose another person to this insanity.
“I volunteer as a tribute!” he shouts before he can stop himself.
There’s ruckus around him, whispers that sound like gunshots to his ears, and the distinct noise of the people gathering to watch him. He looks at Isobel, whoʼs staring back at him as though heʼs gone crazy all of a sudden, and he attempts to smile. He’s sure it comes out as a grimace.
“You canʼt volunteer for her,” heʼs told by someone who looks like they live in District 1, but he isn’t paying attention. He should have caught the names of the important people at the lottery, but instead heʼs trying to make Isobel understand that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her. “If you want to volunteer, we won’t draw for a boy, but she goes up.”
“Let him,” comes a voice Michael has learned to fear, and he’s not scared easily.
Jesse Manes steps up, the sound of his boots stomping on the dusty ground echoing through the open space. “Let him volunteer, and draw another boy. Let the girls have a respite this year.”
“I don’t think that’s how—”
“Do it,” he cuts off the woman in charge — Michael should really have learned her name — with a small hint of impatience in his voice. “I’m sure there won’t be any problem about it. This way, Guerin here can prove his value in the Games.”
Michael looks down at his feet, suddenly embarrassed. He knows Jesse Manes holds a grudge against him, and he’s also aware that having Jesse Manes as an enemy — the richest man in all of District 12, the only one capable of surviving when his own chance came to take part in the Hunger Games — is not his best chance at surviving in the first place. But Jesse Manes sending him off to the Games with his blessing means that he’s going to get what he’s always wanted — this is the man who’s sent three out of his four sons to play the Games.
None have come back.
Michael knows that he stands very little chance of survival. And he wants to survive, but he doesn’t want to live in a world where there’s no Max and no Isobel. He missed his chance at making amends with Max before he left for the Games last year, and now it’s too late for him to apologize to Max and tell him that he was right — Michael’s always been reckless and impulsive, and he’s so sorry about their stupid, petty fight that ended with Max coming back dead when he was so close to winning, a fight that hasn’t reached its finish line for Michael.
He can’t lose Isobel too.
He can’t.
He steps up. Some men from the organization grab his arm and push him forward until he stumbles onto the makeshift stage and decides to look on, actively avoiding Isobel’s gaze that he can feel burning holes in his already frayed clothes.
The hand is at it once again, and Michael focuses, wishing, hoping, no one he actually knows is chosen. But once again, the draw is cut off when a voice interrupts whatever nonsense is being said.
“I volunteer as a tribute!”
Just when he thought his would be the only surprise of the day — mainly because he hadn’t planned on volunteering to put his life on the line — it seems that fate has something in store for him.
Michael recognizes the voice; he feels a shiver crawling up his skin when he focuses on the scene unfolding before him.
Alex Manes, Jesse Manes’ fourth son and the only one who’s still alive, is stepping up and all but throwing himself to the guards. Michael has gone to school with him, and he’d deny ever thinking about it, but he’s always found Alex’s eyes mesmerizing, Alex’s laugh enthralling.
Alex Manes is the reason why Michael’s persona non grata to Jesse Manes.
Michael watches on as the boy walks to the stage, wobbly-legged and unsteady, and he feels sorry for him; he can even feel a slight remorse because it’s common knowledge that whoever District 12 sends to the games, they always come back dead. He’s lived through it. He knows what he’s talking about. At the same time, he feels an immense relief — at least he won’t be paired up with someone he doesn’t even know.
At least he won’t die alone.
“What are you trying to do, Michael?” Isobel asks him when it’s time for families to bid their farewells. She’s snuck inside the tent, because it’s a widespread knowledge that Michael has no family left — or any, at all. “You’re going to get yourself killed, just like Max!”
“At least it won’t be you, Iz,” he mutters, half suffocating in her scent as she hugs him closer to her chest. “I can’t breathe, Iz.”
“Serves you well,” Isobel huffs, holding him tighter. “If I manage to make you lose consciousness, maybe they’ll take you out of that stupid drawing and put someone else’s name in your place. I can’t lose you too.”
“You won’t lose me, I swear,” Michael promises, but he knows it’s a feeble thing to say — words swept away by the wind of the future that comes barrelling in at the speed of lightning. “I’ll come back.”
“You better.” Isobel steps backwards, wiping at a tear rolling down her cheek. “I feel bad for Alex, though.”
“He’s coming back with me,” Michael tells her, feigning a confidence he doesn’t really feel. “Trust me on this.”
“There’s only one winner, ever, Michael,” Isobel points out. “If he’s coming back, then you aren’t. And if you are, then he isn’t. And I don’t know if Liz will ever get over him dying, so soon after Max. And Maria, you can’t forget about—”
Michael hugs her this time, trying to calm her and hushing her. He knows she’s worried about Max’s girlfriend and her own girlfriend — even after Max’s demise, Liz Ortecho has still remained part of their little found family, and things with Maria have been progressing according to Isobel. Michael knows Isobel is worried, but all he can do now is feed her empty promises.
“We will come back. I can make it work, for the two of us. I swear, Isobel, I’m coming back to you. And when I do, I will make sure you move in with your girlfriend to the fancy house they’re giving us.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she says, wiggling a finger in front of his face.
“I hope you do.”
Michael can see how Alex is talking to his father — they’re standing a few feet apart, and Alex is kind of giving his father a military salute. Michael shudders. He knows how bad things at home are for Alex, and he can only hope Alex hasn’t thought that going to the Games is his only way out of the hell he’s living in.
They’ve been friends for a long time — at least until Jesse Manes upped and threatened Michael if he stood closer than twenty feet from his son — and Michael’s been in love with Alex for almost as long. Not that heʼs said anything — heʼs sure Alex doesn’t feel the same — but befriending the youngest Manes has been both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because Alex gives so much of himself that Michael has always felt like he was invincible by his side. And a curse, because Alex’s father has always thought Michael would corrupt his perfect little soldier born to die — and wouldn’t Michael actually enjoy corrupting Alex.
The train trip up to District 1 is a blur. Michael finds out that Jesse Manes is traveling with them pretty early — itʼs difficult for him to ignore the fact that the older man is sitting between Alex and Michael — and he tries to avoid him as much as possible. He learns that Jesse will be the one managing their sponsors, just like he did with his other sons; Michael hopes they don’t end up drowning like Jesse Jr, or crushed under a rock like Gregory, or roasted like Flint. Never has a sponsor saved a District 12 life, not before Jesseʼs Games and certainly never after. He has no hope for a different outcome this time.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Alex says when they’ve almost reached their destination, startling Michael.
“Donʼt scare me like that!” he admonishes. He pats the seat next to him and Alex takes it, both staring out of the window for a long moment before Michael breaks the silence. “Why did you do it?”
Alex sighs. “I should have volunteered a long time ago. I guess I got fed up of sharing the same air as my father.”
“You could have always moved out,” Michael points out jokingly. “I know that all you Manes men think itʼs your duty to fight for us, but you really donʼt have to. You could have been the first Manes to survive.”
“Iʼd have been the only Manes in two generations to escape the Games,” Alex tells him. “And Iʼd have been the second to survive, Guerin.”
“Semantics,” Michael’s feeble attempt at humor dies down in his throat when he sees the way Alex is looking out the window, the outline of his jaw a tinge of sickening yellow in the shape of fingers, and he can imagine the hand tightening around the neck with enough pressure to leave a mark that would fade in a few days.
The terror it incites will not disappear so easily.
“My father says we will need sponsors,” Alex says slowly, eyes never leaving the landscape quickly passing outside. “I don’t know how we will manage it, given that we’re from District 12, and we’re two guys instead of a boy and girl. No one will want to sponsor us.”
“We’ll make do, Alex,” Michael promises. He leans in, hands stretching over the small wooden table in between them, and he taps on the surface. “We will survive, I promise.”
“Don’t,” Alex cuts him off. “Don’t go making promises you can’t keep, Guerin. Only one survives.”
“This year, there will be two,” Michael insists.
“Listen to me, Guerin,” Alex says, his voice steel in a way Michael hasn’t ever heard. He’s sounding like a real Manes man now, and Michael hates it. “This is a last man standing kind of situation, you know. There’s never been two survivors, and this year’s edition won’t be the first. I’m trying to make you the first District 12 survivor since my father made it when he was fifteen.”
“And I’m telling you, Manes,” Michael growls, tired of Alex trying to feed him nonsense about only one surviving. He’s a fighter, and Alex is a fighter, and together they will make it through the motions and escape that hell they’ve watched broadcast for everyone to see for years. Michael’s not having any different outcome. “I’m making sure we’re coming back, the two of us. I promised, and I always keep my promises.”
“Maybe this time you shouldn’t have promised something you knew you couldn’t do,” Alex scoffs.
“Why are you fighting me when I’m trying to keep you alive? Why do you have so much desire to die?” Michael asks, and it’s seemingly the worst thing to question, for Alex stands up in a huff and leaves Michael alone with his thoughts.
Shockingly, they manage to find themselves a few sponsors. Michael thinks it might be due to the fact that they’re the only same-sex pair, but he also believes that nobody could ever deny anything to Alex when he simply stares at the camera during their interviews and says that all he wants is for Michael to come back alive, even if it’s alone.
“Watch out!” Michael screeches, but his warning comes out late and the tree falls in the middle of the clearing right where Alex has been standing, trying to get unhooked from one of the traps planted in the woods to get to the tributes and trick them into falling to their demise. “Alex!”
He can feel the blow himself, even if he hasn’t been hit by the tree. He feels it down to the very core of his existence, the way Alex falls to the ground underneath a pile of wood that’s too heavy to be lifted one-handedly. He shudders when the trunk hits Alex’s leg, he cringes at the sound it makes while breaking bones and crushing hopes.
“Hold on, hold on,” he chants, trying to calm Alex down as he cries out in pain. Michael feels it down to his soul, ripped into by waves of distress and ache. “I’ll lift it.”
“You can’t,” Alex tells him, clutching his leg right above the knee, where the tree hasn’t really reached him. “I’m stuck.”
“I’ll free you.”
“You can’t,” Alex insists. “Just let go, Michael. Let it be you. Don’t fight it. Please.”
“I’m not leaving you to die here,” Michael shakes his head. “There’s another tribute out there. You should save your energy. We’ll wait for her to just—”
“Don’t,” Alex finally whispers. “Please.”
Michael has never been good at denying Alex anything. So he just sits there, watching for any threats that might show up, ready to fight, but nothing comes for the longest time. He thinks that maybe the powers that be are waiting for Alex to finally die so they can have a girl and a boy fighting for survival in extreme conditions.
He loses track of time quite soon, but he doesn’t even try to blame himself. He’s too busy getting lost in Alex’s gaze as he slowly fades in and out of consciousness.
There’s a loud noise, and Michael realizes it’s to mark one tribute’s death. It isn’t Alex, because Michael’s making sure he’s alive underneath the rubble and the trunk, that his heart’s still beating — fast and a little unsteadily, but definitely there — so if it isn’t Alex, then Michael has very few other options. They’ve been down to three for the past four days — just them and the one girl tribute for District 3, all the others having failed in their quest somehow — so if Michael’s alive and he’s making Alex keep breathing, then it means—
It means they’ve won.
He feels Alex’s breath catching in his throat, and Michael turns his gaze from the sky, lit in a million colors now, to Alex’s eyes, half-closed and laden with pain. “Keep your eyes open, sweetheart,” Michael whispers. “We’ve made it. We’ve won.”
“No, Michael,” Alex murmurs back, voice just a tiny thread, barely audible. “You’ve made it.”
“No,” Michael refuses to let him go, grabbing his hand and holding it tight. “It’s us. Do you hear me?” he exclaims, looking around for the rest of the world to see his pain. He doesn’t really care about it being screened for everyone to witness — he needs the attention because he’s planning to use the grief to his own benefit, same as he’s been doing for the whole time they’ve been stuck in this atrocious world. “Keep breathing, Alex. I’m lifting the tree.”
“You can’t,” Alex pants just in time for Michael to try and move the trunk, unsuccessfully. The tree just weighs too much, and even if Michael’s used to surviving for a few days in the woods back home, he’s spent too many days carrying on with nothing more than a few berries and some precious sips of water. He isn’t strong, at least not strong enough to lift a whole tree off Alex’s body. “Let it be, Michael.”
“That’s the third time you’ve called me by my name,” he whispers, lying down beside Alex and resting his head in the crook of his own elbow, so close to Alex that he can feel his shallow breath on his skin. “I kinda like it. D’you think you could keep doing that for me?”
“I can try,” Alex whispers back, eyes closing. His breath stutters, and Michael has to bite back a sob. The tree has crushed Alex’s right leg, and even if he could free Alex, Michael isn’t sure he’d keep the leg. “It hurts.”
“Saying my name hurts?”
“Breathing hurts,” Alex confesses. Michael can see a drop of blood escaping Alex’s mouth, and he allows a few tears to run free. “I don’t think I can do it anymore.”
“Can you at least try?”
“I just want to sleep. Let me sleep, please.”
Michael has never been good at denying Alex anything, not when they were only friends, and certainly not now that he’s a hundred percent sure that he’s irrevocably in love with a dying boy. He watches as Alex’s breath evens out, and then he sits up and yells at the sky, not knowing what else to do. “I will let myself die! I’ll do it, you know I will! I’ll die from starvation if I have to. This year’s Games will have two winners, or they won’t have any!”
He thinks his pleads have fallen on deaf ears, because there’s no movement for a long, long minute. Michael lies back down, hides his face in Alex’s chest and begins singing a children’s song he knows by heart. His muffled words are met with silence, but he keeps going. He’s sung this song to himself several times for comfort while growing up, and in his last moments it’s the only thing that helps him get used to the idea of never walking this Earth with Alex ever again.
Of all the losses he will suffer from this single decision to stop breathing, living altogether — Isobel, Liz, Maria, old man Sanders back at the junkyard where he usually works when there’s no hunt — Michael’s going to miss Alex the most. Even if Alex’s following him in this path to self-destruction. Or maybe it is the other way around.
Maybe he’s following Alex.
He closes his eyes and simply lets go.
The noise of the tree being lifted and a loud voice announcing the ending of the Hunger Games and the two winners from District 12 wake him up. He looks around frantically, realizing that they’re suddenly surrounded by people taking care of Alex, placing him on a gurney, taking Alex away from him.
Taking Alex away.
“Stop!” he wails, standing up on wobbly feet. He follows the gurney. He manages to reach it and grab Alex’s hand that’s hanging off the gurney. “Stop!”
“Michael?” Alex stutters, opening his eyes half an inch. “What—what happened?”
“We won,” Michael tells him in a low voice. “We both survived, we made it.”
“You made it.” Alex coughs up a bit of blood. There are a few field nurses around him, taking care of him, watching and tending to his leg that looks impressively crushed. Michael only wants to hold him. “Thanks.”
“What for?” Michael doesn’t want to let go of Alex’s hand. He’ll go to hell and back — he’s already done that — if it means never losing the feeling of that skin on his.
“You sang that song,” Alex explains, breath labored. “You used to sing that song back in the tool shed when you were trying to cheer me up, before—Before.”
“How can you possibly remember?”
Alex squeezes Michael’s hand tighter. “How do I remember things about the guy I’m in love with?” he whispers, eyes drooping closed.
“You have a remarkable memory,” Michael says in a whisper, too afraid that if he speaks louder then his voice will fail him.
“I remember everything about you,” Alex replies with a soft smile, reaching out and catching Michael’s hand between his own. “You’re the one who wasn’t paying attention.”
Michael lets out a wet laugh and drops a sloppy kiss on Alex’s palm, a promise of much more to come, now that they are both alive. Now that they’re going to be fine.
“I’m in love with you, too.”
Alex’s laugh is the only thing Michael wants to hear for the rest of his life.