Chapter Text
They tell us that there was a war. 85 years ago, the former Capitol was overthrown, and the districts were united under the leadership of District 13 with the Mockingjay as their symbol. However, where the districts expected to destroy the caste system and tear down the barriers that separated them from one another, they found that new walls were constructed and a new system was put into place. A new system that seemed familiar to that of the fallen regime under former President Snow. Too familiar.
After just a ten-year period of peace, the Hunger Games resumed, just as they had before. The first games were comprised of the children of prominent leaders and elites of the former era as they were thrown into an arena that resembled their war-torn homes, but after the success of the first games, the people of the New Panem demanded their desire for more bloodshed be fed, even at the expense of their own.
Now, the games continue. Not out of establishing fear or even to pit the districts against one another. They exist purely for the entertainment of a people who decided that bloodshed was the only path to perpetual peace. They exist as if they were never stopped to begin with.
The boy closed his book as foghorns in the distance signaled that it was time to return to the fishing boats for the chance of one last cast before the Selection for this year’s tributes was set to begin.
At some point in the last 75 years, the gamemakers decided that the tributes being reaped into the Games were too weak, and they grew tired of the lack of a good challenge between the outlying districts, so they altered the grounds of the Reaping. Instead of a random drawing of tributes, they would be hand-picked to fit the challenges of both their other competitors and the arena that the Capitol had ultimately decided to be the graveyard for all but one tribute. Since then, the Games had grown longer in time, the tributes were more competitive, and the stakes even higher. To be selected for the Games was more than bad luck in a game of pure chance. It was to be a chosen martyr for Panem’s pure entertainment.
The only way to survive was to keep your head low and try to blend into the crowds that came to and fro the harbor. To all of us in the districts, the message was clear. Conform, or be Selected as Panem’s next pawn in their Games. Conform or die. It was the only way to live.
I’d never found conformity to be an issue. If anything, it had been ingrained into all of us from the day we first learned to walk and talk. Don’t look Peacekeepers in the eye. Trades are best made in the alleyways behind the marketplace after hours when all the wares are likely to spoil. Do the bare minimum in school. Stick to the script, and you’d live to see the sun set over the coastline for at least another year. It was those with wandering eyes and curious minds that often found themselves in the arena, people like Armin Arlert.
His hand traced the cover of the book he often carried with him. While carrying a book didn’t seem practical here in 4 where the moisture of the sea and the howling winds threatened its delicate pages, Armin never went without it. The cover was waterproofed through his own creation using some of the leftover blubber of a whale hunt, spreading the fat across the leather binding to create a waterproof layer.
“You know, if we survive this Selection, we’ll only have one left to go.” He looked out to the reef, and the crashing waves that lie just beyond, “One left until we’re out of the system for good. One left until we can buy a boat of our very own and explore the world beyond the reef.”
I dug my elbow into his side at the first sound of footsteps coming from the docks behind us, “Keep your voice down. Are you trying to get us Selected?”
In 4, you quickly learned that you were free to dream, as long as you kept those dreams to yourself, or shared them only out on the high winds of the sea that would carry them far away, but recently, Armin had started getting bolder with his wide-eyed dreams, talking about them in public, away from the pier that we trusted to keep our most sacred secrets covered by the sound of surging waves crashing against the docks. There, we could talk freely without the worry of listening ears, but here on the docks surrounded by fishermen and the occasional Peacekeeper, it wasn’t safe.
The worst part was that he knew better, but lately, it was almost as if he wasn’t bothered by the target he was placing on his own back. In fact, he sent me an annoyed glare before shaking his head at my scolding, “You worry too much about the Selections, Ilse. You’re more conformed than anyone in all of District 4. In fact, you blend in so well that I sometimes have trouble discerning you from a crowd. You’d never be chosen for the Games.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d made it a point to blend into any environment, but chiding comments like that only reminded me just how different the two of us were. I paused midstep, turning to face him, “It’s not me I’m worried about. You’re becoming reckless, Armin. You’re not thinking about the consequences of your actions talking like that in public. By the pier, I’m all ears, but here on the docks or in the harbor, neither of us can afford to talk of hope so flippantly. Hope only hurts you in the end.”
Armin huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “It’s like I’m friends with two different people, the girl from the harbor and the girl by the pier. The girl by the pier is wistful, and she is bold enough to dream beyond the small corner of the world that is District 4, but the moment the surge fades from earshot, she changes into someone I can hardly recognize. Ilse, you can’t live with a foot in both worlds forever.”
I started to argue, but I stopped myself. Arguing like this would only cause more harm than good. Armin could afford to be a dreamer. There was no one left for him to lose other than himself. His parents had been dreamers with wide eyes and big dreams, just like himself. They’d bought a boat one fateful morning and sailed beyond the reef, leaving their 9 year-old son to his grandfather with empty promises of returning to take them all away, but they haven’t been heard from or seen since. His grandfather would pass on just a few years later, lost at sea by a capsizing wave while on one of the district’s lucrative whale hunts. 10 years after his parents first left the reef, Armin still spent his mornings looking out to the open sea, hoping to see their sail coming into port.
I couldn’t afford to think that way. I lived with a foot in both worlds because I had more than myself to look out for. I had Armin.
Instead of prolonging the silence, I sighed and signaled for us to get going, “Come on. We’re gonna be late.”
As we walked in silence, we both noted that the harbor was spread thin. Perhaps a few emboldened fishermen were ready to take advantage of the extra visitors that the Selection brought. Others took to the open seas as if it were just another day. However, there were always a few that boarded their boats without a single net in tow, simply running from the news that today would bring, a reminder that their son or daughter could be chosen next for the Hunger Games.
Captain Hannes of the Lady Maria was no different. A few years before we came to work for him, he lost his only daughter to the Games, and he’d spent every morning since those Games ended out on the boat ever since. “No need in watching them,” he’d say, “There’s no one left for me to root for.”
His nearly buzzed blonde hair stuck out among the small crowd of fishermen heading out to their boats for the day. After spotting the two of us, he gave Armin and I a small wave before loading a full cooler onto the boat, “Hey kids, where are you all headed off to? Dont’cha know there’s a Reapin today?”
Only the older generation of District 4 still referred to the Selection as the Reaping. The name change came just after the last Quarter Quell, nearly 25 years ago, so for most of us, it was all we knew it as.
Armin took note of the extra fuel tank he’d placed just outside the helm’s door and the lack of nets hanging from the rear, “Hannes, you headed out today?”
He chuckled, throwing an arm around me as he ruffled my hair, “You kids know it, but I sure could wish for some company this mornin’. S’shame you two still ain’t aged out yet.”
“Only two Selections left until we can join you, Hannes,” Armin reminded him while I was able to duck out of Hannes’s loosening grasp as he talked to the other blonde.
He took a misstep back, nearly falling backwards into the boat before catching himself and laughing it off, “Right. Well, since I can’t take y’all out to sea, I ain’t got any work for yuns. My suggestion to yuns is to get yerselves cleaned up fer once. One day out of the year ya have no need to reek of fish.”
It was clear to me that Hannes had been drinking, but Armin must have been optimistically doubtful, outright asking the captain, “Hannes, are you drunk?”
At the mere mention of his drinking habit, he scowled, folding his arms over his chest in contempt, “Drunk? Why’d I be drunk on a day like this’n?” He started to point an accusing finger at the boy before I pulled on Armin’s arm slightly, tugging him out of the way before Hannes could reach for him. While neither of us wanted to see the captain go out to sea in such a poor state, it wasn’t as if it were a new occurrence. In all of his years of grief, he followed this tradition of his. There was no point in trying to stop him now.
Armin and I waved to Hannes a final time before we began to make our way towards the harbor, “Nevermind then. Be safe, Hannes.”
He returned the gesture with an exaggerated wave of his own, calling out to us as we walked the other way, “I expect you brats to be back here bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow. You got it?”
Armin turned back to reply for the both of us, giving him a mock-salute, “Yes, sir.”
We knew Hannes cared for us, in his own unusual way. Perhaps he simply had a soft spot for runaways and orphans like ourselves, but all were welcome to work on the Lady Maria as long as they could handle the work that is. He’d let anyone try once, but very few ever stuck around long enough to see their first paycheck. Between the harsh conditions of the Pacific Ocean and the high expectations of the boat's sea-hardened captains, it was honestly a surprise that anyone managed to stick around in the fishing business at all.
I tugged on Armin’s arm and ducked my head as I noticed the presence of Peacekeepers making their rounds along the wooden docks, likely checking for anyone of age hoping to skip town during the Selection. It wasn’t heard of for anyone to run from the Games, but that didn’t mean that it was entirely impossible. Either way, you both kept moving forward, “Come on, we need to get cleaned up.”
“You seem eager to get home.” Armin voiced, motioning to my hands, which were starting to shake ever so slightly, “Are you nervous about the Selection today?”
As he looked to my hands, I stuffed them into my pockets and frowned, “Not really.” I cut my eyes to meet his glaringly, “Afterall, it’s not like I have any reason to worry, right? You said so yourself.”
Almost immediately, his face fell and his eyes shifted towards the rock he was kicking up the hill, “I guess I did. Look, what I said about you being too-”
One look to Armin’s downcast features confirmed I had been a little too harsh with my words. He hadn’t meant to cut me to the core with his words before, and I knew it. He was simply trying to reassure me I wouldn’t be chosen for the Games in his own way.
My gaze softened as I quickly cut him off, “There’s no need to apologize. It’s not like anything you said was entirely wrong. I just-” I sighed, deciding not to reopen the argument from earlier, “We can talk about it after the Selection. For now, let’s get home.”
Home was an abandoned warehouse just a stone’s throw from the first line of fences that lined all of the inland of District 4. It was rumored that this area had once been part of the district’s black market, but after the war, it became a refuge for anyone who needed a warm meal and a place to stay commonly known as the Lot. It was owned by no one but the people within, and together, we worked to help one another, whether it was pitching in for meals or bringing back tokens of the day’s catch for the little ones to play with while their parents sought work in the harbor.
Our personal lot was located in the back, separated from the rest by two hanging sheets and an exterior wall along the back corner. The space was just wide enough for the two of us to sleep back to back, but we never once asked for more room. Space was a luxury only the well-off could afford here in 4, so instead of fighting for two separate lots, Armin and I shared one. Together, we survived the bitter winters by sharing blankets and the sweltering summer heat by opening the exterior window to let in the sea breeze. We were a team, and as long as we survived the Selection, I liked to think we always would be.
We weaved through the various enclosed lots like it was muscle memory, passing through Ms. Marina’s floral print curtains, avoiding Mr. Abbot’s cluttered lot at all costs, and walking down the thin hallway all the way to the back exterior corner with two cream colored sheets that once used to be white but had long since yellowed with time.
I started to draw water for a bath from the small faucet Armin and I had found after claiming this spot for ourselves years ago. The previous tenants had been a fisherman and his wife that were rumored to have tried to make a run inland. They had stashed away books of the old world and this faucet for their own use inside the floorboards. After cleaning up the place and settling in, Armin and I were elated to find these hidden treasures, and we’ve relied on them ever since.
I started the faucet, filling up a makeshift tub we had crafted from some shiplap wood we found while scavenging the shoreline. Armin had always had a knack for creating new and practical inventions, and this was just another of the many ways he continued to keep us both alive.
He placed his book under the floorboards patting it gently as if to say he’d be back for it later. He then rose to his feet once again, “You go ahead and take first bath. I’ll see if I can trade with Reeves for a quick bite before we have to go.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. Usually, I was the one to trade with the Reeves family since my parents had both worked for them before they were lost in a tragic train-loading accident a few years back.
The accident had caused a number of kids at our local school to become sudden orphans. Back then, it was the Reeves company that was responsible for finding each of us group homes, but in my case, I just wasn’t a good fit, so I decided to stake out on my own. Either way, the Reeves family stayed in touch with most of us, so they were usually a reliable source of trade if no one was willing to trade in the markets.
“Yeah, I know my way around there well enough, “ he reassured me. Then, without another word, he was off, likely not wanting to waste any time should the water get cold in his absence.
In such a small space, we tried to give each other as much privacy as we could afford, often sending the other to complete simple tasks or daily chores while the other dressed or bathed for the day. We had a system, and for the most part, it worked seamlessly.
Armin seemed to be taking his dear time coming back, so I pulled out my Selection dress that I’d worn for all of my previous Selections and gave it a small spin. After my recent growth spurt, it finally seemed to fit more or less as it was intended, coming just above my knees while the seafoam green material fit rather snugly to my hips. It seemed I might have to buy a new dress for the next Selection, that is if I could manage to save up enough from the next few jobs and…
I was pulled from my thoughts when I heard Armin clear his throat from behind me, announcing his presence. As I turned to face him, I noticed the light dust across his cheeks. He must have run back from trading with the Reeves.
I gave the dress one last twirl, “It’s not too tight, is it?”
Armin’s hand rested behind the nape of his neck as he replied, “No! Um, not at all! You look-” he paused, as if searching for the right word, “amazing.” I gave him a skeptical glance, wondering whether he was being serious or not, but as he met my gaze, I could tell he was sincere,“If I’m honest, I’m a little jealous.”
“Jealous?” I repeated. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Armin. We both know you clean up much nicer than I do,” I redirected, trying not to dwell too much on his compliments, “Now, go ahead and get bathed, Arlert. You know I’ll leave you behind if you aren’t ready in time.”
That earned a light chuckle from him as he gave me a knowing look, “You wouldn’t leave without me.”
“Only one way to find out,” I replied, leaving the enclosed space to give him some privacy.
I knew Armin meant well, he always did with his compliments, but the flattery was unnecessary. He didn’t need to impress me. He knew that. Then again, maybe he was only trying to make conversation. Between the two of us, he tended to talk enough for the both of us, and I was content to let him. Otherwise, I’d have to pitch in, and well, it was clear our priorities were a little different. He only cared to see the world outside the harbor, yet all I wanted to do was keep him in it. I’d nearly convinced myself it was for his own good. After all, he was the only Arlert left who hadn’t been swallowed by the sea. But at the source, I couldn’t deny it was my own selfish desire to keep him near me. I felt the need to protect him, but why wasn’t exactly a thought I let cross my mind often enough to find out.
When I saw the small portion of salmon and vegetables, I couldn’t hold back the smile beginning to creep onto my face. The Reeves company had always taken care of those eligible for the Selection, giving them one last meal before they could possibly be announced as the next tribute for the Hunger Games, but this year, it seemed the Reeves had the ability to be more generous, given by the lukewarm rolls that lay out on the small table.
Soon enough, Armin came out from the curtains to eat his share as well. It seemed he’d had a growth spurt of his own. The blouse and slacks he’d gotten a couple years back fit his figure perfectly, his shoulders finally filling out the blouse as intended. He looked older.
While he rolled the sleeves to a more comfortable length, I moved to fix the back of his collar. He never quite was able to get it to flatten the way he wanted it to. I stepped back to look at the whole outfit, chuckling to myself as I jested, “Now I’m the one who’s jealous.”
“We could always switch,” he swiftly offered, concerned that I truly was jealous of his attire.
I didn’t joke much, so I could see how the jest went over his head, but his reaction still drew a smile from my lips, “Thanks, I don’t think baby blue’s quite my color.”
His lips started to turn up into a soft smile as he fixed the twisted straps of my sundress, “And I don’t think sea-green is mine.” There was a somber undertone to his voice, something I couldn’t quite place at the time, but there was no denying something was on his mind. Even so, after the argument we had earlier, I didn’t feel as if it were my place to ask. He’d tell me when he was ready. He always did in the end.
We ate the rest of the meal in silence, content to bask in the gentle silence that had fallen over most of the Lot. Most of the district would go to watch the Selection today, most of our neighbors included. Unless you were a fisherman with a boat heading out to sea today, there wasn’t much else to do, not with the Capitol in town. Some people went to bet their loose change on the unfortunate soul most likely to be chosen. Others simply wished to have a glimpse of the tributes at least once before they left to compete for the district’s honor, likely out of a sense of guilt. Most of us, however, would be potential tributes, waiting in the roped-off areas to either hear our own names called or the names of a faceless stranger who would die in our place.
As we left to join the growing crowd in the town square, Armin swiftly went back into our lot to retrieve something from underneath the floorboard, but he returned with nothing in his hands. I started to ask him about it when I noticed his hands were shoved into the pockets of his slacks. If I had to guess, he was most likely clinging to a page from one of his favorite books he liked to read when he was nervous or simply needed an escape from reality. While I had never taken to books, Armin poured over the pages in the few minutes before lights out and the early morning light. His favorite pages were torn from the book, kept in his pocket for inspiration, or so he said. Whether it was for inspiration or not, the neatly folded pages brought him some comfort, so who was I to judge?
“Ready to go?” I asked him, reaching out my hand to rest on his shoulder when he didn’t respond at first.
He nodded absentmindedly as he reached across his chest to place his hand atop mind, “Yeah, let’s get going.”
The blank look didn’t leave his face as we fell into step with the line of people filing into the town square. The only notion that he was still with me came in the form of his hand in mine. As kids, it wasn’t uncommon for us to hold one another’s hands as not to lose one another in the marketplace or on the docks, but for him to reach for my hand now was something new, something out of the ordinary for the both of us, and yet I couldn’t find it in me to pull away, to drop his hand now that we were almost there.
All of the sudden, Armin looked over his shoulder before he rather harshly pulled me aside into a nearby, unoccupied alleyway. At first, I started to scold him and pull away, but he quickly brought a hand to my mouth and shook his head, signaling me to be quiet for the time being as a patrol of Peacekeepers marched by.
Once they had passed, he removed his hand from my mouth with a deep, wavering exhale. “I’ve been debating whether to give this to you or not all day, but once we pass through the ropes, I may not have the chance to again.”
My mind was racing from where my back had hit the brick of the building, the proximity of Armin’s face to mine, and the frantic words that left his lips. What was he talking about? Why would he not have a chance to do this later? We were safe from the Selection, right? He’d spent all of this morning reminding me of that fact. Now, I was beginning to doubt it. “Armin, don’t talk like that. You’re scaring me.”
His breathing only grew more shaky, his hands beginning to tremble as he held onto mine for stability, “I know, and I’m sorry. I don’t want to upset you. I just-” He sucked in a breath, “You were right about me being reckless earlier, and that argument has been on my mind all day, so in the case you're right, that I have made a target out of myself, let me give you one last gift from me to you.” When I didn’t respond immediately, he added a soft, “Please?”
“Armin, I-” I spared a glance to the busy street just beyond the alley before returning my gaze back to Armin, searching his sky blue eyes for any sign of reassurance. He was talking nonsense, his words coming out in a blur. Why? Did he know something I didn’t? I was beginning to panic, my breaths beginning to quicken as I began to imagine the worst, but in his eyes I saw the pier where we first met and the blue sky above, calm as can be. In his eyes I found my sign of reassurance. I managed to breath out a sigh and nodded in agreement, “Okay, but be quick.”
He turned my palm face-up, placing something small and metal into the center before he let go, “Here, I’ve been working on this for some time now, with some help from Hannes of course.” His cheeks had begun to grow darker with blush again, but he fought to keep it down by clearing his throat as he continued, “It’s a hairpin I made from one of the shells we collected that one day we went for a stroll along the beachside after work. It’s not much, but I’d feel honored if you’d wear it, even if I’m-”
“That’s not gonna happen,” I cut him off. If we didn’t talk about it, if we didn't think about it, if we chose to ignore that possibility, it couldn’t come true. It wasn’t going to happen. It wouldn’t.
At my insistence, he nodded, “Y-yeah, I know.” His gaze flitted to the thinning line before he turned back to me, “We’ll just call this a case of the jitters, alright?”
Armin had gotten Selection jitters before. We all had at one time or another, but this was more than simple, nervous jitters, and we both knew it. Even so, I pushed the thought out of mind, content to believe my own lie. We would be fine, so there was no need to worry, no need to panic just yet. I handed the hair pin back to him, allowing him to pin it in my hair before we had to return to the crowd just beyond the corner, “Alright, but, just-”
“Be safe,” we both said in unison.
He chuckled nervously, “I guess it goes without saying at this point, doesn’t it?” He smiled at his handiwork that I wore in my hair, bringing his hand up to brush across it when I felt it caress my cheek instead, “I’ll find you after the Selection, okay?”
I nodded, leaning into his touch for just this once, allowing myself this one selfish desire before we walked into the Selection, “Okay. I’m holding you to it then.”
Armin’s fingertips dragged along my cheek as he left the alleyway, leaving me in a whirlwind of emotions. All of this was unusual, even for him. Spontaneity was not new with Armin Arlert, but the worry that drove him to act so rashly, that was new, and that scared me more than anything. I wasn’t sure if I believed in the deity that most fishermen prayed to before every trip into the open waters, but in that moment, I found myself praying now to spare Armin, no matter the cost.