Chapter Text
When he’s nearly three, Shuichi wakes up to the sound of screaming on the TV projector.
It’s a split-second thing– his parents initially don’t notice him creeping up behind the sofa, dark hair awkwardly flat on one side from being squashed against his pillow, thumb in his mouth. As soon as they do notice him, his mother is squawking and his father is scooping him up under the arms, hurriedly carrying him back to his bedroom, but Shuichi has already seen what they’d hoped he wouldn’t. Not that he can quite make sense of it, the violent image of an older girl sawing into another girl’s neck with a dagger, but he’s confused by it and appropriately startled by his parents’ reaction.
He can still hear noises coming from the projector. He doesn’t know why his mother doesn’t just turn it off.
When he’s eight, Shuichi moves in with his uncle, who does not shield him from things.
“Hey,” says Uncle, emerging from the bathroom, only mildly startled to see his nephew perched on the sofa in front of the projector. “School let you out early?”
On screen, a group of teenagers is forcing a scrawnier boy back near the edge of a cliff. All of them are panting heavily and fidgeting with weapons– swords, knives. One with a mace.
Shuichi nods.
“Nice,” Uncle remarks simply.
Distantly, Shuichi observes his uncle heading to the refrigerator. He watches a tall girl snap forward, faking the scrawny boy out, causing him to flinch strongly enough that he nearly topples off the cliff-edge. The group laughs while he sobs.
“Uncle,” Shuichi says, eyes still on the projector.
Uncle doesn’t respond, probably not hearing him. A few moments later he joins Shuichi on the couch, handing his nephew a soda before cracking open one of his own. He’s just in time to watch the boy get skewered and thrust off the edge of the cliff. Shuichi flinches but doesn’t look away.
“Why are they doing that,” he whispers.
Uncle pauses.
“Well,” he says, a little awkwardly, “it’s the Hunger Games, Shu.”
The Hunger Games. Shuichi knows of them in passing. They’re talked about in school– within official lessons as well as gossip through the mouths of students and staff alike. He knows someone who lost a cousin to the Games. He just… maybe never…
Knew. Not fully. Not until now, watching the camera pan over the red, splattered remains of a boy who has just been murdered. Glancing over at his uncle, who gazes upon the scene with total nonchalance, shifting into a more comfortable position and scratching an itch on his shoulder.
And Shuichi finds that he still doesn’t know, not really, until eight years later when he hears his own name booming through fancy speakers, syllables ringing out in a nasally Capitol accent and drifting down upon the silent crowd.
Unfortunately, the world does not freeze. Nothing is put on hold in the immediate aftermath of this sound– there is quiet, but no reprieve. Around Shuichi, shoulders slump with relief. People who don’t know him glance around to try and locate him– there are always tell-tale signs. Faces drained of color. Trembling frames. Sometimes even falling, or screaming. No one ever points them out audibly, because that would be disrespectful to the one who is getting sacrificed.
Which is now…
“I’m not saying it wrong, am I?” asks their district escort, a man named Taro with spiky hair colored somewhat ironically like blood. “Shuichi Saihara? Where are you, kid?”
This is when it registers, and Shuichi notices all the eyes that are suddenly upon him. They’ve found him.
He flinches. Blinks, and they don’t go away. People are clearing the space around him. It’s him, they all seem to be saying. Not me.
Involuntarily, Shuichi thinks about the boy on the cliff. He thinks about last year, the desert arena, and how nearly half the tributes died slowly of heat exposure and/or dehydration. He thinks about millions of people cheering for his death and he thinks, this isn’t happening.
Oh god. He’s supposed to move. He needs to get to the stage. If he doesn’t go on his own, there will be Peacekeepers to carry him. He’s seen it before. There are two already hovering nearby.
Some powerful force– call it a mixture of fear and helplessness, maybe subordination– walks him down the aisle like a black dog at his heel. He’s flanked by rows of other kids who seem piteous, or relieved– or, in the case of some of the girls, still very anxious. His stomach feels like it’s filled with glass. Shuichi climbs the steps on shaky legs and somehow manages not to fall.
“Right here, kiddo, stand over here,” instructs the escort, but Shuichi isn’t entirely tuned in right now, so there’s an awkward pause before he can feel himself being maneuvered into position.
“Shuichi. Am I saying that right? Shuichi Saihara?” Taro asks, seeking confirmation.
Shuichi finds that there is a microphone being held in front of his face.
“Yes,” he manages to say. It’s jarring to hear his own voice so amplified.
He looks out upon the crowd– whenever he makes eye-contact with any individual, they quickly look away. It’s too much for them to know that he’ll be dead soon and they can’t help him. He knows that exact brand of discomfort, having been on the receiving end of it for the past four years. What he wouldn’t give to be feeling it now.
He settles for looking at the concrete in front of the stage.
The microphone lingers for a second in case he has more to say. He doesn’t, of course, so it leaves him.
“Great,” says Taro, turning back to the crowd. “Now, are there any volunteers who want to take his place?”
Shuichi glances up, unable to stifle a modicum of hope before it takes flight. Volunteers are a rarity in District 5, but not unheard of. Shuichi has seen it once in his own lifetime– a young girl with short hair and a dirty face, who’d held a quiet rage beneath her. To her credit, she lasted nearly a week before falling into a nest of shovel ants.
Maybe someone else is feeling inspired today. However, as the seconds tick by, it becomes clear that no one this year is stupid enough to come to his rescue.
Taro asks again. “Anyone? Anyone interested?”
Someone has the audacity to sneeze.
“Alright then,” Taro says. Shuichi watches his hope freeze in midair and then fall to the ground, dead. “Shuichi Saihara, everyone. Give it up.”
A reserved smattering of applause makes itself known. Shuichi doesn’t throw up. He could, though, and probably will later. Right now, he’s not quite participating in himself.
“Let’s move on to the girls,” Taro suggests. He goes left and chooses a slip of paper from the bowl of names whose fates are still undetermined, as easily as Shuichi might draw the name of a partner for a school project.
He reads, “Kaede Akamatsu,” and Shuichi stops breathing for a moment.
He glances over to the girls’ section, watching as sure enough, a familiar girl with light hair and a heart-shaped face stands slack-jawed, tightly clutching the hand of her twin beside her. If possible, Shuichi wilts further.
Kaede is one of Shuichi’s wealthier classmates. They only shared lessons once when they were children, but they’ve always attended the same school. Shuichi wouldn’t go so far as to consider her a friend, but she’s nice to him. She’s nice to everyone. Once, when they were ten, she found him having a panic attack in the school hallway and held his hand and walked him to the nurse. Brought him a piece of candy the next day. He used to have a crush on her.
And now she’s… walking up to join him. On stage, and in the arena, where Shuichi may very well witness her demise. Or she his. And most likely, neither of them will do anything about it.
He almost wants to apologize to her. Forget himself; just Kaede’s name being called in these circumstances feels like an injustice. Not that there is justice in these games to begin with. Obviously.
They make eye-contact as she approaches the center of the stage.
Kaede looks away first.
The escort calls out for volunteers, of which there are none. The waterfall in Shuichi’s ears grows louder and louder as the mayor steps forward to read the Treaty of Treason, and then as their escort congratulates them and wishes everyone a happy Hunger Games. Kaede and Shuichi shake hands underneath the large screen which their faces are being projected upon, underneath the banners and the blaring of Panem’s anthem. She looks utterly sick, though Shuichi is sure he looks worse.
“I’m sorry,” he does whisper to her after all, but the music is loud and she doesn’t hear him.
His goodbyes are brief.
Well– the goodbyes themselves are. He sees his uncle, who seems a little shell-shocked and doesn’t have much to say, other than please do your best. After that is a friend from school– only one, and not even the one Shuichi would consider himself closest to, although that friend doesn’t make an appearance at all. They mostly just sit quietly, but Shuichi appreciates it nonetheless. Then his friend has to go, and there are no more visitors, and Shuichi thinks that now he’ll be escorted back outside to go to the train station.
And then the waiting begins.
The waiting is not brief. After some time, it occurs to Shuichi that he won’t be escorted out until both tributes are ready to leave, and Kaede must still be having visitors. Of course she is– in addition to just her family, she has an overwhelming amount of friends who must all be devastated by this. The line to see her must be a mile long.
This notion is confirmed when Shuichi hears the sounds of heavy footsteps and sobbing go rushing by outside his door. So, he settles in.
It’s the worst kind of anticipation. Like a toddler waiting for a vaccine– if something so trivial can even be compared to what he’s going through now.
Just wait until the morning of the actual Games, suggests some rude, awful segment of his head. He cringes at it. What a terrible thought.
Not that it’s wrong.
Shuichi gets up and starts to pace.
Kaede. What will their dynamic be, both prior to and within the arena? He can’t imagine shutting himself off to her if she’s willing to be friendly, but she might not be. Even in the career districts, it’s frowned upon to kill one’s district partner unless things really come down to it, but that doesn’t mean you have to ally yourself with them. Most people don’t.
It’ll depend on a few things. Like how resigned she is to her fate– whether or not she’ll choose to fight in the arena, or allow herself to perish as quickly as possible to avoid further suffering. Shuichi’s own jury is still out on that one. And if she does choose to fight, what will her strategy be? If she’s friendly to him beforehand, it might mean she’s looking for an alliance, but it could just as easily turn out to be a trap– lulling him into a false sense of friendship in order to lower his guard. Then, when the times comes, she’ll–
…Holy shit. What is he thinking? Has his paranoia already reached this level? Have the Games already messed with his head this much? Shuichi bites down on a knuckle. Finds that his hands are shaking, badly.
If Kaede wants to be friends, Shuichi will be her friend. If she wants to keep her distance from him, he will concede. She’ll have his trust either way– if he must give up his life, he’d rather not give up his faith in someone like her as well. And, in the end, if he does lock eyes with her across the length of an arrow or blade… so be it, then. Honestly? He’d rather she do it, as opposed to one of the ruthless career tributes, or the slow burn of hunger or dehydration.
So… that’s it, then.
That’s all there is to it.
Shuichi doesn’t know how much more time passes, but eventually he is startled by the click of the door opening in front of him. Taro and Kaede are there, as well as a flock of Peacekeepers. He swallows.
“Yo. Ready to move?” Taro asks. The question is redundant and kind of laughable, because no one cares if Shuichi is ready.
He glances at Kaede, who has clearly been crying. She’s looking at the floor and breathing somewhat heavily with what Shuichi assumes is the effort of holding herself together; her mouth is closed in a hard, thin line.
Shuichi doesn’t say anything. He exits the room and finds himself being ushered into an organized formation, himself and Kaede walking on either side of their escort, with all three of them flanked by Peacekeepers– one in front, one on either side, and three in the back. He wonders if he’ll be able to glimpse his uncle one last time during the brief walk from the Justice Building to the car, but their formation is packed tightly enough that this seems unlikely.
He’s right. Whether or not his uncle is there, he doesn’t get the opportunity to find out. They walk briskly, and before Shuichi can so much as turn his head to look back, he’s being hoisted into the vehicle before the door gets slammed in his face. The windows are tinted and difficult to see out of.
For some reason, for the first time throughout all of this, Shuichi finds it difficult not to burst into tears.
He turns his head the other way. Kaede still won’t look at him. He wonders if this is how things will just… be, for the remainder of both their lives. He swallows, hard, and looks down at his lap. Then Taro is climbing over him, grumbling something about terrible hospitality in the districts, and places himself in the middle seat between the tributes.
The car starts. Maybe later, Shuichi will regret not looking out the window at his district passing by– not taking the opportunity to say a final goodbye to his home. But it’ll just upset him more right now.
His heart clenches as Kaede begins to weep quietly, and then Taro launches into a spiel which is maybe meant to be comforting– something about lunch on the train and meeting with their mentors, whom Shuichi had forgotten to pay any attention to at all while he was up on stage.
Kaede manages to calm down quickly enough– no thanks to their escort, Shuichi is sure. The rest of the car ride isn’t totally silent; now and again, Taro comes up with something to tell them about, like how long the train ride will be (roughly six hours) or what will happen after they arrive in the Tribute Center (dinner while watching the reaping rebroadcast, then early to bed). He keeps telling them that it’s okay to ask questions, as if that’s the reason they’re quiet– like they’re worried about being rude or something. Maybe, if he and Kaede can’t be friends, then they can at least come up with some agreement not to abandon one another in the presence of Taro.
When they arrive at the train station, there are yet more Peacekeepers waiting for them. One opens Shuichi’s door for him, but thankfully doesn’t try to yank him out or anything– he just stands and waits, perfectly still, for Shuichi to exit the vehicle on his own.
Shuichi does this. Kaede and Taro head round to join him, and the three of them walk forward, Taro taking the lead confidently while his tributes hobble behind him like abused pets.
None of the Peacekeepers walk with them this time. They stand, spaced out in a long row, heads pointed directly forward while they brandish glimmering white weapons across their chests. It’s a little ridiculous how many of them there are. Even if a tribute were stupid enough to run, it would only take one of these people to tackle them to the ground in seconds (or shoot them in the leg, even). It must be an intimidation thing, which is also stupid. As if they aren’t already walking towards their deaths.
The train is waiting for them atop a platform, which they reach after ascending a long flight of concrete stairs. Its exterior is sleek, bullet silver, and amazingly clean. The windows are impossible to see into. Maybe it’s all the Peacekeepers silently threatening them, or maybe it’s the fact that this train will be taking them to the location of their deaths, but some combination of circumstance and style makes the train feel more like a weapon than a vehicle.
They step inside, and Shuichi finds that the train’s interior is an entirely different matter.
Absolutely no Peacekeepers await them inside. What does await them is plush carpeting, lavish wallpaper, ornate vases filled with all sorts of beautiful flowers– even a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There is more than one liquor cart as well as a few tables lined with pastries and small desserts. Velvety sitting chairs are placed around the train car strategically, and further ahead is a long dining table, which appears to seat six.
It’s welcoming in the same way a doghouse might seem welcoming to a rabbit on a cold winter’s night. Still, it’s a jarring difference compared to the environment they’ve just stepped in from– compared to anything that Shuichi is used to.
There are no windows, so he’s not sure what the black rectangles he saw from outside were. It’s not something he dwells on. He and Kaede stand side-by-side awkwardly until Taro urges them to sit down.
“You guys are probably hungry,” he infers, standing across from them after they do sit down, propped on one hand over the back of an empty chair. “We’ll do lunch pretty soon, but there’s snacks in case you don’t wanna wait.”
There’s a pause while he waits for them to acknowledge his words.
“Like, on the tables and stuff,” he says, gesturing. “It’s good.”
Still, they don’t speak.
“You kids hearing me? Did I get a couple of mutes this year?”
“I’m not hungry.” Kaede’s voice is surprisingly powerful, and to his own embarrassment, Shuichi startles.
He glances up at Taro, who is frowning kind of disdainfully at her. In what must be a flash of either inspiration or idiocy, Taro gives her the worst response Shuichi can imagine– “Alright. Your funeral.”
Shuichi chokes a little. Before either of them can say anything, Taro announces that he’s going to find their mentors and heads off into the next train car.
For the first time in six years, Shuichi and Kaede are alone.
He doesn’t have an inkling of what to say or do. It’s not like he can comfort her– it’d be offensive if he tried. They are silent for a stretch of time. Probably not much time, but Shuichi feels the full length of every second.
“His hair is interesting,” he remarks lamely, then immediately wants to kill himself.
She doesn’t respond. Not even to scoff at him.
They continue their wait in silence.
And then,
“Here they are!” Taro announces suddenly, reappearing at the end of their train car, sauntering forward with two new faces in tow.
And there they are. District Five’s two most recent winners. Shuichi will admit that he’s done research on both of them in his free time. The man– Makoto Naegi– claimed victory six years ago, after managing to corral just under half of the tributes from the outlying districts into an alliance with him. It was kind of a sight to behold. They’d been strong enough as a unit that anyone who hadn’t agreed to join them quickly regretted it when they found themselves being hunted.
The group had been on such a high; no one expected it when the girl from Three decided they had dwindled the competition enough already and started cutting throats in the night. Makoto took her out quickly.
And then he’d finished what she started.
People adore him. He’s humble (or at least acts like it), with a shy smile and awkward laugh that women find adorable. Impressively, he won his Games at only fifteen, making him one of Panem’s youngest victors. There’s a charming politeness to him that comes through in his TV appearances. He seems to get along well with many of the other victors– particularly Kyoko Kirigiri, who is their other mentor this year.
She’s older than Makoto– although relatively? Not by much. She won thirteen years ago, breaking District Five’s impressive fifteen year losing streak by directly slaughtering nearly half her competition. In juxtaposition with her male counterpart, she allied herself with no one and killed ruthlessly from the beginning. No one knew how she was able to wield a knife so flawlessly; this lithe, pale girl from one of the outlier districts, where combat skills are not taught (though they aren’t “officially” taught anywhere). People dubbed her “the career from Five.”
She never lost whatever fridgedness allowed her to kill so harshly. Even now, with no cameras to perform for, she comes across as dangerous. On-edge. Like she’s still playing her Games.
Makoto strides forth, past Taro, with a warm smile. He ignores Taro’s disgruntled, “Excuse me,” and leans down to shake the hands of both his tributes.
“Makoto,” he introduces himself. “Makoto Naegi. It’s a pleasure.”
After they shake hands with him– although neither tribute can return his smile– he perches down on the seat across from Shuichi, just in time for Kyoko to slink up behind him, taking the seat to his right. She does not offer any handshakes– in fact, she doesn’t even look at her tributes. She half covers her mouth with the back of one hand and murmurs something to Taro, who seems exasperated but nods, and then he walks back into the same train car the trio had just emerged from.
Makoto looks at her questioningly.
“Drinks,” she murmurs.
“Ah.”
Right now, Shuichi doesn’t know what to make of these two. So far they are simply exuding their TV personalities, which he doesn’t feel inclined to trust.
Then again, maybe that’s all this is for them. Make their annual public appearance, smile for the cameras, spout off some generic advice which may or may not end up being useless in the arena. Slink back off to District Five, unnoticed, as soon as someone else’s tribute inevitably wins.
After years of watching his tributes die brutally despite his own best efforts to save them, Shuichi would probably start to follow similar patterns, too.
Makoto smiles again at his pair of tributes, though much more softly this time.
“I’ll begin by saying that I’m very sorry,” he tells them, “for the both of you.”
Shuichi watches him. He does look truly sympathetic, which… while useless, is still appreciated, and it’s nice to know that not every victor becomes an honorary Capitol citizen, forgoing their old identities and falling into a world where the Hunger Games are just pieces of entertainment; opportunities for success stories.
“In the coming days, you’re going to hear a lot of ‘congratulations’ and talk of how lucky you are,” Makoto continues. “It’s going to make you want to tear your hair out. The best thing you can do in those situations is suck it up and act gracious so that people will like you more. Sponsors are everything.”
“Not everything,” Kyoko speaks up, addressing them for the first time without introducing herself– not that she needs to. “If you know how to be fast, you should grab a backpack from the cornucopia. Just one– don’t linger, and don’t bother going for any of the weapons. It’s risky, but without basic supplies, you’re likely to die within days from exposure anyway.”
“Assuming they have backpacks,” Makoto adds.
Kyoko shrugs. “They usually do.”
This feels like a huge joke. Sitting here, pretending that he and Kaede have any chance of winning. Fully aware of how bad it may look, Shuichi is ready to excuse himself until another voice pipes up.
“Why not go for the weapons,” Kaede asks dully, eyes trained somewhere around Kyoko’s knees. She doesn’t see Kyoko’s eyes snap to her, but Shuichi does.
“Do you know how to use any weapons?” Kyoko asks, tone politely curious. The answer is already obvious.
“No. But I could learn.” Kaede folds her hands in her lap, over the skirt of her lavender dress. She still isn’t looking at anyone.
Kyoko shuts this down immediately. “No,” she intones. “If you don’t already know how to fight, you won’t be able to learn in just a few days. Many of these tributes will have spent their entire lives practicing. You won’t compare. Focus on survival skills.”
There’s a pause.
“Okay,” says Shuichi, tentatively. “Like what?”
Something like forty minutes go by of the tributes discussing basic strategy with their mentors– asking questions, suggesting input. By the time Taro returns, announcing lunch, Shuichi can’t quite say he feels better than he did earlier– though he certainly feels different, which is something.
It occurs to him to ask if the train is supposed to be leaving soon. Kyoko looks at him like he’s stupid and presses a button on the wall– segments of wallpaper disappear to reveal windows, which show a stoney landscape rushing past them.
District Two.
Shuichi can’t contain his surprise. The train feels perfectly stable, like it’s not even moving. His second reaction is embarrassment, and his third is a tinge of franticity– he’s already miles away from his home and hadn’t even known it.
“Same thing happened to me,” Makoto assures him with a casual smile; however it may or may not actually be true. Makoto seems like the type for comforting lies. “The Capitol tech takes some getting used to.”
How much getting used to, Shuichi wonders? Probably more than four days’ worth, which is all he’s got, unfortunately.
Lunch is a whole event. They move to the dining table and are swiftly presented with soft bread rolls and bowls of a thick orange soup.
“It’s just the first course,” Taro explains. “In the Capitol, we take our meals in segments.”
Shuichi frowns. Does Taro think they’ve never had a meal with multiple courses before? It’s not a common experience, at least not for Shuichi, but it also isn’t a new one.
Before he can open his mouth to explain this, somewhat incredulous, Kaede’s foot knocks against his. He glances over at her, unsure if she’d done that on purpose or not– and then he sees her shaking her head just slightly while she blows on a spoonful of soup.
The message is clear. Not worth it. Shuichi sighs and starts in on his own dish.
Objectively, the soup is delicious. Rich and slightly spicy with a satisfying level of texture. He couldn’t guess what it’s made from– the color is like carrot soup, but it doesn’t taste that way at all.
It’s filling, but not too heavy. Beautifully seasoned. Warm. All in all, it’s one of the most memorable things he’s ever eaten.
He can’t enjoy it. This is his first taste of some of the Capitol’s finest, as is customary for all tributes to receive, and he wants to throw it at the wall like a toddler having a tantrum. He wants one of the tasteless cheese sandwiches his uncle usually makes for dinner when he’s too tired to cook.
Shuichi wonders how well the Capitol chefs could replicate one if he asked for it.
Knows it wouldn’t do the trick either way.
His next plate, as is explained to him, is made up of seared scallops with pomegranate glaze atop a bed of baby spinach and lentils. Shuichi has never tried a scallop. Nor a pomegranate.
They’re good.
Some righteous part of him wants to stop after finishing only half his plate, as a form of protest– show them how unimpressed he is by them. He doesn’t want the Capitol’s fancy offerings. He will not owe them when they throw him in an arena to kill him.
Then his stomach rumbles for more, and he realizes how stupid that is. The gamemakers don’t care whether he eats or not. Taro gives him a funny look as he picks back up his cutlery.
“So,” Makoto says, breaking the tense silence. “Kaede and Shuichi. I know we’ve already gone over some basics together, but most tributes prefer to be mentored separately. Any thoughts?”
Shuichi glances at Kaede for her input, only to find that she’s already looking at him– probably for the same reason. She sighs and turns her gaze downward instead.
“...Okay,” says Makoto, a little flatly. “Then, maybe not.”
“Let us know by tomorrow,” Kyoko tells them. “I’ll say this– unless you have any notion of working together in the arena, separate is best. You will not want your strategy to be predictable, not even to your district partner.”
She eyes them for a moment. Uncomfortable, Shuichi refocuses on his plate. Makoto’s sigh is barely audible.
“Well then,” says Kyoko. She uses her cloth napkin to wipe her face, then stands up. “If you’ll excuse me.”
No one makes a sound while she saunters out of the train car. She’s clearly disappointed with her selection of tributes this year. Shuichi doesn’t blame her, but he doesn’t feel bad about it either– after all, he and Kaede are the real ones getting screwed over, here.
“Me too,” says Makoto, getting up to follow her. “I’ll be back in a little while. Both of you”– he looks between Shuichi and Kaede, the two of them sitting there like clueless children at the adults’ table– “Freshen up before we arrive. It’s a brief walk from the station to the car, but people will see you, and you’ll want to make a good impression.”
They don’t respond verbally, but it seems that he hadn’t expected them to anyway, walking off without pause.
“I’d listen to him,” Taro murmurs, still focused on his food. Then, transitioning seamlessly, “Are they giving us dessert or do I need to order some myself?”
Shuichi takes an interesting shower.
There’s a lot of unnecessary fanfare involved in what he thought would be a quick refresh; it feels like he is being sprayed by warm water from every available angle. Soap bubbles emerge from nozzles on either side of him, releasing a lingering rose scent on his skin when they pop. He doesn’t know what most of the available products are even for. A rough, textured gel stings his fingers when he samples some, so he keeps away from that. He doesn’t know where to begin with what looks like a slab of black jelly to his right, sitting on a small tray, covered with a metal lid like a meal on a platter. Shuichi isn’t sure who to be embarrassed for– himself, for getting this confused by a shower; or the Capitol, for managing to turn something that should be simple into a ridiculous contraption.
Funnily enough, he can’t find a bar of soap.
He finishes his shower, entirely unsure of how well he’d be graded on it by a Capitol citizen, but he at least gives himself kudos for trying. Plus, he feels clean, which is what matters. There isn’t a towel for him– as soon as he turns the water off, warm, pressurized air blows across him from all directions, leaving his body dry and his hair untangled.
It’s ridiculous. It’s like if a farmer gave his cow a makeover before butchering it.
He can’t imagine the purpose behind it.
Shuichi dresses himself in the same white button-down and dark brown pants he’d arrived in. When he reenters the main car, everyone else is already there, sipping drinks and chatting– or, in Kaede’s case, staring out the window by herself.
“Oh, hey,” Taro greets Shuichi. “I was just about to send someone to find you. We’ll be at the station in ten minutes.”
Shuichi nods and pretends that those words don't terrify him. Hesitates. “Um, do I look…”
“You look great,” Makoto assures him.
“Okay,” Shuichi murmurs, relieved that his appearance will be good enough to win some brownie points with the city that wants him dead. Then he goes to join Kaede. See whatever it is she’s looking at so intently.
“Oh,” he says, approaching her and the window, “is that…?”
Well, it’s obviously not District Twelve. The Capitol, standing across a broad body of water, is now within sight. Silver towers– tall, square, glittering, humongous; they’re all packed together and silhouetted by the stunning mountain range that hugs the island from behind. A city defined by grandeur and bloodthirst. It’s an incredible sight. One that makes Shuichi feel crushingly homesick.
“You’ll want to smile.”
Shuichi jumps, not having noticed Makoto’s approach. “What?”
Makoto smiles. Maybe to demonstrate? “Smile, I said. Pick a window and stay there. When people start noticing you, you smile and wave. You feel honored and delighted,” he instructs, and there is some growing urgency about his tone, “okay?”
The train enters a tunnel. Shuichi’s hands start to tingle unpleasantly.
“The rest of us will hang back, out of sight, so the focus will be all on you guys. Make eye-contact with as many people as possible. Let them feel connected to you.”
Despite his smile, the way Makoto commands them is intense, with a harsh determination that Shuichi has not yet seen from him– at least not in person, and not at all since his first TV appearance.
This is Makoto from the arena. Makoto the victor.
Kaede, justifiably overwhelmed, stands up abruptly and tries to walk away.
Makoto grabs her.
“Trust me,” he insists. She looks at him, startled, with wide eyes and set lips. Makoto isn’t smiling anymore. “You’re very pretty, Kaede, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. I mean it as advice. You have an advantage here. You need to be willing to use it, or else there is nothing I can do for you.”
“Let her go,” Kyoko says, stepping in, but it’s clear by the look in her eyes that she isn’t defending Kaede– she’s testing her. Seeing whether or not she’ll choose to make the smart decision on her own.
Makoto does let her go. There’s a pause, during which Shuichi silently pleads for his district partner to listen to her mentor.
Kaede sits back down.
“And you,” Kyoko says, turning to him as if that interaction hadn’t just happened, “I recommend doing the same. Although… we could play a mystery angle, if we wanted to. You have the look for it.”
Shuichi frowns, incredulous and confused. “The look?”
Kyoko shakes her head. “No, there’ll be time for that later,” she decides, although exactly what she decides is lost on Shuichi. She glances at her partner. “Makoto. Together or separate, these two?”
“Well,” begins Makoto, “I–”
“Together,” Kaede cuts in, surprising absolutely everyone. She initiates eye-contact with Shuichi for the first time before her gaze flutters down to her hands, which she holds defensively near her stomach. “That’s– I want us to stay together.”
“Okay,” says Makoto, slowly. “Together, then. That’s fine. That’s… good. That works.”
Shuichi stares at Kaede, bewildered.
He doesn’t have much time to figure out what’s going on with her before the speed of the train begins to slow. Shuichi turns to look at his mentors– somehow, they’ve already moved back towards the dining table, towards Taro, away from the windows. His heart beats in his throat.
“Breathe,” Kyoko instructs him. There must be panic showing on his face. “Don’t look at us, look at them.”
He turns back to face the window– right now, his and Kaede’s reflections are the only thing visible. They look frantic. They look like children.
They look like nobody at all.
This isn’t going to work. Shuichi can’t do this. It’s embarrassing for him to act like he won’t be dead within the next week. His breath catches, and he nearly bolts, feeling the need to both vomit and cry.
Two things happen at once.
One. Daylight floods in, and they are greeted by what must be the train platform, currently occupied by hordes of the strangest people Shuichi has ever seen– he already knows how Capitol citizens typically present themselves, having witnessed them sport their fashion hundreds of times on TV, but that’s nothing like seeing so many of them together like this in person– all of them shouting, cheering, looking at him.
Two. Kaede grabs his hand and holds onto it, tight.
Shuichi looks at her. In juxtaposition to the terrified girl he’d seen only seconds before, she now stands tall and proud, smiling with her teeth and waving enthusiastically. People scream, reaching for her. Shuichi is dumbfounded.
She squeezes his hand. You too.
And so, to the best of his ability, he joins her.
His smile is not as broad. He waves with much less confidence than the girl beside him, and he thinks of every picture someone has ever taken of him– “Shuichi, relax. You look like you’re in pain.”
Honored and delighted, Makoto had said.
He’s still hyperventilating somewhat. Maybe the train is moving by quickly enough that no one can tell. He spares another glance toward his district partner– she’s blowing big, exaggerated kisses, now. It catches him off-guard and he nearly laughs.
Then he thinks, no, wait, and he does laugh, loud and awkward, directing it towards the crowd. It’s a wonderful release of all the emotions he has bottled up, and he finds that as he continues, he has to control himself so it doesn’t just turn to hysterical screaming.
Shuichi is honored. And delighted.
The train continues to slow down, and before he knows it, Taro is standing behind both of them, smiling out at the people as well.
“Walk with me,” he says, and they do, allowing him to lead them to the space in front of the same doors they’d entered from– a space where they are no longer visible to the crowd.
Shuichi breathes. He did it. He smiled. How he looked while smiling, he can’t say, but his face certainly formed some semblance of the proper shape.
Kaede, at least, was dazzling.
“Keep it up. Both of you,” Kyoko demands, as she and Makoto approach swiftly. “We’ll be right behind you. Make eye-contact, but don’t let anyone touch you. And keep moving.”
Then the doors open, and it’s like seeing everyone from the window, only this time it’s loud.
People are even more excited to see Makoto and Kyoko, screaming for them, reaching forward, eyes bulging. It’s a little scary– they’re like animals. Shuichi thinks he’d be trampled to death if not for the guard rails and Peacekeepers holding everyone back.
He’s been told to make eye-contact, so he does. They walk forward, and he waves at a few people individually– a man with hair so gelled back that it seems to be painted onto his head. Another man with slitted green eyes and a dog in a baby carrier. A child who can’t be older than seven, wearing a white coat that is nearly the length of her, with huge artificial butterflies in her hair. There’s one boy who looks to be around Shuichi’s own age– that gives him a strange, sick feeling.
It takes them nearing their vehicle– a long, sleek black car– for Shuichi to realize he isn’t smiling anymore. He doesn’t remember when, but he also stopped waving. Instead he’s just been staring at people.
The car windows are totally black from the outside, but when the door closes behind him, he finds his audience still in crystal clear view.
“Can they still see us?” he asks, anxiously praying for the answer to be no.
“They can’t,” Kyoko confirms, from where she and Makoto sit behind Taro and the tributes.
Both teenagers react physically to these words. Kaede’s face drops completely, while Shuichi slumps forward, head in his hands.
“I know. I’m sorry,” Makoto sympathizes, back to a milder version of himself. “You both did well.”
“Think of it as practice for the parade,” Taro suggests chipperly.
And Shuichi throws up.