Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

before

Pylades: I’ll take care of you.

Orestes: It’s rotten work.

Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.

— Anne Carson, Euripides

So, I said, now that we have our dead,

what are we going to do with them?

— Richard Siken, Straw House, Straw Dog

There were only seven slips with Minghao’s name on them in the bowl with thousands of others. He only had seven slips. It shouldn’t have been him.

The sunlight is a little blinding, but he can see enough to know that no one from District 7 is feeling particularly called to volunteer today. He can see enough to have to look away from the tears in his mother’s eyes. He doesn’t need to see her mourn him. He doesn’t expect her to get it together by the time they say goodbye, but that’s fine. Minghao just can’t afford to cry on stage. He can’t afford to look weak. He schools his face into a blank expression and looks resolutely at no one.

They’ve already reaped the other tribute, a girl named Lottie Hale that Minghao vaguely knows from school, and Minghao is grateful that it means that he doesn’t have to stand up on the stage for much longer. The cold bites through him as the Capitol escort—Seokmin, maybe? Minghao admits that he wasn’t paying much attention to the newcomer—thanks the crowd and asks for a round of applause for their two tributes. Minghao has attended the reapings for the past 18 years and knows that District 7 is as consistently neutral as it comes with their polite clapping and barely-concealed relief. Minghao is going to die and this is a normal course of events. Happens every year. Seokmin gestures for Minghao to shake Lottie’s hand before they go back into the Justice Building for their goodbyes.

Lottie and Minghao both have handshakes that are far too weak to be a victor’s. The odds were never in their favor.

The room that Minghao is led into is small, just enough space for a couch and one strangely blue armchair shoved into a corner, and he wonders if it has any use other than this. He can’t decide if it would be better if the room is reserved for this graveyard kind of goodbye or if they use it for something mildly charming like an intimate afternoon tea. He isn’t left to wonder long before the door is opening and his mother is letting out a horrific sob and pulling Minghao into her arms.

“Oh, my baby,” his mother cries. Minghao tries not to choke on it and hugs her tighter. “My sweet boy. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Minghao says quietly. It’s not, but no one needs to say that out loud. It’s kind of implied by the whole goodbye-armchair-in-the-corner thing. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.” His mother pulls back to look at him, taking his face into her hands despite the way that she has to reach up to do so. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t try to make this your fault.”

Minghao gives a wry, tired smile. He doesn’t really have to make it his fault—it’s going to be his fault when he dies. No way around it. “Whatever you say. You’ll be okay, right? Mingyu can help cover shifts, you know how he likes the apothecary, and they’ll send a little bit of money to compensate for things.”

It’s a credit to his mother’s strength that she doesn’t flinch. They send money to the families of the dead tributes, an almost offensively small amount to really drive home how unimportant they are. Still, it’s something. 

“I won’t beg you to come back.” His mother’s voice breaks a little on the words and Minghao tries not to scream. “I know that’s too much to put on you. Just try, sweetheart, and know that I love you no matter what. Just try.”

She doesn’t add any “you could do it” or “you’re strong enough.” She’s only asking him to try, no pressure added. He can at least do that for her, one last act of respect and love. 

“I will,” Minghao’s voice cracks in the middle, the tears finally falling. “I’ll try. I love you, Mama.”

He’s not sure that he registers anything that his mother whispers to him before the Peacekeepers come to escort her out, but he does register the half-yelled “I love you” that his mother says as they shut the door behind her. He didn’t even get to say it back. He hopes that she knows —it was the last thing he could choke out anyway.

Mingyu walks through the door, takes one look at Minghao, and drags him into sitting down on the couch, Minghao’s face buried into Mingyu’s neck while he cries.

“I’m so sorry, Hao,” Mingyu says. “I wish I could do it for you, I’m so sorry.”

Minghao doesn’t say it, but he’s glad that Mingyu can’t. The reapings are always at the very beginning of November, just barely in between Mingyu and Minghao’s birthdays. Mingyu turned 19 in the spring, meaning he couldn’t volunteer like Minghao knows that he would have. It’s for the best. Between the two of them, despite Mingyu’s strength and skills from the sawmill, Minghao is the one who has any kind of chance.

Mingyu is too soft—he would hesitate to kill someone if he even could in the first place, and it would cost him his life immediately. Minghao has always envied Mingyu’s softness, but Minghao’s lack of that is paying off now. Minghao can kill. He’s going to have to. Mingyu couldn’t, but he’s going to be excellent in the apothecary. He never liked the sawmills anyway.

“It’s okay, Mingyu,” Minghao says, wiping harshly at his face with the back of his hand. Get it together. You don’t get to stay in this room forever. “I know you would’ve and I love you for it, but it’s okay. You can take over at the apothecary for me instead.”

Mingyu grimaces. “Okay. I’ll take care of her. I won’t— I won’t leave her alone. I’ll stay.”

Mingyu will stay. Minghao can’t. Never in their favor, but at least Minghao’s mother won’t be alone.

“Minghao,” Mingyu says slowly. His words are sure when he turns Minghao so Mingyu can look him in the eyes. “Don’t let them change you. Not at your core, not who you are. Don’t let them near that.”

Minghao feels his own grimace now. “You’re telling me to not kill anyone?”

“No, not at all,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “No, I want you to try your best to come home. You’re going to have to kill people to do it, I know that, but that’s not who you are. You know the difference. Don’t let them change you like that.”

It’s the last thing Mingyu gets out before the Peacekeepers come in, a rough voice telling him that time is up. Mingyu doesn’t fight it, but he does turn his head so he can look back at Minghao. “I love you, Hao. Even if they do.”

Minghao thinks that this “I love you” gets drowned out too. Mingyu must know anyway. He wouldn’t tell Minghao that if he didn’t: I love you, even if they change you. Even if. 

Minghao didn’t say “goodbye” to his mother or to Mingyu. He looks back at the armchair as he’s led out of the room to the train and wonders if he’s done enough to satisfy it until the next male tribute sees death in that room.

Minghao has been told about the trains, of course. They’re almost an urban legend, made up of the kind of glamor and opulence that District 7 doesn’t ever see—save six years ago, when their last victor won and 7 got a year of spoils for it. Even then, all of their own opulence was tinged with something rancid that felt a lot like profiting off of a 14-year-old slaughtering people against his will. It felt a lot like profiting off of—

“Jun.”

Chapter Text

I fear I will be ripped open and found unsightly.

— Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait in Letters

Junhui thinks that the devastation on Minghao’s face is far worse than the vacant acceptance that he wore on stage. Junhui is thankful that Lottie is off in her own car, is really thankful that no one is around to see the way that Junhui rushes forward and barely catches Minghao before he hits the ground. There’s anguish all over him, dripping down his face with his tears, in his hands where his nails dig into Junhui’s arm, in his voice when he chokes out Junhui’s name again.

“I know,” Junhui says. He can hear how broken his own voice is when he says it. Figures, considering how his heart feels like it’s shattering in his chest. “I’m so sorry, Minghao. I’m so sorry.”

It wasn’t supposed to be Minghao. It wasn’t supposed to be Minghao, who will walk into the Arena already aged out, who only had his name in seven times, who was supporting his mother almost entirely, who’s too good for this. He’s far too good to have to do this. No matter what happens now, if he wins or loses, there’s no good way out. There’s no room for “good” at all.

Minghao’s name was called and he was ruined before he ever set foot on the stage. Junhui wants to go back two hours, wants to take the few minutes he was alone with the paper strips while Seokmin stepped out and pull out every one with Minghao’s name on it. He thought about it. He hesitated. Hesitation is a fatal mistake.

Junhui has been numb since they called Minghao’s name, gone frozen and rigid when Minghao couldn’t even look at Junhui while he walked onto the stage. Minghao stood there, spine straight, and Junhui made another mistake when he looked away from Minghao and looked out to see Minghao’s mother sobbing while Mingyu tried to comfort her, as if Mingyu hadn’t let out a sharp “no” when Minghao stepped forward. Junhui looked away. 

When Minghao’s mother stepped out of that godawful room after saying goodbye, she squeezed Mingyu’s shoulder as they passed each other before coming to stand in front of Junhui. She took his hand gently and looked him straight in the eye. Junhui wondered if he looked as broken as she did.

“You’ll try to bring him home?” she asked softly. “Between the two of you, it might— He might—”

“Yeah,” Junhui said after the tears stopped up her words. “Yeah, I’m going to do everything I can. I can promise that much.”

He couldn’t promise anything else. They both knew it.

“Give him this,” she said, handing Junhui a small, familiar box. “You come home too, Junhui.”

Junhui didn’t know what to say to that. She walked away before he could put together anything else, any kind of coherent question about what she meant or if he gets to come home without Minghao, about why she gave him Minghao’s token, any of it. Junhui doesn’t think any answer would have satisfied him anyway.

He’s more questions than answers right now as he holds Minghao to his chest, both of them on the floor of the train car because Minghao can’t hold himself up. He’s nearly choking, but Junhui won’t shush him or try to tell him it’s okay. Not right now. 

Junhui knows that he’s probably supposed to be a pillar of support and comfort, but he’s nearly bent over Minghao and pressing his face into Minghao’s hair as his own sobs are wrenched out of him. Junhui isn’t sure what’s causing his tears. There are too many options. It could be that Minghao is either going to die or he’s going to live with everything he has to do. It could be the thought that Minghao might have to live like Junhui does. 

Selfishly, it could be that the Games, the Capitol, keep taking things away from Junhui. They took his innocence, his childhood, his parents, and now, six years later, they’re trying to take his best friend too. Junhui is supposed to “mentor” his best friend and watch him die.

He chides himself for the thought—Minghao has a better chance at winning than a lot of people in the non-Career districts. He’s smart, he’s fast, he’s resourceful, and Junhui knows from their occasional hunts in the forest that he’s deadly with an axe and decent with a knife. His odds are certainly better than Junhui’s were. The Capitol won’t want another victor from 7 so soon, it wouldn’t be “exciting,” but if Junhui and Minghao are both careful, they might be able to pull this off. Minghao could win.

It’s not something he’s going to say out loud when Minghao is so raw with devastation. Minghao doesn’t want placating words of comfort, he never has. He doesn’t want to hear “you have a chance” when everything is stacked against him. He needs Junhui to cry with him, to mourn who he was before his name was called, to be with him while he tries to put himself back together before anyone else sees him.

“I’m so sorry,” Junhui whispers again. Minghao’s cries are starting to subside, but Junhui holds him tighter to his chest when he says his next words. “You’re not alone. I’m with you in this. I’m always with you, that’s not changing.”

Minghao pulls back to look at Junhui, rubbing harshly at his eyes with the back of his hand until Junhui pulls it down. Minghao laces his fingers with Junhui’s and looks at him, all intensity and fear.

“I’m sorry you’re going to have to watch me—” Minghao chokes a little and Junhui kind of wishes he’d choke a little more, because he doesn’t want Minghao to finish that. “I’m sorry you’re going to have to watch me die.”

Junhui hears the miserable noise that comes out of him like someone else made it, dissociated from him entirely. “Minghao, it’s not certain. You—”

“Jun,” Minghao says quietly. “I know, but let’s not act like there aren’t 23 other mentors saying the same thing to their tributes right now.”

Junhui flinches at “mentor.” He’s never been a very good one, and he doesn’t want Minghao of all people to think about him like that. Unfortunately, Junhui doesn’t usually get what he wants.

“Sorry,” Minghao says with a half-hearted smile. He’s trying to comfort Junhui and Junhui doesn’t know why he’s surprised, because it’s a very Minghao thing to do. “I know you’re not thrilled about playing mentor. On the upside, you’ve told me enough that you’ve already covered a lot of ground.”

Minghao says it like it’s a little joke, like it’s a helpful thing that Junhui’s preemptively prepared him for his own Games, but it makes something in Junhui’s stomach drop. No fucking wonder Minghao seems so resigned. Junhui hasn’t ever talked about his Games with any kind of positive or hopeful tone, despite having won in the end. Minghao is preparing for the worst because it’s all he knows.

“You know you’re different than I was, right?” Junhui asks, almost desperately. They’re still holding hands. They don’t do this kind of thing. He doesn’t let go. “I was 14 and I had no idea what I was doing, my mentor was garbage, and I didn’t have any skills or strategy. You’re going to be different. We’re going to figure out a strategy, you’re great with an axe and you can pick up another weapon quickly, and you’re already smarter than anyone here. It’s not over yet.”

Junhui is surprised at the conviction in his own voice, but he realizes that he needs to believe it too. He needs to believe that he isn’t sending Minghao to almost-certain death. Minghao gives that half-hearted smile again and Junhui knows that he needs to believe it too, but he’s not going to. Junhui doesn’t know what would get him to think that he isn’t going to die within the month.

“Okay, Junnie, I won’t talk like that,” Minghao finally says. The nickname rolls off his tongue like it did when he was 13 and it makes Junhui’s chest ache. They’re actually going to send this boy, this sweet boy who runs an apothecary with his mother, who brings firewood to the neighbors who can’t chop it themselves, who was the first person to be truly kind to Junhui after his Games, to the Arena? They’re going to ask this bleeding-heart boy to kill and Junhui doesn’t know if he can.

Although, Minghao was the first person to be kind to Junhui after his Games, yes, but Junhui is realizing that it wasn’t just kindness that let him do it. All of Panem watched Junhui slaughter people with no hesitation, all brute adrenaline and strength rather than any kind of sophistication. Minghao watched it and he still sat across from Junhui at his kitchen table with no hesitation. Minghao was the first person to not be afraid of Junhui. This bleeding-heart boy who wasn’t scared when even Junhui’s parents were. Maybe, just maybe.

Junhui looks at Minghao again, taking in the way that three hours after the reaping, he’s dried up his tears and tried to comfort Junhui, and now he’s standing up and pulling Junhui up by their joined hands. Minghao is tall, nearly Junhui’s height, and he’s not broad or bulky like the boys from 1, 2, and 4 always are, but he’s strong. Junhui has seen him in the summers when 7 finally heats up and this last summer, Minghao was all slender muscle as he chopped wood for stoves and climbed up trees to reach the ripest fruits, handing them down to Junhui to hand to Mingyu, far above where either of them could go. If they can leverage that lithe kind of strength, Minghao has a better chance with his training score, which is step one for securing sponsorships and alliances.

Well, not quite. Step one is the opening ceremony tomorrow night. Junhui wonders if he can weasel whatever stylist they get into not openly dressing Minghao and Lottie like trees. It’s not exactly show-stopping, and Junhui knows that looks will get you far in the Capitol. He’s seen Lottie for all of ten minutes and she’s not horrible to look at, and Minghao—

Junhui knows that looking at his best friend with red-rimmed eyes on the worst day of his life shouldn’t have Junhui realizing things, but it can’t be helped now. He’s already realized it and he’s thinking back before this and wondering how he ever missed it: Minghao is pretty. He’s terribly, horribly pretty and Junhui doesn’t find people pretty, he just doesn’t. He doesn’t have the time or the mental space to think about whether people are attractive. It’s a little unfair that he’s finding both of those because he’s realizing that he thinks his best friend is kind of gorgeous. Goddamnit.

“I should talk to the stylist, you’re too pretty to be dressed like a tree tomorrow night,” Junhui says before he can stop himself. Goddamnit. “I mean, uh—”

Minghao just laughs, that little giggle he does, and it’s pretty pretty pretty. Fuck. “I would appreciate that, yeah. I think anyone is too pretty to be dressed like a tree and it probably wouldn’t be my best debut look. Although, I guess they’ll have already seen the reaping. I didn’t exactly look my best today.”

“You looked great,” Junhui says. He’s really trying to smooth out whatever weird thing he’s just flared up between them, trying to make it sound reassuring rather than like Junhui is having an awakening. They’re still holding hands. Junhui squeezes Minghao’s hand before he drops it and Minghao smiles at him like he thinks Junhui is just being funny. “You should splash some water on your face before dinner. I’m sure Lottie won’t be weird about it, but it’s better to get ahead of any of that.”

“Fair,” Minghao says, following Junhui to one of the bathrooms and letting Junhui turn on the taps that don’t make sense. There shouldn’t be five. That’s not his priority right now. “Not to sound awful, but Lottie isn’t my ideal ally and she could prove me wrong, but I’m not particularly worried about her either.”

“What do you know about her?” Junhui asks. Minghao is being so delicate about splashing water on his face and it makes Junhui smile.

“She’s a merchant kid,” Minghao shrugs. He pats his face dry with the towel Junhui hands him and Junhui doesn’t resist the urge to smooth his hair back in place for him. “Never been particularly good at anything, though I can tell she tries hard. I think she just spreads it out too much. She’s got enough in her that if she chose one thing to get good at, she could survive for a while.”

“You sound like you want me to tell her that so she can survive,” Junhui observes. “It might be in your best interest to do the opposite, Hao.”

Minghao looks at Junhui for a moment, thinking. “I wouldn’t do it for anyone else. Her parents sell stuff to the apothecary at a lower price because they know we can’t always charge people. She deserves to have a chance.”

Junhui nods and pulls Minghao by the arm to the dining car. Junhui isn’t officially Lottie’s mentor, that’s all Ash’s territory, but as much as Junhui is known for his very-decent mentorship, Ash is known for being known for nothing. Double layered uselessness from her. She’s in her 40s, she’s always at least a little high, and every year, Junhui ends up at minimum securing sponsorships for the female tribute, if not mentoring them altogether. He’s going to offer to help Lottie because it’s the right thing to do—though he’s not sure how neutral he can be in the end. He has a far off hope that this is the year that Ash actually steps up.

It’s definitely not. They all sit at the table and Ash must already be high off her ass, because she won’t stop giggling like any of today was funny. Junhui is just glad that she hasn’t gotten her hands on the modified tracker-jacker venom from the Capitol yet. That would be an even worse first impression.

Seokmin is staring nervously at Ash before he seems to school his expression back to something gratingly happy. “Well, look at us! The District 7 team! Lottie, Minghao, you both look well considering the, ah, day we’ve all had.”

At least Seokmin acknowledges that the day wasn’t all butterflies and rainbows for all of them. Their last Capitol escort had the audacity to ask a 15-year-old Junhui if he was “excited to get back into the Games.” Seokmin is a step-up already.

Lottie gives a polite nod, but she’s clearly nervous. She’s shaking with it. “I think that I’m just excited to go to sleep.”

“I don’t think either of us have really seen this kind of luxury, so it’s a little overwhelming,” Minghao jumps in to say when there’s a strained pause. Lottie smiles at him gratefully and Junhui wonders how well they actually know each other. “We had the year of favor when Jun won, but that was a little shocking for everyone.”

Seokmin and Lottie both seem to notice that Minghao isn’t using Junhui’s full name. It was bound to come up at some point—their friendship has never been a secret, but both of them are very private people. Junhui thinks that Minghao’s mother and Mingyu are the only ones who really know.

Seokmin snags the opportunity before Lottie can. “Ah, do you and Junhui know each other?”

“Ah, yeah, we do,” Minghao stumbles over his words, his blush spreading up to his ears. Cute. He’s not embarrassed when he says “Jun is my best friend,” but he’s a little sheepish when he adds, “Sorry, I know that’s a conflict of interest or something like that.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem,” Seokmin says, waving his hand. “If Junhui were mentoring Lottie, perhaps it would be a different story, but it will be fine.”

“I suppose that means I’ll stay with Ash,” Lottie says. There’s a mild grimace on her face that Junhui thinks is more than fair.

“Actually, I’m willing to help with anything you need me for,” Junhui offers. “Minghao told me that you can be really good at things when you set your mind to them and suggested that we work up a plan for you to focus on one skill. If you hone that in, you can use the techniques for other things and make them adapt to you. It’s better than trying to be a jack of all trades.”

Lottie seems surprised for a moment before turning to look at Minghao, observing. “We’re not allies, Minghao.”

“We’re not,” Minghao says with a strangely elegant shrug. “But you’re from home. I can at least give you a tip and not take a mentor from you.”

Lottie nods after a moment. “I’ll ask if I need help. Thank you both.”

If Lottie is anything like Minghao and Junhui, she’ll think of this as a debt she owes to Minghao. Junhui hopes the repayment comes sooner rather than later—he doesn’t like twists. Especially with Minghao involved, Junhui needs to be able to plan everything down to the finest details. He may try to keep Lottie alive for a while, but he’ll admit to himself that as soon as Minghao is jeopardized by Junhui helping Lottie, he’s stepping away and saving Minghao. She seems sweet, but she’s not his. Not like Minghao is.

“Well then!” Seokmin exclaims as the first course is set in front of them. “I love it when we all get along.”

Chapter Text

is my red, red enough? i’m waiting for your teeth

at my throat. it’s only good manners.

— Stephanie Valente, I’m Sorry, Is That Too Submissive For You?

Minghao remembers the day Junhui won his Games, just like everyone in 7 does. Minghao also remembers the day Junhui came home, though everyone else in 7 tends to try to forget it. Minghao was freshly 13 and had just made it through his first reaping when he watched Junhui spend the first part of the Games hiding and the second part cutting down anyone who tried to come for him first, nine tributes in all. Minghao wonders if Junhui is the first victor to have only killed one person on the offensive.

Minghao doesn’t think that anyone ever really cares about that fact. Junhui’s parents certainly didn’t when they didn’t show up to his homecoming and shuttered all their windows—Junhui killed people and that was enough for them. They didn’t want him. It’s how some people still see Junhui, Minghao hears the whispers. Some kind of feral kid who can’t be controlled. They’re the people that cross the street when they see Junhui coming. Minghao hates them.

Others don’t care about that fact because a kill is a kill and a kill is to be celebrated. Junhui is the Capitol darling, the mysterious underdog who swept the Games and then grew up in the spotlight, tamed by wealth and age. They talk about how beautiful Junhui is, how mysterious he is when he gives non-answers about how he won, how Junhui is their crown jewel, the youngest victor in the history of the Games. Minghao hates them too.

Minghao doesn’t care about that fact because Junhui could have killed all nine on the offensive, he could have killed more than that, and Minghao wouldn’t look at him differently than he does now: like Junhui was a kid just trying to survive. To be a victor, to live, he had to kill the other tributes before they killed him. Minghao doesn’t understand in the way that Junhui’s two victor friends do, but he understands in the way that he knows Junhui now, he knew Junhui at 14, and that’s all there is to it. Junhui has always been kind, patient, funny beyond belief. Junhui is Minghao’s best friend and, at some point in his life, he killed nine people. It keeps him up at night. It only keeps Minghao up on the nights that he sleeps with Junhui in the house in the Victor’s Village and has to wake him up from his nightmares.

He’ll admit that there are a few habits of Junhui’s, born and bred from the Games, that Minghao doesn’t particularly love, but that’s mostly because Junhui has caught him in the jaw a few of the times Minghao has tried to wake him up. Junhui always cries afterwards, the guilt pouring out of him, and Minghao’s mother taught him to make a salve that heals the bruises nicely so Junhui doesn’t punish himself for it for too long. All’s well that ends well, so they say.

Minghao remembers the first day he spoke to Junhui. Junhui was at the tail-end of 14 and the nights were already warm and humid when he slipped into the apothecary at the very end of the day when Minghao was covering the front counter. Minghao noticed him of course, the shop is small, but Junhui didn’t seem like someone who wanted to be acknowledged. Minghao let him browse until he finally came up to the counter and tentatively asked what would be best if he was having trouble sleeping.

“There’s a draught,” Minghao said, “but we’re out until our supplies come in two days.” Junhui looked almost crestfallen and Minghao just wanted to help, so he rushed to say that “there’s a tea, though, I could make you some. I’d tell you to take it home, but we prepare it in a specific way.”

They definitely didn’t prepare it in a specific way, it really was just tea, but Junhui looked so sad and Minghao didn’t want to send him off on his own again.

Junhui hesitated before he nodded and Minghao went to lock the front door before gesturing for Junhui to follow him up the stairs that led to their apartment. 

“Are you—” Junhui cut himself off, frozen. Minghao waited until he could get it out. “Are you sure that you want me up there?”

“It would be really weird if I invited you upstairs and didn’t actually want you there,” Minghao said, a little too like Junhui asked a stupid question. In his defense, he was only 13 and he hadn’t learned how to be delicate with his words yet.

“Oh,” Junhui said. He followed Minghao up into the kitchen quietly. Minghao didn’t really think that Junhui wanted to talk, so they didn’t. They sat at the kitchen table and drank their tea and when Junhui was done, Minghao walked him out. Before Minghao shut the door again, he stopped and waited for Junhui to look at him.

“If it works, you can come back tomorrow,” Minghao said. Junhui hesitated again, nodded again, and walked back toward the Victor’s Village.

Two years later, Junhui admitted that the tea hadn’t really worked, but he liked Minghao enough to come back the next day and, once he met Minghao’s mother and with her encouragement, to keep coming back. It took a few times for Junhui to really start speaking, but once he did, that was it. He was Minghao’s new best friend: the 13-year-old apothecary kid with the threadbare clothes and the 14-year-old victor kid who “accidentally” left clothes in Minghao’s room when Minghao needed new ones. It worked.

Five years later, it still works. Minghao knocks on Junhui’s door a little past midnight and Junhui lets him in, still wide awake. They’re both a little too big to share the bed, a broad-shouldered 20-year-old and a nearly-19-year-old who's made almost entirely of limbs. They make it work and both of them lay on their sides to face each other, only the dim moonlight coming in from the window to light their faces.

“I’m scared,” Minghao whispers. It’s the kind of thing you whisper when you’re on a train to the Capitol. “I’m really, really scared.”

“I think I’m supposed to tell you it’s going to be okay,” Junhui says quietly. “I can’t really do that, Hao. I’m really scared too.”

That’s all there is to it. Minghao starts to cry again and Junhui pulls him close and tucks Minghao’s head onto his shoulder. Junhui runs a hand through his hair, the other securely around his waist, and Minghao cries. 

Neither of them sleep, and they only move every now and then to readjust. They don’t speak. There’s nothing to say.

Junhui doesn’t let go of Minghao until the last second, when the sun is rising and Junhui whispers that Minghao has to go get ready, that he has to greet everyone as the train pulls into the Capitol. It’s his first real shot at a good impression and he has to nail it if he wants any sponsorships later.

“Wear something white,” Junhui says as Minghao gets up to go. “It looks striking on you. You’ll be unforgettable.”

It’s not something that Junhui would usually say, but Minghao supposes that this isn’t a usual situation. He nods and tries to smile before he slips out of Junhui’s room to go back to his own.

He should shower and fully make himself presentable, but Junhui was right when he muttered something about the “five fucking taps on a fucking sink, it’s so stupid,” and this shower is entirely foreign to Minghao. The one at home, a luxury in its own right, has one fucking tap, thanks, but this one has at least three places water could feasibly come from and eight buttons that probably correlate, but that math isn’t right at all. He hits two buttons and hopes for the best.

The best is lukewarm water raining down on him in the world’s least efficient way, but it gets the job done well enough that Minghao doesn’t risk another button. No reason to test his luck when he’s clearly not getting great results.

He digs through the closet in his room until he finds something “striking,” some kind of flowy white shirt that hangs nicely on his shoulders and black pants that admittedly make his legs look miles long. He only half-recognizes himself in the mirror, but he guesses that’s kind of the point. He needs to be himself, but a more formidable version. They haven’t figured out his angle yet, but he can try for strong enough and at least a little handsome for right now. It’s notoriously hard to stand out when you’re not a Career, but Minghao is going to have to if he wants any kind of advantage.

It feels weird to think of things like that already: getting an advantage, as if he’s going to go in and try to win this. Like he’s going to kill other people and yeah, huh, it would be nice if people liked how he did that enough to send him little gifts. He’s thinking like a tribute. He’s thinking like he wants to be a victor. He doesn’t really want to think at all. He shakes his head like he can clear his thoughts that way, but he feels the scream building in his chest. He can’t do this, he can’t think like this, he can’t be this, he can’t—

“Minghao?” Junhui calls through the closed door. “We’re about to pull in. You should get out there and greet everyone.”

Minghao opens his door and takes Junhui in—he’s done his hair neatly and slipped back into his Capitol wardrobe, too pristine and protected. He’s a little devastating to look at, half the kind of pretty that Minghao holds close and half the kind of pretty that belongs to the Capitol, but it’s marred by the misery that’s written all over his face. Minghao doesn’t really know how he can help it when he’s the biggest cause. Junhui hates the Games, he hates having to go back to the Capitol, but it’s never been like this. His sadness has never been so visible. Minghao is wracking his brain for something to say that might ease it, but all he gets out is:

“Will you come with me?”

Junhui looks surprised and then a little hesitant, quick flashes. “If I do, they’re going to tie you to me. You might not be able to have your own angle if they know I’m close to you.”

Minghao shrugs, trying to play it off like it’s not everything to him. “I’m tied to you. They might as well know.”

Junhui reaches out a hand to take Minghao’s, pulling him a little closer. They don’t do this. Junhui fixes Minghao’s hair. “Alright. I’m standing a little behind you though. If we’re doing this, you have to be the face of it, and not just because you’re nicer to look at.”

Minghao wants to latch onto Junhui’s half-grin, wants to put it in his pocket for safekeeping. He’s not sure how much he’ll get to see it after this. The thought churns nausea through Minghao’s stomach and he shoves it down in favor of dragging Junhui by the hand to the panel at the back of the car that leads to what feels awfully like an outdoor stage. It makes sense. This has to be the performance of a lifetime.

Right before they pull out of the tunnel that leads into the Capitol, Junhui drops Minghao’s hand and goes to stand behind him, leaning against the railings. Minghao can feel his eyes on him like they’re burning, but he forces himself to not look back and to throw on his most charming smile—not too big, not too sly, something that he hopes radiates “you’re dragging me here to die, but have you considered that I’m not ready to do that?”

Has anyone considered that Minghao isn’t here to play along? Minghao isn’t sure that he’s even considered that, but he’s branding it into his brain as soon as the first glimpses of brightly colored hair and gaudy, outlandish outfits come into view. He’s nearly chanting it to himself as he nods and waves: you can win, you can win, you can win. He can win if he can harness the dramatic cheers and swoons that the Capitol residents are giving him, if he can twist this faux-bravado into some kind of actual confidence, if Junhui keeps watching him like this. He can win. 

They’re through the crowd and to the Training Center before he fully registers it. Junhui comes up behind him and sets a hand on his shoulder, knocking him back into real-time and real-life. Minghao feels his gasp tear through his lungs, overwhelmed and choking on it.

“You were great,” Junhui says softly. “They loved you. I’m not even sure where you pulled all of that from.”

It gets a short laugh out of Minghao and Junhui’s smile lifts. “Honestly, I’m not either, but I know I don’t have a chance if they don’t like me. You already claimed the ‘underdog that no one saw coming’ bit for 7. I have to have something else going for me.”

“I’m afraid you just tied yourself to the underdog,” Junhui laughs. “Not sure what to do about that one.”

“You’re not really the underdog anymore,” Minghao points out. “You’re the Capitol darling.”

Junhui throws his head back in a dramatic groan before taking Minghao’s hand and pulling him back inside. “Listen, you can call me darling all you want, but let’s not bring the Capitol into this.”

“Alright, darling,” Minghao says with a laugh that bubbles up from somewhere deep in his chest. He’ll play nice and he won’t even acknowledge how bright pink Junhui’s blush is. “Besides, I’m a little afraid to choose an angle before seeing what they put me in for the tribute parade tonight.”

“They usually already have the outfits ready, but if it’s too, uh, tree-like, maybe we can convince them to change it,” Junhui offers.

“As long as I don’t have to wear what you did,” Minghao says. Junhui groans again, far more dramatic, but it’s something that Minghao never lets him live down. Junhui's year, the girl was 18 and, while he may have been taller and broader already, he still looked particularly like a kid. They clearly weren’t ready for a 14-year-old and the fact that he couldn’t exactly wear anything revealing like the girl could. Junhui tries to defend himself by saying that alterations had to be made last minute, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that Junhui was wearing leaves. Actual leaves. A lot of them. Minghao remembers trying to stifle a laugh when he first saw it on TV. He doesn’t stifle the laugh anymore.

“See if I help you now,” Junhui mutters, but his smile gives him away. “I hope they make you wear leaves.”

Jeonghan, Minghao’s stylist, doesn’t make him wear leaves. Minghao thinks that he might owe him eternally for that one.  

Minghao gets stuck with some branches, sure, but they’re small, delicately woven through his hair like a crown. He’s wearing a deep green outfit and Jeonghan has highlighted the cuts in the shirt that run up his side that show skin, made paler by the light and the bit of makeup that Jeonghan wouldn’t let an assistant do in his stead, despite grumbling about the shimmer on his hands.

“The look doesn’t exactly scream lumber,” Minghao points out as Jeonghan directs his assistant in how to do Minghao’s eye makeup. 

“I was thinking more tree sprite,” Jeonghan shrugs. He’s new to the Games and they seem to have stuck him here to replace the older man who’d run 7’s styling for the past too-many years. He also doesn’t really seem to give a damn about the whole “district representative” part of the night. “I want you to shimmer. God knows we’ve seen enough weird wood patterns on the tributes from 7, and you’re gorgeous and you’ve got those cute little ears. We’re running with it.”

“Is it going to stand out enough?” Junhui asks. He’s careful with his tone like he’s trying not to overstep, but it’s fair to be worried about that when this is Minghao’s real first impression.

“Yes,” Jeonghan says with another shrug. He’s very casual about all of this and Minghao isn’t sure how he feels about it. “7 has never had the shine or glamor that the Career districts have, but you’re not flamboyant either. I want a simple sophistication that gives Minghao ground to build on. Besides, you haven’t seen it in the light of the torches. It’ll be more than enough.”

Minghao doesn’t notice that he’s biting at his lip, a nervous habit, until Jeonghan is tapping on Minghao’s lip and tutting. “Ah, ah, none of that. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I would think you’d be more worried about your hard work,” Minghao says.

“Makeup can be reapplied,” Jeonghan says easily, “but small wounds like that add up, my dear.”

Minghao tries not to blush, more out of the overwhelming feeling of being perceived than anything Jeonghan is doing in particular. He isn’t used to this kind of attention and he certainly isn’t used to anyone calling him anything like “gorgeous.” The fact that it didn’t happen until Minghao is kind of on death’s door is a lot to take in, but he guesses he’ll take it as it comes. Maybe it’ll help with the whole confidence thing.

Seokmin calls Junhui out of the room to discuss something and it leaves Minghao alone with Jeonghan and his prep team, an efficient set of Capitol residents with names that Minghao isn’t sure are supposed to be names: Aurelias and Lilac. Sorry, scratch that, he’s just been informed that Lilac is spelled with a “k.” Lilak. At least she’s nice and not too rough with Minghao’s hair. It could be worse.

They’ve finished up Minghao’s makeup and Minghao can see the way he shimmers in his peripheral vision, only slightly blurred by the silver contacts he has in. When Junhui walks back in, Minghao hasn’t gotten to look in the mirror yet, but the way Junhui’s eyes widen and he falters makes Minghao incredibly nervous. His “do you like it?” wavers hard while Junhui stares.

“Jun?” Minghao asks, snapping Junhui back into focus.

“Eh?”

“I asked if you liked it,” Minghao says. He can hear the way his voice is tight with anxiety. Maybe he really doesn’t want to look in the mirror. Plausible deniability.

“You look beautiful,” Junhui says, a little hushed, too sincere.

“Enough to be show-stopping?” Minghao asks. He’s almost positive that Jeonghan, standing as close as he is, can hear how quickly his heart is beating.

“Enough to be breathtaking,” Junhui says. He hasn’t looked away from Minghao’s face beyond the first glance he did of the outfit and Minghao knows they put blush on him that runs across his cheeks, so if any deity is out there and wants to bless him, his real blush is hidden. Breathtaking. Breathtaking. He didn’t think that anyone would ever describe him as breathtaking, but he certainly didn’t think it would be Junhui, a man notorious for not noticing anyone ever. He’s never hinted at anything close to attraction to other people. 

Breathtaking. Jeonghan turns Minghao so he can look in the full-length mirror and Minghao thinks he gets it.

Jeonghan has gone for something ethereal, a little otherworldly. Minghao still looks like himself, but he’s almost transcendent from everything horrible that’s going on around him, like all of the blood and terror of the next few weeks can’t touch him. It can, he knows that, but not right now. Not yet. 

“Lovely,” Jeonghan says with a smile. “There will be torches on your carriage as your fire and the brown horses are as close as we’re getting to lumber, but it will be enough. All you need to do is smile and wave. They’re not going to be able to look away.”

Minghao tries to hold onto Jeonghan’s easy confidence during the final preparations and the too-long, too-slow time that it takes to get to the holding area for the parade. They’ll go in order of their Districts, so 7 gets the pleasant experience of being neither the opener nor the closer. Middle of the pack, as always. Minghao wonders if that will ever change, or if every tribute from 7 will always get beaten down by how unwanted and unimportant they are. If Minghao had a shred of optimism, he’d think that this will be the year that changes. He doesn’t. At least his skin shimmers—that probably counts for something.

Lottie’s eyes widen when she sees Minghao near the carriages and Minghao doesn’t know if it’s because they’re very carefully matching or because she looks so different, but he’s certainly a little thrown off by how her stylist has dressed her. He’s used to a very prim and proper Lottie, a merchant’s daughter, but they’ve dressed her in similar shimmers and colors, shaped carefully to highlight the fact that she’s quite pretty if you take all of her normal stiffness away.

Minghao lets out a low whistle as Lottie walks up. “I feel like I need to be calling you Charlotte right now. Lottie doesn’t quite fit this look.”

Lottie laughs and lightly hits Minghao’s shoulder. He’s glad she’s warmed back up to him—they were never friends, but they were friendly. They could speak to each other in groups. She’s familiar, at least.

“Stop that,” Lottie says with a smile. “You look great. We’re going to kill this.”

“I really do love when we all get along,” Seokmin sighs, appearing from out of nowhere. Minghao tries not to visibly startle. “Where are your mentors?”

“Ash is off doing God knows what,” Lottie says, rolling her eyes.

“I’m right here,” Junhui says as he steps up next to Minghao. He sets a hand on the small of Minghao’s back and Minghao is sure it’s just meant to be comforting, but the comfort is drowned out by the rush of warmth in his chest that he’d really like to never put a name to. “Everyone is getting into their carriages. Let’s get you guys situated so you don’t fall off in front of everyone.”

“That’s an option?” Lottie asks.

“...No,” Junhui says evenly, his hand flexing on Minghao’s back. “Definitely not. I don’t even know why I said that. Silly me.”

Lottie shoots him an impressive glare and Minghao turns to look at Junhui to bite something back, but he’s a little distracted—Junhui must have gotten an upgrade from Jeonghan, because he’s in a more muted version of Minghao’s outfit and Minghao has to admit that it’s a little enchanting. If Minghao leans back into Junhui’s hand a little, if he reaches up to brush a bit of hair out of Junhui’s eyes before he says anything, that’s nobody’s business but his own. 

“You almost fell off, didn’t you?” Minghao asks quietly, teasing.

“A few times, actually,” Junhui laughs. “My palms were too sweaty. It was a whole thing.”

Minghao huffs out a laugh, trying not to be too loud. “I’m learning so much about you. It’s a shame that it’s preceding my high chance of dying.”

He says it like it’s a joke and it really feels like one for him—if he doesn’t joke about this, what else does he have?—but Junhui’s face falls and Minghao feels something sink heavy into his stomach. He starts to apologize, but Junhui just shakes his head.

“It’s alright, Hao,” Junhui says. His smile is strained, but they’re putting on a show and he seems to be trying his damndest to keep it up. His hand rubs up and down Minghao’s back, a reassurance. “I know. You should get up there.”

Minghao bites at his lip, trying to figure out how to soothe this over quickly. He doesn’t think he can.

Junhui taps at his bottom lip, a mirror of Jeonghan earlier, but different in a way that Minghao doesn’t think he wants to acknowledge right now. “None of that. I’m not upset, I promise. Just sad. We can talk about it later, but you really need to go.”

“Okay,” Minghao says, his voice cracking on it. Junhui starts pushing him toward the carriage and Minghao tries to regain that confidence he was carrying earlier. Junhui instructs them on the best hand holds and the best way to stand to be able to wave as well.

“You really do look beautiful,” Junhui says as he pulls away. “I’ll see you at the other end.”

“We can do this,” Lottie says quietly. Minghao isn’t sure that she’s talking to him, but he appreciates that she involved him anyway. He’s treading carefully with Lottie and he knows that she’s the same, but this is one of those times where they’re inevitably paired together and getting along is a great look. 

“You can hold onto me if you need to,” Minghao offers. Lottie starts to shake her head, but she seems to change her mind when the carriages actually start moving and her face drops, though she doesn’t reach out. He smiles at her, hopefully comforting, before turning back toward the front. He can hear the crowd yelling for the first tributes, the ones from 1 and 2. There’s a distinct lull in the crowd that must be the tributes from 3 and Minghao thinks that’s probably not a great sign for them.

He doesn't have time to think much more about it before they’re being pulled toward the front. Minghao keeps his head high, checks his balance, focuses on the noise of the crowd, and prays. Please, please, let him make an impression. Please give him a chance.

There’s a momentary hush when they first come out, but as their carriage comes into the evening light, aided by the flickering flame of the torches, he hears the moment the crowd really sees them. The cheers pick up again, getting louder when Minghao finally braves it and waves, that same performative smile on his face, carefully crafted. Effortless, that’s what Jeonghan said—he’s meant to be effortless in his smile, his movements, and how he holds himself. He thinks it’s working when he hears the crowd pick up his and Lottie’s names. He spares a momentary thought for the tributes from 8 and 9 who they’re pulling attention from, but they’re already in the Games. Every person for themselves. Maybe they should consider a little shimmer too.

All of the carriages end up in their circle, facing the President’s mansion. There’s an opening speech, he knows that from years of watching, but his hearing has faded out, replaced by the wild beating of his heart and the light sounds of flowers hitting their carriage. Minghao picks one up and twirls it in his hand, not wanting to disrespect the President, but as soon as the speech is over, Minghao raises the flower toward where it came from and tries for his best knowing smile, throws a wink in there for good measure. It works. It’s working. They know him. He might be able to pull this off.

He could win.

Chapter Text

There isn’t hope, there is a trail. I follow you.

— Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

It’s a shame that the mentors are only allowed to watch the parade on the screens tucked away in the halls of the training center, meant to meet their tributes as soon as the parade is over. Junhui has never minded until this year, when he’s sure that the screens don’t do any justice to the way that Minghao has the crowd in a vice grip. Junhui is technically a general District 7 mentor, so he should be more concerned that the cameras so consistently focused on Minghao rather than Lottie or that the chants of Minghao’s name were louder. He’s not. He’s far too relieved to be worried about anything right now.

He’s a little conflicted, he’ll admit, but that’s only because the mentor-half of him is elated with Minghao’s performance and how the crowd reacted, but the selfish-half of him wants to hide Minghao away and never let anyone else see him like this, all radiant confidence. Junhui watches Minghao lift up the flower he’s been toying with and wink and Junhui kind of wants to cheer too, or maybe do that dramatic swoon thing that some of the Capitol residents are doing. He really is torn in two, it’s horrible.

As the tributes are all set free from their carriages, Junhui watches Minghao scan the crowd for him, his face relaxing into something undeniably happy when their eyes meet. Junhui sweeps him into a hug as soon as they’re close enough.

“You were amazing,” Junhui says quietly, just loud enough for Minghao to hear. “You’re incredible, you don’t even know how stunning you were.”

Minghao laughs, high-pitched and giddy, and Junhui knows the situation they’re in should dampen things, but he’s a little overwhelmed with how happy he is right now. 

“I thought I was going to pass out,” Minghao says with a bright grin. He pulls away, but Junhui keeps a hand on his waist. He can’t be blamed when Minghao looks like this and everyone keeps looking at him. Junhui isn’t sure why it’s bothering him, but he doesn’t have time to unpack all of that right now. Wonwoo and Jihoon are walking over with their tributes and Junhui wonders if this is friendly or strategic. He’s never been suspicious of Wonwoo and Jihoon before, but he’s never been guarding Minghao’s life before either.

“Jun!” Wonwoo says happily. They haven’t seen each other since the last Games and despite any suspicion, Junhui still feels a little lighter now that they’re here. “And Minghao, right?”

Minghao nods and puts his hand out to shake Wonwoo, Jihoon, and the tributes’ hands, the picture of politeness. “It’s nice to meet you, Jun talks about you guys often.”

“It’s a shame it had to happen like this, but he doesn’t ever know how to shut the fuck up about you, so it’s good to actually meet you,” Jihoon says mildly. Junhui can tell how horrible Jihoon actually feels about meeting Minghao. There’s a small comfort in it.

“We thought we’d say hi, introduce the boys,” Wonwoo says. “This is Caspian.”

“Caspian, District 3,” Caspian says nervously as he shakes Junhui’s hand. Recitation, probably. Junhui does, in fact, know that Wonwoo is from 3, but he nods anyway.

“This is Marcus,” Jihoon says. Junhui smiles when Marcus just says hello and doesn’t feel the need to reiterate that he’s from 9. He’s far more relaxed than Caspian.

“It’s good to at least know names before training starts,” Junhui says with a smile. “You both have very good mentors, you’re lucky.”

“Unlike Minghao,” Jihoon deadpans. Junhui knows Jihoon is joking, but he has to suppress a flinch anyway.

“I don’t know, he’s been great so far,” Minghao shrugs, too casual. He either doesn’t like the line of teasing or he noticed Junhui’s flinch, because Junhui can feel the protective shield that Minghao is putting up.

“Jihoon is joking in poor taste,” Wonwoo says, trying to smooth things over. “You’re clearly a great team. That’s probably the most attention 7 has ever gotten.”

“Were my leaves not enough for you?” Junhui asks, trying to get the mood back up. He circles his fingers around Minghao’s wrist, squeezing lightly before letting go, some kind of “I’m okay, we’re okay.”

“Definitely not,” Jihoon laughs. “Makes me laugh every time I think about it. Listen, you both look tired, so we’ll let you go, but we’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah, of course,” Junhui says. He’s grateful for the permission to leave—he’d like to get Minghao out of here before they’re subjected to any strategic introductions. There will be plenty of time for that when training officially starts tomorrow. He says his polite goodbyes before setting his hand on Minghao’s back again, pushing him toward the elevators. He hears Jeonghan yell at Minghao to “wash your face, goddamnit,” and it gets a laugh out of both of them.

Minghao’s smile drops and he sighs when they’re in the elevator up to the 7th floor. “I overreacted to what Jihoon said.”

“Sure, but we all know why you did,” Junhui assures. “They know I get shit for it and they don’t like it either, but we try to make a joke out of it.”

“Why’d you flinch?” Minghao asks. Junhui is saved from answering right away by the elevator doors opening, though the vast living space is empty. He drags Minghao toward the bedrooms and tries to think of what to say.

“This might sound fucking awful,” Junhui starts before he pauses. This is the kind of thing that he doesn’t want to say where anyone else may hear. He opts for bringing Minghao into his room where he knows all of the taps and all of his stuff is already put away, sighing when he closes the door behind them. “I didn’t care about the other tributes as much as I care about you. I did everything I could for them, but I probably could have been more efficient or purposeful, I don’t know. Most of the boys never gave me much to work with in the first place, but still. I’m a little nervous that I’m going to be inadequate with you too. That’s why I flinched.”

Minghao hums. He accepts products as Junhui hands them to him, but he’s moving slowly while he thinks. Watching Minghao take his makeup off and store his contacts carefully so Jeonghan won’t yell at him is a little fascinating. Junhui wonders if Minghao knows how much he hasn’t been putting on a performance. Minghao is bound to be more guarded publicly, sure, but he seems to vastly underestimate his own elegance and confidence. Junhui really fucking wishes he never had to realize that about him.

Minghao leans back against the counter when he’s done. “I’ll be honest, I’d be a little offended if you didn’t care about me more than the others.”

Junhui laughs, surprised. “Alright, that works, I guess. You know what I mean though, right?”

“I do,” Minghao says. “I don’t know how much I can say that will ease that because you’re you, but I can tell you that I would be much worse off if you weren’t my best friend and my mentor. I know you probably think you haven’t done much, but that’s because I’m pretty much modeling myself after you. You just haven’t noticed because I’ve been doing it for years.”

“Oh,” Junhui says quietly. Minghao gives him a little lopsided half-smile like he knows how much he just sent Junhui’s mind spinning and he doesn’t feel bad about it at all.

“That’s why I got defensive,” Minghao says. “If they’re going to throw me into the Arena, I wouldn’t pick anyone else to have my back. I know that I won’t have to worry about anything but staying alive. It’s a lot more than a lot of other tributes can say.”

Junhui just looks at Minghao for a moment, processing. He’s still in his parade costume, but he’s bare-faced and his hair is messy and he’s standing in Junhui’s bathroom that he hates so much. He hates it here. He’s never had anything that he liked here—in this room, in this apartment, in the Capitol. Junhui is fucking devastated that it took Minghao being reaped to find anything good in this place, but here they are. 

“Will you stay tonight?” Junhui asks in lieu of anything else.

Minghao’s smile is softer this time. “Yeah, of course. Always.”

Not always. Junhui barely suppresses his scream.

He pushes Minghao toward the shower and promises to bring him clothes to sleep in. Junhui had the benefit of being able to pack his own things to bring to the Capitol, unlike Minghao, who got thrown on the train and told to cope. As Junhui looks through his things for something to give Minghao, he realizes that a few of the shirts he brought are Minghao’s anyway, left in Junhui’s house or borrowed after spilling something in the apothecary. He remembers packing them for “a little piece of home.” He didn’t realize that he was just thinking of Minghao. 

He leaves the clothes on the bathroom counter, deciding to just wait until Minghao is done to get ready for bed. He goes to sit in the windowsill, the only good part of this room, and opens the window for some kind of fresh air before the weight of the night suffocates him.

It’s where Minghao finds him a few minutes later. He pads over quietly, climbing up into the windowsill across from Junhui, and there’s something about seeing Minghao here and wearing his own clothes because Junhui brought them all the way from 7 that cracks Junhui in half. He’s not supposed to be the one crying. He’s not the one going into the Arena. He should be the one pulling Minghao into his arms, it shouldn’t be Minghao wrapping around Junhui like he’s trying to keep it all out. It shouldn’t be Junhui gasping for breath, choking on it, swallowing down the screams that are trying to tear him apart.

“I know,” Minghao whispers. His voice breaks on it. Junhui breaks with it. “I know, Jun. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry this is happening to us, I’m so sorry it’s happening to you.”

Junhui wants to argue, to tell Minghao that none of it is his fault, that he’s sorry, he shouldn’t be the one to get upset when it’s not his life at risk. Junhui wants to agree, to tell Minghao that he’s terrified that he’s not going to have a home to go back to when this is over, that he can so clearly see what will happen if Minghao dies, that they’ll interview Junhui like they always do and Junhui will just start screaming and never stop. He wants to tell Minghao so many things and he can’t get any of them out of his mouth, they’re all choked up in his chest.

“I can’t,” Junhui gasps out, his face pressed into Minghao’s shoulder. “I can’t do this. I can’t, they’re going to— They’re—”

“I’m so sorry,” Minghao whispers. If Junhui focuses, he can feel where Minghao is hiding his face in Junhui’s hair, barely covering up how hard he’s crying. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Minghao says it like he knows. He says it like he knows that if he goes, Junhui won’t be able to hold on anymore. He’s spent so long holding on, so long with Minghao there to anchor him. If Minghao doesn’t make it out of the Arena, Junhui will be set adrift, left trying to hold onto nothing. Junhui will have nothing. He clings onto Minghao’s shirt, the one Minghao pulled out of his drawer in his room above the apothecary when Junhui spilled tea all over his own from laughing too hard. This shirt wasn’t ever supposed to see this place. This boy was meant to stay far away from this.

Junhui has missed Minghao’s birthday every year that they’ve known each other. It’s always right before the Games start, right when Junhui is wrapped in securing sponsorships and trying to make sure his tribute knows to stay the fuck away from the cornucopia. Minghao always has dinner with his mother and Mingyu and opens whatever gift Junhui gave to Minghao’s mother to pass on. 

Every year, Minghao waits until late into the night, always past 11 pm, to slip into Junhui’s house in the Victor’s Village and sit by the phone, waiting for Junhui to call. When Minghao turned 16, Junhui didn’t get to call until 2 am, and he expected the call to ring through and that Minghao would have gone home hours ago, but he called anyway, just in case. Minghao’s voice was coated in sleep when he picked up and said the most tired “Jun?” he’s ever heard, one that made his shoulders drop their tension immediately. Junhui remembers asking Minghao if he slept in the chair in the study since he picked up so fast and Minghao answering “yeah, of course,” as if Junhui was stupid for even asking. Of course Minghao would wait for him on his own birthday. Of course he would sleep in that godawful chair for hours just to be able to pick up when Junhui called.

That was the closest Minghao was ever supposed to get to the Capitol: late night calls because Junhui might have been forced to be a mentor, but he would never miss Minghao’s birthday. 

Minghao isn’t supposed to be sitting in Junhui’s windowsill in the room Junhui slept in the night before he went into the Arena, slaughtered nine people, and never recovered. Minghao is Junhui’s home, the place he went back to every year when the Capitol finally released him, the place where he slaughtered nine people and never recovered and Minghao loved him anyway.  Minghao is supposed to be far away from this. 

He’s not. Minghao is holding Junhui so tightly in this stupid fucking bedroom and they’re running out of time. In six days, Junhui is supposed to help Minghao enter the Arena and hope he doesn’t die. He’s supposed to stand by and watch while Minghao does things he’ll never recover from either. He’s supposed to watch Minghao die or, if he manages to walk out alive, to take all of the pieces the Games broke him into and try to put him back together. Minghao did it for him. Junhui will do it happily if it means he has more than six days left.

He doesn’t know how to say all of that, so he doesn’t. He buries his face in Minghao’s shoulder and he cries until he can’t anymore, until Minghao is pulling back to look at Junhui, to hold his face between his hands, thumbs running under Junhui’s eyes like he can catch every tear.

“You smeared all of your mascara,” Minghao says. There’s a small smile on his face, tender and private, and Junhui wants to memorize it. “You look awful, Junnie.”

“Please be nice to me,” Junhui says, a near-whine that he won’t apologize for. “I’m very delicate right now.”

“You always are,” Minghao laughs. “My delicate Jun. C’mon, I’ll help you get ready for bed. I’m not sure I trust your ability to stand right now.”

“You shouldn’t,” Junhui says. He lets Minghao pull him up and he drapes himself over Minghao’s back, feeling Minghao’s laugh in his own chest. “We need to get your strength up, Hao, you should be able to carry me.”

“Is that a Games thing?” Minghao asks.

“No, it’s a me thing,” Junhui says. Minghao stays next to him to keep him upright while he washes his face and tries to ignore how far his mascara ran down his cheeks. “I just think you should be able to carry me. I can carry you, return the favor.”

“So demanding,” Minghao sighs dramatically. “I could definitely carry you on my back, but let’s not test that one right now.”

Junhui just laughs and leans harder on Minghao until they get into bed. They’ve shared a bed enough times to have a set way to sleep where they don’t roll over onto each other. Minghao shatters that by pulling Junhui closer until he can lay his head on Minghao’s chest and Minghao can wrap an arm around his waist. Junhui can hear how quick Minghao’s heartbeat is and he wonders if the way he curls up to Minghao gives away how his own heart is racing too. 

“You know you’re my best friend, right?” Junhui asks softly. 

“Yeah, I know,” Minghao whispers. “You’re my best friend too. Always will be.”

Always. Everything in Junhui aches.

Chapter Text

Inside me, something seethes. Inside me, some feral animal claws at my ribcage, trapped.

— Molly McCully Brown, Places I’ve Taken My Body

Seokmin, notorious for his grating optimism and lack of ability to read the room, weaponizes those both when he opens the door to Junhui’s bedroom and immediately starts in on a mild panic.

“We can’t find—” Seokmin stops when Junhui and Minghao both raise their heads. “Minghao. There you are!”

Seokmin’s voice is still upbeat, too light, but the look on his face is shattered glass. Minghao knows it has something to do with the way that Junhui entirely wrapped himself around Minghao while they were sleeping and the way that Minghao didn’t actually let go when Seokmin came in. Seokmin’s social awareness must log back on, because he says “breakfast in 30” and leaves, closing the door softly behind him.

“I’m sure that won’t cause any issues at all,” Junhui says. Minghao can feel Junhui’s soft laugh as it leaves him and he wonders if the Capitol is advanced enough to have figured out how to bottle laughter. “I’m sure that Seokmin will be extremely normal about it.”

Minghao slides his hand up into Junhui’s hair and presses his smile there. “I don’t really feel like clarifying that one with him. Sounds like more trouble than it’s worth.”

Junhui hums. He’s quiet for a few minutes before he moves to look at Minghao. “Today is big.”

“Today is big,” Minghao agrees. The first day of training is dragging up too many questions for Minghao to really process before breakfast, but Junhui seems determined to discuss it anyway.

“We need to talk about your strategy going into this,” Junhui says. His voice is serious and Minghao lets Junhui pull him up so they’re both sitting up. “The first day isn’t make or break for alliances, but it’ll certainly swing some things. No one’s going to be looking at you today. You need them to.”

“I’m not really sure how to do that considering my, um, lack of refined skills,” Minghao says with a grimace. “I have things I can do, yeah, but they’re not really training room worthy.”

“So make them training room worthy,” Junhui says. He runs a hand through his hair and somehow messes it up more. Minghao tuts softly and fixes it for him and Junhui continues his mentor-talk with a blush high on his cheeks. “Pick something you know you can do or learn and make a point to throw yourself into it. Honestly, I wouldn’t talk to anyone today. Focus on making yourself intimidatingly serious. Hold yourself up to your full height, keep that air of sophistication you always have, and hone a skill where they can all see it. You pick things up fast, Hao. Use that to your advantage.”

Minghao really didn’t notice how much he bit his lips until people started calling him on it—Junhui very gently uses his thumb to pull Minghao’s bottom lip away from his teeth like it’s something he does every day. Minghao tries not to think about it, but that’s awfully hard to do when Junhui lets his thumb linger for a bit longer than necessary. Minghao doesn’t think that feeling frazzled is the best start to today, but here they are.

“Why am I doing this?” Minghao asks, referring to the whole “skills” thing. He could also be referring to the way that his heartbeat is picking up the longer Junhui looks at him like that. He doesn’t acknowledge it.

“You’re going to want allies,” Junhui says. He looks away, thinking. “I have an idea, but I want to see how today goes. Just pay attention to how people are looking at you and who they are.”

“You’re being vague on purpose,” Minghao says. 

“I am,” Junhui nods. “I need you to just trust me on this for now. I know that’s asking a lot considering what’s on the line, I’m sorry, but—”

“Okay,” Minghao interrupts. “I trust you. I always trust you. I’ll hone a skill or something, whatever feels right. Easy.”

Junhui sighs. “Sure, let’s go with that. Do something a little brutal. No herbs, please.”

“Roger that,” Minghao laughs. “What are my odds on getting really good at hand-to-hand in the next five days?”

“Pretty good, actually,” Junhui says after a moment. “You’re a lot stronger than you think you are. If it’s not something you want to try to learn in front of everyone, I’m not terrible at it either.”

“Please tell me you didn’t just offer to fist-fight me,” Minghao says warily. “You’re really going in on this mentor thing and it’s great and all, but I think I’d rather take a hit from one of the trainers.”

“Oh, thank God,” Junhui says, putting his head in his hands. “That felt so weird. I just wanted to help.”

“I appreciate it,” Minghao laughs, “but maybe you could be supportive in a non-violent way instead. I’m not as concerned with the training things, honestly, but I’m a little terrified about the whole public persona thing. I’m afraid I’m not really TV-worthy.”

“Like hell you aren’t,” Junhui says. “You’re exactly what the Capitol eats up. You’re gorgeous, a little sly, and you look like you could win. They already love you, hearing you talk will just seal the deal. You have such a sweet little accent sometimes too, it’s very hometown-boy-came-to-win.”

Junhui seems to realize what he’s said, because he stops his train of thought abruptly and looks away. Minghao will let him have this one.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Minghao sighs. “I’ve never been a very good actor, especially if I’m worked up.”

Junhui hums. “If something happens today and you’re feeling a little out of control, just leave. I’ll figure out a way out of it, at least for a little bit. I’d rather you have a dramatic exit than have you wear your heart on your sleeve on the first day.”

“This plan you’re working up is serious, isn’t it?” Minghao asks. There’s a crease in Junhui’s brow that worries Minghao. He doesn’t like the thought of Junhui having to hold this by himself. 

“It is,” Junhui says. He finally looks at Minghao again. “If you want to win this, then I’m going to do everything I can to help you. No stone unturned or anything like that.”

“What do you mean ‘if’ I want to win?” Minghao asks. His stomach drops with it, with the idea that Junhui thought that Minghao was just going to leave him without a fight. “Jun—”

“Living like this is really hard, Minghao,” Junhui says patiently. “I know you know to some extent, but you don’t really know unless you’re a victor. I never wanted you to understand. Part of me still doesn’t, even though that would mean—” He cuts himself off before he tries again. “I would understand if you didn’t want to live like this. I would understand if you didn’t want to kill anyone, if you wanted to go out as easily as possible. If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

“I wouldn’t just—” Minghao has to stop and take a deep breath before the anger buzzing under his skin leaks out onto Junhui. “I wouldn’t just leave you like that. I hate that you even think that I could. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“It’s not about me, Hao,” Junhui says. “It’s—”

“Of course it’s about you, Jun!” Minghao tries to quiet himself from a full yell. “If I win and I live, it’ll be fucking awful, but we can pick up the pieces later. If I die, I’m terrified that you’re going to let it break you permanently.”

“Living like this is horrible,” Junhui says quietly. “I have so much blood on my hands.”

“Would you rather have died in the Arena?” Minghao bites out. It’s a twist of the knife that lives in Junhui’s ribs, but Minghao doesn’t know another way to get this across.

“No,” Junhui says immediately. “No. I’d rather live like this with you.”

“Why would you think that I would be different?” Minghao asks. He can hear the plea in his voice, begging Junhui to understand. “Why would you think that, Jun? I don’t want to fight with you about this, but you have to understand how badly it hurts that you would think that of me.”

It takes Junhui a second to process, but he seems to make up his mind and he pulls Minghao into a hug, curled around him like he’s trying to keep Minghao as close as possible. “I’m sorry. I got caught up and I— I’m just scared, Hao. I’m so scared.”

Minghao doesn’t ask what Junhui is scared of. He’s not sure that Junhui even knows. Minghao certainly doesn’t. They’re scared of Minghao living, they’re scared of him dying, they’re scared of doing anything at all. Junhui’s hold on Minghao tightens, it’s the first day of training, and their thirty minutes are up. Seokmin knocks lightly at the door and Minghao wants to scream when Junhui kisses the top of his head before he lets go. They have to go to breakfast. Minghao has five days left. Junhui has never kissed him before.

He takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair, and follows Junhui to the dining room.

“You’re up!” Seokmin near-trills when they sit at the table. “Ash won’t be joining us this morning. She seems to have gotten sick, poor thing.”

Lottie huffs out a laugh and Junhui puts his head in his hands before he looks up at Lottie. “Do you want any help today? Strategy or anything? I don’t know what you’ve actually gotten out of Ash.”

“Not much,” Lottie admits. Minghao pours coffee into a mug for Junhui before pouring one for himself. He knows he’s supposed to let someone else do it, Seokmin’s look confirms it, but Minghao is perfectly capable of picking up a carafe, thanks. “I don’t really have any strategy at all. I was just going to wing it today.”

Junhui’s eyes soften visibly. It’s sweet. “You really can ask me things, Lottie. I have an idea for your strategy if you’re interested. You could test it out today and see how it goes.”

Lottie looks at Minghao warily. Minghao gets it, honestly. 

“You guys should talk on your own,” he says. “I can eat somewhere else, don’t worry about it.”

Minghao gathers his plate and his mug, going into the living room before anyone can say anything else. He’s perfectly fine with eating on his own, but Seokmin sits down on the couch next to him with his own mug in hand. Minghao is a little worried that Seokmin is going to ask about this morning, but Seokmin just settles back into the couch and sighs.

“How are you?” Seokmin asks softly. “I haven’t seen much of you since we got here. I would worry, but you seem remarkably relaxed about most of this.”

Minghao laughs, a little taken aback. “I don’t think I’m relaxed at all actually. I just try to put up a good front for everyone’s sake. We’d all be having an awful time if I was freaking out as much as I want to.”

Seokmin looks at Minghao for a little too long, like he’s trying to piece something together. “If you don’t want to freak out in front of Junhui, you’re welcome to freak out to me or to Jeonghan. I don’t think this is fun for any of us, Minghao. You’re going into the Arena soon. Awful is kind of par for the course.”

“Oh,” Minghao says softly. He sets his plate to the side so he can sit cross-legged on the couch, looking at Seokmin. They’re both clutching their mugs, a little unsure, but Seokmin has never seemed anything but genuine, even when he’s at his most grating. “I think I’m kind of terrified.”

“Of?”

“All of it,” Minghao says with a shrug. “I’m scared of the actual Arena obviously, but I’m really nervous about the next five days. There’s a lot of public persona things going on and I’m not sure I’m really equipped for it. I don’t know how to make the Capitol like me.”

“You’re already quite likable,” Seokmin says. “Jeonghan isn’t the most fond of… anyone, now that I think about it, but he likes you. I think you’re funny, you can at least play easy-going, and you’re very pretty. That’s all the Capitol will want from you.”

Minghao runs a hand down his face and he knows what he says next comes out as a near-whine. “People keep calling me things like pretty and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Your current reaction is rather charming,” Seokmin laughs. “You’re just a boy, Minghao. You’re only 18. You don’t have to have it all together for people to like you.”

“I’m 19 in a few days,” Minghao says. He’s not sure why he says it. Seokmin has to be at least in his late 20s and counting the years like this probably isn’t important to him, but it’s important to Minghao.

Seokmin looks a little winded. “Oh, Minghao. You’re going to be 19 going in. That doesn’t—” Seokmin cuts himself off, looks around, and then drops his voice into a near whisper. “That’s not very fair, is it? I’m so sorry.”

Minghao tries for his best half-smile, because no, it’s not fair, but he can’t really say that out loud. “It’s okay. My birthday is the same day as the tribute gala, so really, it’s like I’m having the world’s most extravagant birthday party.”

“You know,” Seokmin says slowly. “You’re scheduled for a full day of preparation that day, but I could convince Jeonghan to come a little later that next morning to get you ready for the interview. It wouldn’t be much, but I can give you until 10 instead of 9. You and Junhui both, if you want.” 

“Really?” Minghao asks before he can think about it. An entire hour? He didn’t think he was allowed that anymore.

“Yeah, I can convince him,” Seokmin says. His smile is a little blinding. It suits him. “We’ll keep it between the four of us. A little birthday reprieve.”

“Thank you, Seokmin,” Minghao says. He doesn’t know how to properly convey how thankful he is, but he’s not sure he needs to. Seokmin seems to get it.

“Thank you for telling me, Minghao,” Seokmin says as he stands. “I meant what I said about Jeonghan and I. Find us when you need us. Right now, I think Junhui needs to get you ready for training.”

Minghao looks over his shoulder and sees Junhui leaning against the archway into the living room, his mug still in hand. Junhui gives him a questioning look and Minghao smiles, hopefully soothing. One of the attendants comes to grab his plate, giving a small smile when Minghao thanks him, and Minghao follows Junhui into Minghao’s bedroom this time. Minghao supposes he does actually need his own clothes for this one.

“What did Seokmin say about him and Jeonghan? When would you need them?” Junhui asks, setting his mug down and rifling through Minghao’s closet.

Minghao doesn’t really want to say that the conversation was about how he doesn’t want to freak out in front of Junhui. Seems like it would defeat the point. “He said I could come to them if I had Capitol-resident-specific questions, don’t worry about it. What’s important from that conversation is that Seokmin is freeing up some of our schedule for the morning of the interviews. Just for an hour, but he called it a birthday reprieve.”

“Oh?” Junhui asks, his eyebrows raised as he hands off the training clothes to Minghao. “That’s kind of him. Did you ask him to clear mine too?”

“He offered first,” Minghao says. “Benefits of this morning, I guess.”

Junhui laughs. “I’ll take it. Oh, by the way—you’re going to have to call Lottie ‘Charlotte’ for her strategy to work. I figure that won’t mess up yours too much. ‘Lottie’ may be too familiar anyway, it’s not the kind of look you want.”

They’re still talking while Minghao changes, but he’s a little surprised that Junhui doesn’t look away. “You sound like you’re playing double agent.”

Junhui makes a non-committal noise. “Not exactly. I just won’t be advising her to do things that would hurt you or your strategy.”

Minghao thinks it might be a little much to take that statement to its natural end right now, so he opts for pulling on the jacket Junhui gave him to complete his distinctly gray outfit. He does a little spin to get a laugh out of Junhui.

“What’s the verdict? Am I dashing in the most boring clothes you’ve ever seen?” Minghao asks. They really are bleak. Minghao wonders what Jeonghan would say.

“You’re going to be the star of the training room,” Junhui says with a grin. “C’mon, being late doesn’t fit the vibe we’re going for. Have you thought about what you’re going to do for the day?”

“Knives,” Minghao says, thinking a half-second before he speaks. “I’ve got the axe thing figured out, but I’ll brush up on my throws before I move on. I’m alright with a knife, but I could be much better.”

Junhui hums, guiding Minghao to the elevator with a hand on his back as if Minghao forgot where it is. Minghao can’t complain. “I really made fun of you for the games you and Mingyu play, but at least you have one weapon down. If you can throw an axe like that, I’m sure knives will be easy. Good choice.”

Minghao feels his nerves increase as the elevator goes down and Junhui walks him nearly to the door of the training room before pulling him to a stop, looking Minghao over and rolling up the too-long sleeves on his jacket.

“Any last advice as my mentor?” Minghao says, not jokingly enough.

“Throw straight,” Junhui says with a far too dramatic wink that makes Minghao smile. The tension in his shoulders loosens, a respite even if it’s only for a moment.

Minghao takes a deep breath before pushing the door to the training room open and stepping in. The room is massive, some kind of circle meant to enclose 24 tributes and a handful of trainers with one clear message: We already have you trapped. You belong to us. Good luck.

Minghao isn’t really one with luck lately, so he opts to go straight to what he knows before he accidentally lingers and stares for too long. There are different stations set up around the circle, all surrounding one large area that seems to be reserved for hand-to-hand combat. The boys from District 1 and 2 are already there, sparring with trainers so they don’t break the “no fighting before the Games” rule. It’s vicious to look at. Minghao goes to one side of the room, passing the survival skills station that the District 9 boy, Marcus, seems to have settled into. He nods at him when they make eye contact, but he’s taking Junhui’s instruction to go solo today to heart. He picks up an axe, lets the trainer direct him toward the targets, and throws.

There’s a solid sound of impact and Minghao knows it’s loud enough to have drawn the attention of others. He’s glad for it: the blade of the axe is lodged in the middle of the target. It’s something to show off about. The trainer gives a short nod of praise before telling Minghao that he can move to the more “advanced” targets, the ones in the shape of a person with bullseyes marked in different parts of the body. His second throw hits the heart straight on. He grits his teeth against the vague nausea and throws another.

If there’s one thing Minghao is any good at, it’s dissociating when he needs to. He watches himself move through the motions, watches him nod and follow when the trainer instructs him on the strength of a cut—he doesn’t need the advice, he knows exactly how strong he is when it comes to this, but it’s a good confirmation that he knows what he’s doing. The trainer says something about limbs. Minghao should probably internalize that, but he’s not really sure he wants to, so he doesn’t.

He comes back to his body enough to leave that station within an hour. He just needed to ensure he had that down, he’s not here to show off that he’s from District 7, so of course he’s good with an axe—he’s here to show that he can pick something up quickly, that he’s not tied to one weapon and is useless without it. He does actually need to take in the information about weighing the knife in your hand, about the difference between a utility knife, a knife for an actual fight, and a set of throwing knives that he takes a liking to. He learns that he’s probably best at a distance when he has space to throw something—where he lacks brute strength, he’s excellent with weaponizing momentum. After several hours of focused training, he has the technique down to be able to throw three knives out of one hand, one after another, with a precision that takes him by surprise. 

They sink deep into the targets. One in the heart, one in the eye, one in the stomach, rapid fire. Minghao doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep dinner down tonight, but at least he can do this. Right? 

In his short breaks, he takes the time to observe the other tributes, his eyes flitting around the room to avoid any kind of accidental eye contact if he looks for too long. The Careers are predictable in how they congregate between themselves and the stations that they focus on—Minghao wonders if they’ve stayed away from the survival skills stations because they already know what’s being taught or because they’re confident enough in their own weapons to think they won’t have to worry about any of that and can just live off the supplies in the cornucopia. He bets it’s the latter and he’s afraid that they’re probably right.

They’re the opposite of Lottie, who, along with Marcus and a surprising amount of other tributes, has spent the entire day learning about how to build a fire and how to identify poisonous plants. Minghao has to remind himself that she’s a merchant kid, that not everyone in District 7 learns the forest like he has. Not everyone needed to find viable firewood after three days of rain or hunt down particular plants when someone was lying on the table in the back of the apothecary and dying. Some people had electric stoves and access to the things that are shipped in from the Capitol.

It’s fascinating how much better off he is now. He’s sure that Mingyu would have some thoughts on the matter and, if Minghao weren’t in the thick of it, he probably would as well, but he’s far too tired to think about it now. They’re given a pathetic two days of training before they’re scored and won’t have access to the trainers anymore. He has to learn these things while he can, has to impress whoever Junhui is wanting him to impress, and he doesn’t have time to process the class warfare playing out in this fishbowl of a room.

When he stumbles back into the apartment later that evening, dead on his feet, Junhui is in front of him immediately and pulls him into his room to clean up and change. They don’t speak until Minghao is lying on Junhui’s bed and Junhui is rubbing his hands gently, trying to relax his fingers that feel permanently curled around a phantom knife.

“When I told you to learn a skill, I didn’t mean for you to kill yourself trying,” Junhui says softly. “I didn’t mean for you to spend eight hours on one thing.”

Minghao makes some kind of noise of acknowledgement before he puts his words together. “If I don’t learn it now, I won’t ever get to. What’s the point of knowing how to throw a knife if I can’t consistently land it in someone’s chest?”

Junhui’s hands flex where they’re holding Minghao’s, a brief moment of tension before they relax again. “I’m sorry they made you use those targets. They’re awful.”

“I don’t think I can eat tonight,” Minghao says. The admission is almost too quiet and he’s not sure that Junhui heard until he sucks in a sharp breath.

“I’ll get some broth or something easy,” Junhui says after a moment. “We have to get something in you. Can you try that while I go to this mentor meet-up?”

“Yeah, I’ll try,” Minghao says. “I’ll probably just take it back to my room.”

“Don’t,” Junhui says quickly. “Please stay.”

“Okay,” Minghao whispers. It feels like too much to say it any louder than that. 

Junhui helps him sit up, his entire body wanting to give out for the day, and leaves for a moment before coming back with a mug of broth and a small plate of crackers. Junhui runs a hand through Minghao’s hair, soft and comforting, before promising that he won’t be gone long and heading downstairs to do whatever it is that mentors do. Minghao knew at some point, but his mind keeps trying to leave him. He lets it run away for long enough to keep down the little bit of food he’s been given and take some of the pain pills one of the attendants brought in tentatively. He wants to wait up for Junhui, he really does, but it doesn’t take long for him to drift off, curled into the blankets.

He wakes up when Junhui climbs into bed and pulls Minghao toward him, guiding hands that rest Minghao’s head on his shoulder. Minghao goes easily.

“How was it?” Minghao asks. He can hear himself slip over the words, but it’s the best he has right now.

“Better than I could have hoped for,” Junhui says quietly, a near-whisper. “You did exactly what you needed to do today—I’ll tell you about it in the morning. Go back to sleep, Hao.”

Minghao thinks he gets out some kind of goodnight, he really thinks that Junhui kisses the top of his head again before whispering a soft goodnight, and then he doesn’t think at all.

Minghao blinks awake when Junhui calls his name, one hand in Minghao’s hair like he’s trying to ease the transition from sleep into another day that weighs heavily in his bones. It kind of works. Junhui’s smile when Minghao looks at him works too.

“Good morning,” Junhui says softly. “You slept hard last night.”

Minghao lets Junhui pull him up into a sitting position, thanking whoever’s listening for the attendant who brought him the pain medicine last night. Minghao will have to find him later to thank him too.

“Sorry I didn’t wait up for you,” Minghao says. “I know you wanted to talk about the meeting.”

“S’fine,” Junhui says. He picks up Minghao’s hand in his, rubbing gently like he did last night. Minghao wouldn’t usually describe Junhui as delicate, but that’s the only word that applies right now. There’s warm honey dripping in Minghao’s chest. “You did really well yesterday, Hao. I was hoping that another mentor might come talk to me about you because it means the tribute noticed you, but I had several people asking about how you felt about alliances.”

“Any that you like?” Minghao asks.

Junhui’s smile is small, infinitely pleased with himself for whatever he seems to have pulled off. “District 2. The girl.”

“Wouldn’t she be working in the pack though? She wouldn’t go off by herself, would she?” Minghao asks. Junhui switches which hand he’s holding and Minghao uses his free hand to adjust Junhui’s shirt where it’s falling off his shoulders, something that satisfies his gnawing need to touch. 

“She wouldn’t,” Junhui confirms. “Juniper was asking for the entire pack. Nothing has been decided, but they’ve noticed you.”

Minghao’s thoughts are still one step behind, but once he realizes what Junhui is saying, he’s wide awake. “You want me in the Career pack.” It’s not a question.

“I do,” Junhui says. “Please hear me out before you shut it down.”

Minghao knows it’s petty, he knows he may be overreacting, but he pulls his hand away from Junhui and makes some kind of noncommittal noise that he can barely hear over the static running through his mind and the nervous hitch in Junhui’s breath. The Careers? They’re vicious, known for their brutality, and Minghao… isn’t. He can’t be. Warm honey in his chest, frozen over, fracturing, all sharp edges.

“Minghao,” Junhui says, near pleading. “I want to keep you alive. The first major obstacle are the Careers—if they’re not hunting you, you’re automatically in a better place. You’re too much of a threat for them, they’ll target you immediately.”

“So your answer to that is to have me join them?” Minghao asks. “I can’t join them halfway, Junhui. I already have to kill people and you’re asking me to do it like them? I’d have to, I would have to prove myself that entire time, and at the end of it all, they’d still turn on me first when we’re the last ones left.”

“I think I know how you can outsmart them,” Junhui tries. “To avoid them turning on you at the end.”

“No comment on the brutality and torture part of it?” Minghao presses. “Is that really all you want to defend? Them turning on me?”

“I—” Junhui stops himself. He clearly didn’t think that Minghao would push back on this and for some reason, that only irritates Minghao more. Sure, Minghao trusts Junhui. He’s sure that it would be good for him to join the Careers, he’s sure it’s a good strategy, but Junhui is asking him to do monstrous, vicious things that he wouldn’t have to if he wasn’t in the pack.

“You didn’t think I’d have a problem with this?” Minghao asks, his voice raising. He can’t really help it. “You saw me last night after hitting a wooden target and you still thought it would be a good idea to ask me to do this? Are you fucking kidding?”

“Minghao, they’re going after you if you don’t join them,” Junhui says. His tone is still pleading and it almost works, but he digs his hole deeper instead. “You would only need to kill like them in the cornucopia to prove yourself, you could hang back otherwise.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Minghao bites out. 

“Yes!” Junhui finally yells back. “I hear myself and I hate it, Minghao. Do you think I didn’t think about how horrible this would be? Do you think I’m happy about asking you to do this? You’re a threat, Minghao, and you can’t take them on. If you make it out of the bloodbath, you’ll be dead within a day. Your options are pretty fucking limited.”

Minghao knows Junhui is right, he knows, but he can’t do this. He can’t kill like they do, he’s barely going to be able to kill in the first place. He’s seen what the Careers are trained to do. He doesn’t even think he could act like them enough to get in with them in the first place. The only reason the District 2 girl noticed him and took him seriously is that Minghao didn’t fucking speak the entire day.

“I can’t—” Minghao falters, getting out of bed just to be able to do something with his body that isn’t staying frozen. He muffles a scream into his hands, too worked up and too undone. “I can’t do it, Jun, I can’t be like them. Even if it’s just the cornucopia, you’re asking me to go in the thick of it to kill. I’m not—”

He doesn’t realize that he’s been digging his nails into his arms, a desperate grounding kind of pain, until Junhui is moving his hands and wrapping Minghao in a hug. Minghao tries to break out of it—he doesn’t want comfort, not right now—but Junhui has always been stronger than him.

“I’m so sorry, Hao,” Junhui says. He’s not sorry for his plan. He’s sorry that Minghao has no other choice. “I have to get you out of the Arena and this is the only way I can think of. I’m so sorry.”

Minghao thinks it’s not very “Career” of him to sob into Junhui’s shoulder, for his knees to give out with the weight of what he has to do—who he has to become—and take both of them to the floor. Junhui pulls Minghao nearly into his lap, trying to hold all of the pieces of him together. He wasn’t supposed to shatter yet, but he wasn’t supposed to have to do this either. He wasn’t supposed to be here at all. 

He doesn’t want to be here, but he is. He doesn’t want to die, but he’s going to unless he does this. He doesn’t want to be a Career, but he has to be. He has to.

“I don’t know how to be them,” Minghao whispers.

“I know,” Junhui says. “I know you don’t. I just want to keep you alive. I have to keep you alive.”

“Okay,” Minghao says. He’s not sure it was audible. Junhui knows anyway.

Minghao knows that Junhui hates this, he knows that Junhui is aware of what he’s asking Minghao to do. He knows that Junhui wouldn’t ask him to do this if he didn’t think it was the only way. He tries to remind himself that the Careers are just kids too, that they’re a product of their environment and what they’ve been told. This was the only way for them too. They know that not all of them will survive. They’re all stuck. There aren’t any other options.

“What do I need to do?” Minghao asks. He’s still hiding his face, but Junhui moves to put a hand under his chin so they’re looking at each other.

“Before anything happens, promise me that you can do this,” Junhui says, watching Minghao carefully. “Promise me that you’re okay with this.”

Minghao nods. “I’m as okay with this as I have to be.” Junhui’s face still has worry written all over it and Minghao thinks he knows the problem at the core of this. “I’m not mad at you, Jun. I get it. I’m not upset with you.”

There it is. Junhui’s shoulders finally slump and he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I just need to keep you alive. I need you to come back to me.”

His voice catches on the last word and Minghao wonders how much it took for Junhui to admit it. He’s been careful not to put pressure on Minghao, to not bring himself into this, but Minghao goes into the Arena in four days. They’re a little desperate. Junhui needs Minghao to come back. He needs him to. 

“Okay, Jun,” Minghao says. He puts his pinky out, a silly thing they dropped when Minghao was 15 and they realized that teenagers don’t usually pinky promise things. Junhui’s breath hitches and he links his pinky with Minghao’s. “I’ll do everything I can. I’ll try to come home.”

Junhui takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before he laces their fingers together and brushes the lightest kiss across Minghao’s knuckles. “Thank you.”

They’re wrapped up in each other on the floor, Minghao is almost in Junhui’s lap, and Junhui keeps their joined hands pressed to his lips while he tries to come down from the argument. He’s never taken it well when they fight and he can’t handle when Minghao is mad at him. Minghao can’t imagine that this was any better. Minghao isn’t really sure what to do to get across that it’s okay, Minghao was never really mad at Junhui, he understands, so he finally does what’s been itching under his skin for days, months, years, every time Junhui is upset like this. He puts a tentative hand at the back of Junhui’s neck and pulls him forward, kissing his forehead softly before he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Junhui’s.

“It’s okay, Jun,” Minghao whispers. “You’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

“Thank you,” Junhui repeats, barely audible. Minghao doesn’t move, just breathes steadily to try to guide Junhui, and he kisses his forehead again once his breathing has evened out. Junhui finally opens his eyes, giving the smallest smile that Minghao has ever seen on him. Minghao takes a mental picture, memorizes it, tucks it deep inside him where it will be safe.

“Can you eat this morning?” Junhui asks, squeezing Minghao’s hand lightly. “I’m a little worried.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Minghao says. “You too, please. I’ve got knives to throw, you’ve got people to suck up to. Busy day for us both.”

Junhui laughs like he’s surprised about it. “Is that what you think I do all day?”

“Prove me wrong,” Minghao shrugs. “Bet you can’t. C’mon, let’s eat before you go bat your pretty eyelashes at people and ask them for money.”

“I ask for information too, you know,” Junhui says, letting Minghao stand and pull Junhui up from the floor. “These pretty eyelashes have more than one use.”

Minghao huffs out a laugh. “Sure thing, Junnie.”

Junhui pushes Minghao toward the dining room, laughing at Minghao’s mild attempts to resist. Seokmin has a bright smile on his face when they sit down, a direct contrast to the way Ash looks like she’s about to face-plant into some oatmeal. Lottie comes in seconds after they sit down, sitting prim and proper in her chair in a way that makes Minghao laugh.

“You have excellent posture, Charlotte,” Minghao says. “Is this part of the new strategy? It’s definitely giving off sophistication.”

“My back hurts so fucking bad,” Lottie complains. She rolls her eyes when everyone laughs, picking up a mug of coffee that’s been poured for her. “I sat like this during survival skills training yesterday as if I could look sophisticated while sucking shit at lighting a fire. I understand the strategy, but my posture was apparently godawful and I’m paying the price.”

“The price of beauty,” Seokmin sighs, winking at Minghao when he says it. Now that Minghao is paying more attention, he’s realizing that Seokmin seems to always be giving a performance, like he has something to keep close to his chest too. “Remember that training today ends earlier for your mentor sessions. I propose that we have a team dinner tonight as well.”

Seokmin side-eyes Ash as he says it and Minghao understands why he’s pushing a team dinner: he wants Lottie to have access to Junhui if she wants it. He wonders how much Lottie has actually gotten out of Ash, or if she’s gotten anything at all—Minghao doesn’t think he’s ever seen her sober. He stands by feeling fine with Junhui offering to help Lottie and he’s more than happy to take a break from everything for a team dinner. He asks if Jeonghan will be coming as well and Seokmin’s face lights up.

“Yes, yes, both stylists will be here,” Seokmin says with a little clap. “Minghao, I don’t think you’ve met Jisoo. It’ll be so much fun. You’re done with training at 3 and dinner will be at 7, so please attempt to be on time.”

Minghao gives a little salute just to make Seokmin laugh and he can feel Junhui’s eyes on him, all warmth. He doesn’t say much the rest of breakfast, none of them do, but the air isn’t heavy. They’re just quiet, soaking it in before Lottie and Minghao get thrown back into the chaos of the training room. When they’re done, Junhui goes back to Minghao’s bedroom with him, pulling out a different training outfit, though it’s not an improvement—Minghao almost prefers the gray to the sad beige pile he’s being handed.

“Do they just get worse by the day?” Minghao huffs as he changes. “Is tomorrow an even more boring beige?”

“No,” Junhui says. His voice is a little vacant and Minghao realizes that Junhui is watching him pull off his sleep shirt. When he pulls on the training shirt, Junhui seems to snap back into focus. “You get to wear black for the scoring, so at least there’s that.”

“Oh, good, I get to look cooler on the day they hand me a 5 and tell me to go,” Minghao says, rolling his eyes, following Junhui toward the elevator down to the training room. 

Junhui laughs and Minghao is relieved that his joke actually landed this time. “I bet you’ll get at least a 7. If nothing stands out, it’s the number they’ll associate you with.”

“Hey now!” Minghao yelps, shoving Junhui’s shoulder. “What happened to being a supportive mentor?”

“He’s hibernating until this evening,” Junhui jokes. He rolls Minghao’s jacket sleeves up again with careful fingers. “I’m not used to doing this much mentoring. I have to conserve my energy.”

“Brat,” Minghao says under his breath, pulling a smile out of Junhui. “Can you at least give me my strategy for today?”

“Mingle,” Junhui says. “Go hang out at the water station or watch people in the simulator with a group, something to integrate yourself. Do that for an hour total, maybe two if you’re in the right group, but focus on your skills otherwise. This is your last full training day and I want you to brush up on anything that might be helpful. In the afternoon, I want you to run the simulator, so hone in on what weapon you want to use for it.”

“What if I make a fool of myself in the simulator? This feels like a bad strategy,” Minghao says, anxiety leaking into his voice. 

Junhui looks down at him and pats him on the cheek. “Then run it again.”

“If I’m sore tonight, I’m blaming you,” Minghao says as they walk to the training room. “You’ll have my sore muscles on your hands. Think of your conscience.”

“I’ll throw you in an ice bath or something and you’ll be fine, you big baby,” Junhui laughs. He stops Minghao by the door to the training room again. “Go play well with others, please.”

“You ask so much of me,” Minghao sighs, all playful dramatics to make Junhui smile. It works, Minghao gets a full smile from him for the first time since the parade, boxy and bright. “I’ll play nice. Go bat your eyelashes, please.”

Junhui laughs and pushes Minghao toward the door. “See you later, Hao. Throw straight.”

The door to the training room feels less daunting today, so Minghao counts that as a win. Not everyone is there yet, but all of the Careers are, so Minghao throws himself into that headspace and tries to bite down the whiplash. He’ll learn how to transition better. He’s sure acting like this, acting like them, will always make his skin crawl, but he can at least reduce the nausea. He heads straight to the knives again, wanting to make sure yesterday’s accuracy wasn’t just a fluke, and he’s surprised when someone else appears next to him.

“Try it with the smaller knives,” the girl from District 1 says. “If you can pinpoint their accuracy, they’re far deadlier.”

“It feels like the opposite should be true,” Minghao says conversationally. He picks up the set of smaller throwing knives, weighing them in his hands.

“The bigger knives can’t go between ribs,” the girl says with a shrug. “I prefer them, you might too. I’m Veronica, by the way.”

“Minghao,” he says, matching her casual tone. “Have any tips for the smaller ones?”

“Adjust your grip a little.” Veronica demonstrates on her own set. “Lead with your index finger, you’re going to want an instinctual throw. It won’t require you to be in one set place.”

The trainer stays away while Veronica talks Minghao through the adjustments and tells him to aim for the heart again. His first throw is a little off, buried in the shoulder of the target, but his second is better. His third is spot on and Minghao understands what she means by going between the ribs: the bigger knives had more obstructions to go through. These smaller ones don’t have that issue. He sinks three in the heart in rapid succession and Veronica hums her approval.

“You pick things up quickly,” she says, her tone almost unreadable. “Make sure you know how to kill up close too. Your distance shots are good, but it’s all useless if you can’t properly use a knife when someone’s on top of you. Try it and let me know how it goes.” 

Veronica walks away without any fanfare and Minghao tries not to look thrown off. He’s collected, he can handle this. He figures he should take her advice—doing something else might look like he thinks he knows better and frankly, he doesn’t.

It was good advice in the end—he spends a solid two hours on closer-range combat and ways to handle knives to assist him before he reminds himself that he’s supposed to be taking social breaks today. He picks the water station for this one and when he walks over, Veronica looks over at him, cocking her head in a question. Minghao nods and mouths “thanks,” getting a small smile out of her before she turns back to talk to the boy from her district. Minghao reminds himself to actually learn their names before their last training day tomorrow.

He’s sitting at one of the tables for a moment and trying to take in what the other tributes are doing when someone nearly throws himself down next to him.

“Hi, Minghao,” the boy from District 9—Marcus, Minghao reminds himself—says. “Jihoon told me I should say hi to you today, so here I am.”

Minghao raises his eyebrows. “I figured he would do alliance things through Junhui.”

“Oh, no, it’s not for that,” Marcus says with a grin. “He told me to get a read on you and figure out ‘if Junhui’s crush is actually a good guy.’”

Minghao’s laugh at the air quotes takes him by surprise. “Lots to unpack with that one. I suppose it’s fair for Jihoon to play protector.”

“Not going to deny the crush thing?” Marcus asks. He clearly thinks all of this is hilarious.

“No comment,” Minghao says. He wills himself to not blush entirely red. “Jun’s full of dramatics, who knows what impression he’s given Jihoon? Don’t look at me like that!”

“I’m not looking at you any way at all,” Marcus laughs. “Jihoon will love all of this. Did you know that your ears go red when you’re flustered?”

“I regret our introduction,” Minghao groans.

“Now, now, we can still be friends,” Marcus says. He takes a long drink out of his water bottle, staring out into the middle of the room. “I promise I won’t ask about Junhui. You worked at an apothecary, right?”

“My mother and I run one, yeah,” Minghao says. It’s an abrupt change in the conversation, but he’s grateful.

“Got any advice on plants and shit?” Marcus asks.

Minghao nearly snorts. “Sure. Don’t eat it unless you’re 100% sure you know what it is.”

“Damn, I was kind of hoping for some kind of trick of the trade for finding things,” Marcus sighs. “There goes my plan to just eat things and hope for the best.”

“Not the best plan, no,” Minghao says. “If you really have no idea about anything around you, follow what the animals eat. God fucking knows what mutts will be in the Arena, but there are usually some regular animals too. They’re not very likely to drink dangerous water or eat poisonous plants.”

“Why would I not just kill the animal in that situation?” Marcus asks. 

“I mean, you can,” Minghao shrugs, “but then you’ve got raw meat on your hands, no guidance about your surroundings, and the need to make a fire before the food goes bad. If you can’t build a fire or if there’s nothing to hide the smoke of the one you make, you’re kind of fucked. Just eat the plants, my man.”

“That was more helpful than I expected,” Marcus says, looking back at Minghao. “I’ll tell Jihoon that you’re kind. Maybe we’ll all meet up again. Caspian’s kind of weird, but we can cope.”

Minghao laughs. “He’s very much a guy named Caspian. That’s what I’ll say about him.”

“And isn’t that all there is?” Marcus asks. “I’m gonna go try to distinguish shades of green, I guess. Good luck with your scary knives and shit.”

“Thanks, I think,” Minghao says. Marcus nods and walks back toward the survival skill station, sitting back down in the same place he was yesterday. Huh.

Minghao goes back to the close-range combat trainer and tries to build up his confidence, but there’s only so long that he can put off the simulator. He curses Junhui in his head, apologizes for it in his head, and then goes to the back of the training room and watches the boy from District 4 run the simulator. He’s using a trident. Minghao thought the axe thing was too on-the-nose, but the trident pushes things a little far. That can’t be practical.

It works well enough for the simulator, though there’s a minor hiccup when he throws the trident and then, well, doesn’t have a trident anymore. He dodges the simulated person running toward him to pick it back up, but he was dangerously close to “dying.” The District 4 girl is tense the entire time, only breathing out a sigh of relief when he steps out.

Minghao goes up to the trainer at the entrance of the simulator in the lull where the Careers seem to be deciding whether or not to stay and watch, trying to keep his head held high while he makes the split second decision to pick up a pouch full of throwing knives that he throws over his shoulder and situates near his right hand as well as a brutal half-smooth, half-serrated knife. He can hear Junhui’s voice in his head, but he’s not really sure whether it’s saying “good choice on proving how quickly you can learn” or “please pick up a fucking axe, I swear to God.” Minghao supposes he’ll find out later.

The simulator feels much larger than it actually is when he steps in, one long area where orange pixelated “people” may appear from anywhere with any variety of weapons. Minghao has to “survive” a three minute onslaught. He probably won’t. It’s important to have reasonable expectations.

He nods when the trainer asks if he’s ready and everything starts to blur out in his mind while he tries to focus on spots of orange up in the rafters with weirdly realistic bows and the orange pixels running at him full-speed. He takes out the higher ones with his throwing knives, even takes out a few while running with his newly-gained instinctual grip, but he knows that he’s not going to hit the three-minute mark when a particularly large group of pixels has a sword. He’s correct, he gets virtually skewered, and he looks over to see that he survived a minute and a half. 

The trainer asks if he wants to take a break and he shakes his head, gathering the new set of knives that’s appeared on the podium next to him. “Run it again, please.”

Two minutes this time. “Run it again, please.”

Two minutes, twenty seconds. “Run it again, please.”

Two minutes, fifty seconds. Irritating. “Run it again, please.”

His fifth time is a success: he lasts three minutes, but barely. “Run it again, please.”

Six, seven, eight. Three minutes, the timer goes off, and the pixels disappear. He finally steps out and the trainer hands him water while he leans against the wall near the entrance, catching his breath. When he looks up, he sees all six Careers and a few others watching him. The boy from District 1 nods. The girl from District 2 smiles. 

He’s in.

Chapter Text

If you must die, I’ll envy even the earth that wraps your body.

— Albert Camus, State of Siege

Minghao is a whirlwind when he opens Junhui’s bedroom door at 3:30, his hair still wet from his shower and one of Junhui’s shirts that he must have stolen hanging off his shoulders loosely. He looks like he did in District 7, they could be in Junhui’s bedroom at home, except—

“I threw a shit ton of knives in the simulator and I think I might be a Career now.”

Junhui’s brain is at war with itself, half-elated at the possibility of Minghao’s survival and half-devastated that Minghao is saying it at all. It’s about where he’s set up camp in the last few days—torn in two, stitched back together every night when Minghao falls asleep where Junhui can keep him safe and unraveled when Minghao leaves his sight in the morning.

“Oh?” Junhui beckons for Minghao to sit in the windowsill with him and Minghao climbs up to settle against the wall on the other side. Junhui pulls Minghao’s feet into his lap so he can run his hands up Minghao’s legs, checking for any too-tight muscles. Minghao seems to have stolen Junhui’s socks too, the ones with the cats on them, and Junhui is far too okay with Minghao raiding his limited closet if it means that he gets to see him like this, soft and comfortable. “Tell me more.”

As Minghao explains his interactions with the Career tributes, Junhui tries to match them to their mentors—Juniper may have made the first contact, but if the District 1 girl is so interested in Minghao that she helped him, Junhui should try to find her mentor too. When Minghao talks about the simulator, Junhui’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

“Sorry, you ran it how many times?” Junhui asks. His hands have been resting on Minghao’s legs where they’re still in his lap, but they tense up before he catches himself, just this side of bruising. 

“Eight,” Minghao says before he pauses. “Is that weird?”

Junhui doesn’t know how to word any of this correctly, but he still gives it a shot. “It’s a more Career-style training method, I guess. I’m less worried about that and more worried about you burning out. You’re so all or nothing, Hao, you throw yourself into everything. I don’t know how to— I don’t know. I’m worried.”

“You’re worried I’m going to get too caught up in it,” Minghao says after a moment. “You think I’m going to change, be more like them.”

“No,” Junhui says quickly. He taps a nervous pattern into Minghao’s calf. “No, I don’t think that at all. I’m worried that you’re going to throw yourself into it in the Games and you’re going to have a really hard time coming back to yourself afterwards.”

“How am I supposed to come back if I don’t throw myself into it?” Minghao asks softly. “You have a point, but there’s no coming back unless I win. There’s no winning unless I’m all in. I don’t know what else I could do.”

That’s the issue, isn’t it? Junhui chides himself—he can’t do this to Minghao, he can’t ask him to stay soft like he’s always been, to stay sweet and careful and endlessly kind. He can’t ask Minghao to come home and expect anything else from him on top of that. It would be cruel, and Junhui can already see the cracks in Minghao’s regretful smile. Minghao knows he’s going to change. He doesn’t need Junhui to make him feel awful about it when there’s no way around it.

“That wasn’t fair of me,” Junhui sighs. He leans back, resting his head against the windowsill and trying to get his thoughts together. They’re all over the place, some frantic combination of fear and worry and that desperate fondness that lives in his chest that doesn’t want to let anything bad touch Minghao. He can’t stop any of this. It hurts them both to keep trying. “You just did what I asked and then I turned it around and asked you to do something you can’t. I’m just— I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything, Hao. I don’t know what to do.”

Minghao hums. “Can we go on a walk or something? It’s cold as hell, but I think we need to not be here for a little bit. Get out of the apartment, see the sun.”

Junhui wracks his brain for the rules about this and decides that, if anything goes wrong, he’ll just claim ignorance. Plausible deniability, no one’s ever told him about whether tributes can leave with their mentors. It’s fine.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not,” Junhui shrugs. “You need a jacket though. Over my dead body are you getting sick right now.”

Minghao laughs, sudden and bright, and Junhui’s thoughts settle the smallest amount. “Got it. Do they even have trees here? And are they actually green?”

Junhui smiles, climbing down from the windowsill and putting out his hands to help Minghao down. Minghao lingers, his hands in Junhui’s, and Junhui can see the blush creeping onto his cheeks. It’s always been easy to fluster Minghao, but Junhui has still done it more in the last few days than he has in the last year. 

Maybe that’s not true, now that he thinks about it. He pushes that out of his head and starts pulling warmer clothes out of his closet for them both—Minghao seems wary of the new clothes in his closet and Junhui can’t blame him for it. If it also means that Junhui gets to see how small Minghao can still seem while he’s bundled in Junhui’s jacket, he’s all for it. 

Junhui tries to think of the best way to do this—he’s regrettably recognizable and after the parade, Minghao probably is too—and he lands on hoping for the best and embracing it if they get caught. They’re more likely to stand out if they try to hide in a place like the Capitol anyway, and there’s no such thing as bad publicity or something like that. He’s sure Seokmin would have something to say about it, but Seokmin isn’t here right now, is he?

There’s no one in the living room as they get into the elevator and as much as Junhui knows that the cameras are going to catch them leaving the training building, he doubts anyone will call them on it if they don’t cause trouble while they’re out. The Game Makers have bigger things to attend to right now.

The Capitol really is beautiful—it’s higher up in the mountains and he tells Minghao that there’s a small river that runs near the tribute building, it’s not far, and Minghao nods, a faint smile on his face. He’s distracted, looking around with wide eyes, and Junhui is a little afraid that he’s going to run face-first into something without Junhui noticing. He reaches out and takes Minghao’s hand, lacing their fingers together to be able to pull him along toward the river. 

“They make it hard to believe there’s anything to the Capitol besides the Games,” Minghao says quietly once he decides to catch up. “People have lives here that don’t revolve around the Games, they have kind of normal jobs, they have trees.”

Junhui hums. “The glitz and glam or whatever disguises the fact that most of them are just people. Horribly out of touch and privileged people, yeah, but it’s not like they know any better. They’re like us, they don’t get any news about the other districts or anything like that. They genuinely just don’t know anything besides this.”

“Do you think that’s why they like the Games?” Minghao asks. He’s tucked in close to Junhui as they walk, his voice soft like he’s making sure he isn’t overheard. “Conditioning? It still seems so callous, even then.”

“It can be both, I think,” Junhui says. “It’s cruel and it’s insane, but there is a degree of it just being ingrained into the Capitol. Their children don’t get reaped and they develop this weird relationship with the victors, but they don’t really attach themselves to normal tributes. They’re ignorant to the cruelty because they’re removed from the consequences of the Games and they’ve been exposed to this kind of culture their whole lives.”

Minghao is quiet after that. They’re just to the point where they can see the river when he says, barely audible, “I think I hate them. I hate what they did to you. I hate what they’re doing to me.”

“I hate them,” Junhui admits. “I hate that they make me come back every year after the way they treated me after I won and I hate that they’re trying to do the same thing to you. I hate that there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Minghao squeezes Junhui’s hand lightly when Junhui finds a bench by the water to sit at, turned into each other. Neither of them let go. 

“You keep trying anyway,” Minghao says. He’s watching Junhui carefully. “You’re hurting yourself. We can’t play pretend like this, Jun. You can’t do anything to stop this and I can’t do anything to guarantee that I’ll win. In four days, we’re going to have to say goodbye and I’m going to go up against 23 people who want me dead. I don’t want to waste time pretending things are different.”

“I know,” Junhui says. He feels hollowed out, like Minghao’s just taken away the last shreds of whatever was holding him together. He probably did. They have to keep going anyway. “Hao, I’m not going to be okay if you die. I don’t think I ever will be. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Minghao asks, his voice gentle like he’s trying to soften the impact of Junhui finally admitting it.

“I’m making it about me,” Junhui says. He can’t look at Minghao. “You’re the one going into the Arena and I’m making it about me. That’s awful.”

“Jun,” Minghao calls, trying to pull Junhui’s attention back unsuccessfully. “Junhui, please look at me.”

Junhui does and he almost wishes he hadn’t. There’s a mourner’s smile on Minghao’s face, the kind that’s bitten down the middle and bleeding, and Minghao’s eyes are wet. “Hao—”

“No, I need you to really listen to me this time,” Minghao says firmly. “It is about you, Jun. Of course it’s about you, things have always been about you. Only one of us has to cope with it if I die, that’s just how it is. If our positions were switched, I’d be the same. I wouldn’t be okay. I wouldn’t even know how to try to be okay without you.”

“But— You have Mingyu, you have your mom,” Junhui says. He’s not entirely sure why he’s arguing.

“They’re not you.” 

Junhui doesn’t really know what to do with himself and he nearly flinches at the hitch in Minghao’s breath when he lets go of his hand, but he pulls Minghao to him quickly. It’s not quite a hug—it’s more like Junhui is trying to press Minghao into him, trying to pull him in and keep him close, gather him into that spot in Junhui’s chest that he already lives in. An arm around Minghao’s waist, a hand at the back of his neck, trying to tuck him inside inside inside, a vital organ. Minghao clings just as hard, his face buried into Junhui’s neck like he can keep the world away if he just doesn’t look.

The river drowns out the sound of Junhui finally admitting it: Minghao may die and he may take Junhui with him. Junhui survived his own Games, but he may not survive Minghao’s.

“That’s why you ran it eight times, isn’t it? To get their attention?” Junhui asks after a few minutes. “You know I wouldn’t be okay.”

“Yeah,” Minghao admits, pulling away enough to look at Junhui. “It’s not like I was having fun.”

Junhui wishes that didn’t make him laugh. “They didn’t actually have the simulator six years ago, but I really don’t think I would have tried it even if they did.”

“I’m begging you to stop living vicariously through me,” Minghao says. He pulls away, but he takes Junhui’s hand again and Junhui supposes that’s fine for now. “‘Run it again’ my ass, Junhui, you don’t know what it’s like in there. The pixels have swords!”

“Yes, well, clearly the pixelated swords have nothing on you,” Junhui says diplomatically. “You know, it’s going to be so easy to sell you as a Career. You have beauty and brawn on your side.”

“You’d better hope I have brains too,” Minghao huffs. “Someone has to outsmart the others.”

“Yeah, yeah, my little genius,” Junhui laughs. He stands and pulls Minghao up from the bench, keeping him close on the walk back. “Not going to argue about beauty and brawn? My, how you’ve changed in so few days.”

“I can throw three knives from one hand and I’ve recently been called breathtaking, if you’d kindly recall,” Minghao teases. Oh, no. Junhui is a little afraid of a Minghao who knows how pretty he is. 

Junhui hums. “I’m not sure that I can, actually. Maybe that wasn’t me.”

Minghao laughs again and he’s swinging their hands in between them and Junhui has really been on an emotional rollercoaster today, but this is the most settled he’s felt since Minghao’s name was called. 

“I’ll have to remind you somehow,” Minghao says. He’s terrible at looking smug, it doesn’t suit his features, and Junhui is so, so fond of him and the dramatic way he tries anyway. “Disregard the training outfit tomorrow, please. Check back with me at the gala.”

Junhui keeps his thoughts to himself about how Minghao actually makes the dreadful training clothes work. It would sound more embarrassing for him than anything.

“I can’t imagine what Jeonghan has for you if the parade costume was anything to go by,” Junhui says instead. “The gala is more elegant than flashy, but he’s already nailed that with you. I fear whatever he’s come up with and how many people you’ll have all over you that night.”

Minghao’s face scrunches up when Junhui says it and Junhui tries not to laugh. “That’s my least favorite part, I think. Strangers are far too comfortable with tributes, I hate it.”

“Wait until you’re a victor,” Junhui says. It doesn’t hurt to say this time, it doesn’t hang in the air and drip with expectations. It just is. “They really feel like they know you once they’ve watched your Games. I’d like to think that I’m different at 20 than I was at 14, but people either treat me like I’m still 14 or, even worse, started treating me like the Capitol’s toy once I turned 18.”

“Ew,” Minghao says after a second. “Ew, I knew about that, but it’s weirder having seen the Capitol residents now. I’m not really sure how they could look at you and think ‘damn, I totally have a chance with this guy, what with his trauma and my blue skin.’”

Junhui barks out a laugh, too loud, but he doesn’t really care. There’s something very funny about the only person that Junhui has ever been attracted to making fun of every other person who’s hit on Junhui. Minghao doesn’t even realize.

“I don’t know, Hao, maybe you haven’t really lived until someone with neon pink eyes tries to sleep with you,” Junhui teases. Minghao cuts a sideways glare at him and Junhui squeezes his hand as an apology. “Sorry, sorry, I promise I’m kidding. I haven’t gotten propositioned this year if it helps.”

“Yet,” Minghao says, rolling his eyes. “We’ve only been here for three days. Anything could happen between now and the end of the Games.”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to be able to proposition me once the Games start,” Junhui says. “They’d have to pull me away from the screens in the mentor watch area first and I somehow doubt that’s going to happen.”

Minghao’s glare is far more serious this time. “You have to take care of yourself while I'm there. If I come out and you’re in worse shape than me, we’re going to have a problem, Junhui.”

If Junhui has to suppress a small chill that he gets from Minghao’s tone, that’s not anyone else’s business. “I’ll take care of myself, I promise. Wonwoo has already offered to sleep in shifts with me.”

“For Caspian?” Minghao asks. There’s a little disbelief in his voice and it’s fair considering Caspian himself. 

“For you, idiot,” Junhui says. “Wonwoo knows that I’m not going to feel comfortable sleeping if there’s not someone watching. He’s the one who suggested it.”

“Oh,” Minghao says softly, like he hasn’t ever considered that people know how Junhui feels about him. Junhui has never hidden Minghao from the people he actually trusts here—there’s a reason that Jihoon and Wonwoo were both so upset about meeting Minghao like this. They don’t want him here either.

Junhui tightens his grip on Minghao’s hand when they get back to the training center and doesn’t drop it until they’re through the security checkpoint at the front and back in Junhui’s room. 

“We have an hour left before dinner,” Minghao says, stripping off his jacket and lying face down on the floor, all dramatics. “Do you want to actually talk about strategy?”

“No,” Junhui groans, “but yeah. I’ll get more from the mentor meeting tonight, but we can at least go through what you need to do tomorrow.”

“Please don’t make me run the simulator again in the morning,” Minghao near-whines. Junhui sits down next to him and rolls him over, laughing when Minghao goes easily and lays his head in Junhui’s lap instead. “I’ll hold a grudge forever if you do.”

“You’re terrible at holding grudges,” Junhui points out. He runs a hand through Minghao’s hair to push it back into place.

“Not true,” Minghao says. “Mingyu and I have been at war since we were five.”

He’s not entirely wrong—Junhui has never seen two people bicker the way that Minghao and Mingyu do, all snippy little comments like they haven’t been friends since kindergarten. Junhui didn’t understand their dynamic at first and he certainly didn’t know how to fit into it, so 14-year-old Junhui was so jealous of the easy back-and-forth Mingyu had with Minghao. It only took one argument with Minghao to realize that no, he really didn’t envy Mingyu at all. He’s quite satisfied with what he has, thanks.

“Mingyu is a different case,” Junhui laughs. “I’m not going to make you run it again, don’t worry. Eight times is enough. I think you’ve probably made your point. You should focus on making connections and preparing for your skills test in the afternoon.”

Minghao huffs like he’s completely fed up with it all, but his smile gives him away. “Can I go look at plants tomorrow too? Please?”

Minghao draws out the “please” like he’s a child asking for permission and Junhui covers his mouth before he can keep whining about it. “Yes, you can go look at plants, but only to confirm what you already know and only for an hour. Hey! Don’t lick my hand, freak.”

Minghao grins. “I promise I’ll make sure everyone knows I’m proficient in plants. I have to show off my survival skills anyway, it’s the one thing the Careers are missing that I can really provide.”

“Besides the knives,” Junhui says, wiping his hand on Minghao’s shirt. It backfires because Minghao really is only wearing Junhui’s clothes. Brat. “You’re right though. Snares may be another skill to show off. There’s usually some use for hunting in the Arena and snares won’t tie you to one place for too long. Make yourself an asset, Hao.”

“I’m all for a transactional relationship with the Careers,” Minghao says, “but I’m going to have to spend, what, two or three weeks with them? I should probably make them like me too.”

“Make friends then,” Junhui shrugs. “You’re smart, Hao. I trust your instincts, especially since I don’t know the tributes. Do whatever you think is best within the general goal, I guess.”

“I think I made a different friend today,” Minghao says. He looks more confused about it than anything. “Marcus, Jihoon’s tribute, came and said hi. It was nice, he was funny. Entirely low stakes. He didn’t seem interested in being allies or honestly, being a contender at all. He’s spent two days identifying plants.”

Junhui hums. “Interesting. I’ll have to ask Jihoon about him. It’s nice for you to have someone like that in the next few days when you guys are all grouped together, though I worry about how the Careers will see it.”

“I don’t think they, like, perceive Marcus,” Minghao says. “If they do have thoughts, it’s probably just ‘I’ll kill him if he won’t.’ No offense to Marcus.”

“No, I get what you’re saying,” Junhui says. “I guess it’s true though. If you did hesitate, they wouldn’t.”

“I don’t think I would hesitate. Is that bad?” Minghao asks after a moment. He starts chewing on his bottom lip again and Junhui very gently uses his thumb to stop him. He keeps a hand cupping Minghao’s face so Minghao won’t turn away like Junhui knows he wants to.

“No,” Junhui says simply. “I know it feels shitty, but I’m glad you think that. You can’t afford to hesitate with anyone, Hao. They won’t hesitate with you. It took me way too long to realize that.”

Minghao nods and his eyes are wide as he looks up at Junhui. “What if I do it and I don’t feel bad about it?”

“Oh, honey,” Junhui says, softening his voice. Minghao closes his eyes and Junhui knows he’s trying not to cry, the sudden tone shift only unbalancing him more. Junhui can see how much the day has taken from him. “You will eventually because you’re you, but if you don’t while you’re in the Arena, that’s okay. If you don’t feel bad about it in the Games, it’s okay. You’re just trying to survive. It’s one of the pieces we can pick up later.”

“There are going to be so many pieces,” Minghao says. It’s barely audible, a little broken, and far too honest. He turns his face and Junhui lets him, lets him curl onto his side a little further into Junhui’s lap like he’s trying to hide. Junhui takes his hand so he doesn’t scratch at his arm again and brushes a soft kiss across his knuckles, trying to comfort him without overwhelming him. Sometimes, Minghao needs Junhui to respond, to empathize or give advice, but this is one of the times where he just needs Junhui to be with him. That’s alright. Junhui isn’t going anywhere.

Minghao is quiet the rest of the evening, following along faintly while Junhui helps him up and manages to get him to the dining room table for dinner. Jeonghan and Seokmin both look worried when Minghao doesn’t speak beyond a soft “hello,” but Junhui just shakes his head and gives a half-smile when they look over at him. Minghao is okay for now, he’s just worn down. It’s been a long day, he’s cycled through too many emotions, and he was already exhausted from training.

He has quiet nights like this sometimes, always has—Junhui stays with him when he does and they try again the next day. As different as things are here, Minghao is still Minghao and Junhui is still Junhui. This is just one of their things.

Junhui spends the dinner talking with Lottie about her strategy in the vague terms she’s using since Minghao is with them, out of it as he may be. Ash gives some weirdly helpful commentary considering the fact that her tea cup is full of whisky and she’s already gone through three refills. Her tolerance never ceases to surprise Junhui.

When dinner is over, Jeonghan whispers something to Minghao before he leaves that pulls a half-smile out of Minghao and Junhui lets out the breath he’d been holding through dinner. God bless Jeonghan, honestly. Junhui owes him at least a drink for how much he’s already done for Minghao. Jeonghan squeezes Junhui’s shoulder as he walks to the elevator with Seokmin and Junhui is so fucking grateful they finally replaced the old stylist. Small mercies.

As much as Junhui hates it, he’s already late for the mentor event by the time they finish dinner and he turns to Minghao when they’re the last two in the dining room, tapping on his knee until he turns.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go now,” Junhui says. It’s not guilt dripping into his lungs, but something else, something that’s yelling at him to stay with Minghao while he’s like this. Junhui would if he could, but if he’s going to help Minghao in the long-run, he needs to make some connections tonight. It helps that Minghao whispers a soft “it’s okay, I’m alright” that Junhui actually believes. Junhui asks one of the kitchen staff for a mug of hot water and asks where the teas are, finding one of Minghao’s favorites and setting it in front of him at the table. 

“I’ll be back in a few hours, please don’t wait up,” Junhui says. Minghao nods and Junhui knows that’s the most he’ll get from him, so he forces himself into the elevator before he can second-guess staying. He knows that Minghao really will be okay while Junhui is gone, but it doesn’t mean that leaving him like this doesn’t feel like a phantom ache.

“Why do you look so fucking forlorn?” Wonwoo asks when Junhui gets to the table that he and Jihoon are standing at. Every mentor event is like this, some kind of late-night Cold War cocktail hour. They’re all friends, at least to some extent, but there’s a level of caginess while alliances are being secured that doesn’t dissolve until after the night that training scores come out, when all alliances are considered confirmed. At least Junhui has Jihoon and Wonwoo, even if Wonwoo is making fun of him immediately.

“Bad night for Minghao,” Junhui says simply, accepting whatever strange looking mocktail that Jihoon is handing him. It’s hard to be co-mentors with Ash and not feel like you have to constantly be sober. “He’s alright, just upset about some things. I don’t love leaving him when he’s like that.”

“Here’s hoping he feels better for all of the shit they have to do tomorrow,” Jihoon sighs. “Marcus at least talked to someone else today and I’m glad it was Minghao.”

“Oh?” Junhui asks,

“Marcus is very…” Jihoon trails off. “Anyone else would eat him alive if given the opportunity. He’s weak, it’s fine to say. Minghao was apparently kind to him though, gave him some good advice on plant identification I guess. Something about following animals that went straight over my head, but it apparently made sense to Marcus. When he was telling me about it, he at least looked like he didn’t hate his life for the first time since the reaping.”

“Oof,” Wonwoo says. “Rough pull there for both of you. At least he had one positive interaction. Caspian is just a consistent swing and miss on that front. I don’t know if the kid has, like, conversational skills at all.”

“So no alliances for either of you?” Junhui asks with a laugh.

“No, but you seem to be on the hunt for some,” Jihoon observes. “Juniper and her group keep looking over at you.”

“Why— You want him to be a Career,” Wonwoo says as it dawns on him. “Goddamn, that’s smart. Can he pull that off?”

Junhui winks, picking his glass back up when Flint and Olivine, the District 1 mentors, start walking over. “He already has.”

“Junhui, Wonwoo, Jihoon, good to see you,” Olivine says. She means it—despite having been a Career and absolutely vicious in her Games, Olivine is incredibly pleasant to talk to. Junhui has always liked her and Flint both. “Junhui, a word?”

Jihoon and Wonwoo scatter immediately, always happy to escape the seriousness of alliance forming. 

“Minghao told me that Veronica helped him today,” Junhui says. “Please thank her for me, that was kind of her.”

“I’ll pass it along,” Olivine says with a smile. “I’m sure you know it wasn’t just kind though.”

Junhui hums. “Of course. I was wondering what her take on it was, especially after he used what she taught him in the simulator.”

“Your boy ran it eight times,” Flint says. “Thaddeus said that he trains like we do. They all sounded almost impressed. Obviously, we don’t really know what they do there, but Cassia mentioned Minghao the first day and the rest brought his name to us after today’s session.”

“I know Juniper asked, but we’d like to confirm,” Olivine says. Junhui knows what’s coming and he tries to keep his expression relatively cool. “Would Minghao be interested in joining the pack? We’d wait for training scores as usual, but the kids are very interested in him.”

They think that Minghao is a threat, that’s what Olivine is really saying. Good, Junhui thinks. He is.

“I talked to him about it this morning after I spoke to Juniper,” Junhui says, as casual as he can manage. “He’s certainly interested, especially after his lesson from Veronica and watching the District 4 boy in the simulator.”

Olivine nods and Flint looks pleased. Considering they’ve always led the pack of mentors, Junhui feels really good about how this is going. 

“Let’s check in again after training scores are released,” Flint suggests. “Right now, though, we think that this could be a good alliance for all of them. Minghao seems like he would fit right in.”

Junhui doesn’t flinch at that and he mentally pats himself on the back for it. “I have a good feeling about it as well. Really, thank Veronica for helping him. Test or not, it was still kind of her.”

Olivine smiles and they’re gone as quick as they came. Junhui recognized that specific smile on Olivine—she always loves when people compliment her tributes on things other than being incredibly good at committing what should probably be considered war crimes. Junhui supposes it’s fair—they’re homicidal, but they’re also just kids.

“No fucking way,” Jihoon says as he and Wonwoo come back to the table. “No fucking way you got him into the Career pack.”

“I honestly didn’t do anything,” Junhui shrugs. “Minghao has always been smart. He ran the simulator eight times with weapons he learned how to use yesterday and impressed all of the pack. He managed this one on his own.”

Wonwoo lets out a low whistle. “Gonna have to remind Caspian to stay far away from him.”

Junhui tries not to laugh too loudly. “Jihoon sent Marcus to make friends and you’re telling Caspian to stay away?”

“Yes,” Wonwoo says, like it’s obvious. “Don’t tell me you think that Minghao would respond to Caspian like he did Marcus.”

“Almost certainly not,” Junhui laughs. “Caspian’s awkward as hell. At least Marcus is funny.”

“Which puts me at number two in our rankings this year,” Jihoon says, grinning. “Eat rocks, Wonwoo. You thought you would stay at number one and you were so cocky about it. Caspian is your Achilles heel.”

“More like Minghao is,” Wonwoo sighs. “I count on District 7 to be the worst so I could at least be second.”

“Jihoon’s right,” Junhui says, finishing off his drink. “Eat rocks. I’m going back upstairs, my work here is done.”

“You know that a few other mentors are watching you, right?” Wonwoo asks. 

“Sure, but Minghao is about to be a Career,” Junhui shrugs. “We’re fine in District 7, thank you very much.”

Wonwoo puts his middle finger up while also looking like he wants to die. Junhui expects nothing less. He says goodbye to the two of them and gives a short wave to the Career mentors, who give him pleasant smiles and a few waves back. It’s comforting, another indicator that Junhui may be able to keep Minghao as safe as possible.

Junhui doesn’t realize that he’s not actually sure that he’s coming back to Minghao tonight until he gets to the seventh floor. Junhui just assumed that Minghao would stay in his room, but he didn’t say anything beyond that he would be back later. He didn’t ask Minghao to stay. Junhui can’t stitch himself back together for the night if Minghao isn’t with him, he’s still unraveled, he has to—

The curtains are open in Junhui’s bedroom, dim light streaming in from the window and highlighting the soft angles of Minghao’s face where he’s nearly buried in the blankets, asleep, an offering of thread. Junhui should know by now that he never really has to ask, not with Minghao. Junhui gets ready for bed as quietly as possible to try to avoid disturbing Minghao, but he wakes up anyway when Junhui lays down in bed next to him.

“Hi,” Minghao mumbles, moving so he’s nearly draping himself over Junhui. Junhui wraps an arm around his waist on instinct.

“Hi, little one,” Junhui says, a little broken, a little like Minghao just tucked his face into Junhui’s neck and Junhui can already feel his breath evening out again. Junhui doesn’t say anything else, he’s not sure he could if he tried, because Minghao pats around for one of Junhui’s hands so he can lace their fingers together, tucked close to his chest. The thread runs from Minghao’s hand to Junhui’s, wrapping around them on its way there, tying them together—“I’m tied to you,” said like a secret on the train, stitched into every part of Junhui.  

It takes fifteen of Junhui’s breaths for Minghao to fall asleep. It takes fifty of Junhui’s breaths to feel like Minghao is back where Junhui needs him to be, filling up that space in his chest, and fifty of Minghao’s for Junhui to stitch himself back together. It takes fifteen of Minghao’s breaths for Junhui to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

I am fragile and unholy.

Open. Ravage. Eat.

— Tanaka Mhishi, Literary Sexts II

Junhui wonders if Minghao knows how nervous he looks right before he walks into the training room the next day. He steps away like he’s going to go in, but Junhui puts a hand out and pulls him close. His jacket sleeves are still too long, he’s going to get caught in them. Junhui takes Minghao’s hands one at a time, rolling his sleeves up until Junhui is sure they won’t bother him.

“Last day, test day,” Minghao says quietly. There’s something buzzing in the air around him, all of his anxiety and newfound confidence twisting together and tugging the corners of his mouth down. Junhui hates it.

“You don’t have to put pressure on this morning,” Junhui says, pulling Minghao further away from the door. They’re tucked into a side hallway and Minghao is nearly bouncing on his feet in front of Junhui. “Minghao. Take a deep breath. You’ve worked so hard the last two days. You only have to brush up on things this morning and you know what to do this afternoon. You can do this.”

“I have to keep impressing the Careers,” Minghao whispers, looking around. Junhui rests a hand on Minghao’s cheek, drawing his focus back. “What if I fuck it up today?”

“You’re not going to,” Junhui says. He’s a little surprised how much he believes it, but Minghao has never been hard to believe in. “Remember that it’s been them and their mentors approaching us, not the other way around. You’re okay, Hao. Today is going to be fine.”

It will be fine for one of them and all that matters is that it’s Minghao. Junhui can cope with whatever anxiety the day has in store for him, but Minghao already looks like he’d like to crawl out of his skin and he hasn’t even gone into the training room yet.

“I’m just—” Minghao finally lets out a deep breath, leaning his face into Junhui’s hand. “After today, everything’s going to go so fast. I want this to be over because I want to be done with the skills test, but then it’s too fast.”

“Yeah, I know,” Junhui says. There’s no point in lying—they only have three days left before the Games start. Junhui feels the countdown crushing his lungs and he tries not to let it show. “We’ll do something after the mentor thing tonight, hm? I haven’t taken you up to the roof yet, we’ll drink tea and I’ll prove that there are real stars here. Then the day doesn’t just belong to them.”

Minghao’s smile is tentative, but it’s there. Junhui smiles back and hopes that it’s enough. “That sounds good, yeah. Thank you.”

“Always,” Junhui says. He’s not sure what he’s referring to, if it’s that he’ll always try to comfort Minghao or that he’ll always be with Minghao in the move things, change days, alter everything just so Minghao will smile kind of way. “You can do this, Hao.”

“I can do this.” Minghao huffs a breath out and walks toward the door like he’s trying to force himself to move through momentum alone.

“Minghao,” Junhui says right before Minghao opens the door. “Throw straight.”

Minghao’s smile is brighter when he goes in, the door closing behind him with a too-loud noise. The training room is as closed off as possible—even the mentors can’t see what’s going on and the trainers are sworn to secrecy, so the only information that Junhui ever gets is through his tributes. Junhui can’t for the life of him figure out why, but it’s ranked pretty low on his long list of questions for whoever came up with this shit.

As low as it may be, it sticks with him enough to ask the others about it when he walks into the District 3 apartment to see Wonwoo and Jihoon at the dining table. It’s always eerie to be in the other districts’ apartments because they’re always the same, whether you’re District 1 or District 12. The same nauseating overindulgence, only different in how the residents feel about it. Junhui has heard the District 2 and 4 mentors complain that it’s not enough. He thought about decking them then and there, but Cress is 30 and there’s a reason that he’s been District 2’s mentor since he was 18 despite there being new victors. Junhui really thought about it though.

“I don’t know, but would you actually want to watch them train?” Wonwoo asks, sliding a mug of coffee to Junhui as he sits. “It seems boring. Training was boring for me anyway.”

“He wants to watch Minghao,” Jihoon says, rolling his eyes and turning to Junhui. “People keep telling you things about him, but you’re antsy because you haven’t seen it and you don’t have his score. Chill out.”

“Really excellent advice, Hoon,” Junhui huffs. He hates when Jihoon and Wonwoo see through him like this. “He was really nervous this morning, I guess it freaked me out.”

“More nervous than the last two mornings?” Jihoon asks.

“Yeah, and I think it’s my fault,” Junhui sighs. “He’s worked up about making sure I can get this alliance for him. I’m afraid that my seriousness about it leaked through to him.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Wonwoo asks. “Not to just say it like this or whatever, but if he’s not with the Careers, he’s fucked. I think you’ve gotten the right amount of seriousness across if he’s that nervous about it. Besides, he’ll be fine today. He’ll shake off his nerves once he gets his hands on a sharp weapon.”

Junhui puts his head down on the table, fully aware of how dramatic it is. “I know he’ll be fine, he adapts well. He was excited when he came back yesterday so I know that he knows that he’s good, I’m just— I don’t know.”

“You’re worried,” Jihoon says after a moment, his voice softer. Oh no. “You’re allowed to be worried about him, Jun. It’s Minghao, of course you’re worried.”

“You’re going to have to trust him,” Wonwoo says. “He’s clearly smart and he’s already playing the Games well. You have a really good shot at getting him home, but you’re going to have to trust him. He’s going to be the one in the Arena making the decisions. Your job is to guide him, yeah, but you have to let him make the calls.”

“Is this what mentoring is supposed to feel like?” Junhui asks the table. He finally looks up to see Jihoon and Wonwoo watching him. “Now I feel bad. I should have been doing this the whole time. Wait, should I be doing this for Lottie? God, now I really feel bad—”

“Jun,” Jihoon interrupts. “Jesus Christ, man. Take a breath. No, this isn’t what it feels like, and fuck no, you shouldn’t be doing this for Lottie. For Minghao to win, Lottie needs to die. You can’t help both of them.”

Junhui flinches and Wonwoo sighs. “Okay, I may not have put it like that, but Jihoon is right. If we’re trying to get Minghao out of the Arena, we need to look at what that actually means and face it head on.”

“We?” Junhui asks tentatively. 

Wonwoo nods. “Jihoon and I have already talked about it. Marcus doesn’t want to win and Caspian… he’s not going to. I don’t feel bad saying that because I know who he’s up against, Minghao included. We’re going to get him out, Jun. We’re going to do everything we possibly can on this side to get him out, and that includes not helping Lottie. We can push a few sponsors Ash’s way if Lottie gets into a bind because I know Minghao is kind of fond of her, but Lottie dying in the bloodbath is our best case scenario.”

“Fuck,” Junhui whispers under his breath. He knows that Wonwoo is right, Junhui has thought all of this before, but he didn’t really think he was allowed to. It sounds awful when it’s laid bare in the sunlight, but it’s true. Lottie has to die some way or another for Minghao to come home. “I feel a little feral about it all. I feel like I did when I was 14 and they were throwing me into the Games.”

Junhui pauses and weighs his next words carefully, finally letting them fall out of his mouth, out of his chest, out of somewhere deep, deep inside of him. “I would go into the Arena for him if I could. I would go into the Games again if it meant he didn’t have to.”

“Jun,” Wonwoo says softly, too tenderly. He says it knowingly. When you win the Games, when you’ve done things like that to survive and barely made it out, your worst fear is going into the Arena again. Junhui has nightmares about it, has had nightmares about it for six years, has thrown up after nightmares that are a little too visceral.

Anytime Minghao was with him on those nights, he would kneel on the floor of the bathroom with Junhui until he’d gotten all of the blackness out of him, until he sobbed enough to wash everything away. Minghao never said anything beyond “you’re safe now,” because he knew nothing else would be true. “You’re okay” would have been a lie, and Minghao never lies. Not to Junhui.

If Junhui were given the opportunity, he would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant that Minghao wouldn’t have to, if it meant that Minghao would be safe and protected from everything the Games tries to take, take, take. Junhui would do it again.

“We’ll do everything we can,”  Jihoon says. “We’ll do everything we can to get him back to you, Jun. You’re not in this alone. You’re not going to be alone when it starts.”

Junhui can only nod and try really, really hard not to cry. He’s been doing so much of it the past few days. He knows it’s not over yet, he knows that he won’t stop crying until Minghao is out of the Arena and Junhui’s again, but he’d like a break, just for a little bit.

“Let’s watch the reapings back,” Wonwoo suggests. “Get a feel for everyone before training scores come out. We can go information gathering if we still have time before the scores come out.”

Junhui knows it’s an attempt to fill time—there’s nothing they can really do for any alliances or sponsorships without the training scores. If he went out searching for sponsors right now, they’d be the ones who are interested in tributes based only on looks, and Junhui always finds that their pockets are shallow and they’re really fucking uncomfortable to talk to. Best to let Minghao’s score drive the attention around him. Minghao needs to be seen as a real contender and after tonight, Junhui thinks they’ll be well on their way.

They don’t make it to information gathering before the tributes are set to start filtering back in from their sessions. Junhui leaves Wonwoo and Jihoon with a soft smile, something that tries to let them know how grateful he is without having to say something that may send him into a spiral. He, Seokmin, and Ash are sitting in the living room when the elevator chimes and Lottie comes out first, looking upset. Surprisingly, she goes straight to Ash, who guides her into her bedroom without a word. Interesting, but not enough to take Junhui’s focus away from the elevator doors.

When they open again and Minghao is the one who steps out with a half-smile on his face, Junhui is on him immediately, pulling him into a tight hug. Seokmin lingers behind them in the living room.

“Hi,” Minghao laughs, wrapping his arms around Junhui’s neck and settling into Junhui’s arms, crossed securely around his waist. “It went well, I think. We’ll find out in a little bit, but I think it went well.”

“I knew you could do it,” Junhui says. He can hear how low his own voice is, quiet and coated in relief. “I’m so proud of you.”

“You don’t even know how I did,” Minghao says. His voice is light, airy and happy, and Junhui wants to wrap himself in it. 

“I don’t need to know to be proud of you, little one,” Junhui says softly, too honestly. 

Minghao tucks his face into Junhui’s shoulder, but not before Junhui catches a glimpse of the dark blush that’s spreading across his face. “Thank you. Can we change now? I feel gross and I probably made you gross too.”

He’s asking less about cleaning up and more about a moment to wind down before the scores come out—Junhui can feel Minghao’s anxiety like it’s his own, lying dormant under his smile. Junhui looks back at Seokmin and waits for him to nod before guiding Minghao to his room with a hand on his shoulder. They’ve only stepped foot in Minghao’s room a few times for the training outfits and the parade preparation, so Junhui doesn’t second guess opening his own bedroom door instead.

“Wash off and put on new clothes, then we can rest for a minute,” Junhui says, directing Minghao toward the bathroom and trying not to smile when Minghao nods and obeys without complaint. Junhui opens his closet and starts pulling things out before setting them in a small pile on the bathroom counter. He lays back on the bed to wait, content to wait and listen to whatever Minghao is humming in the shower. He’s always done this with whatever tune he’s picked up that day and Junhui is terribly fond of it.

Junhui is only a little surprised when Minghao comes out of the shower with his hair still damp and climbs onto the bed, dropping most of his weight onto Junhui so he can lay his head on Junhui’s chest. It pushes this winded kind of laugh out of Junhui and he wraps an arm around Minghao’s waist to help him balance.

“You’re going to get my shirt wet,” Junhui whines to hear Minghao giggle.

“You’ll be okay,” Minghao says. Junhui can hear the smile in his voice. “You’re about to hear all about my day, but how was yours?”

Junhui does his best to shrug when Minghao is holding onto him like this. “It was alright. Wonwoo, Jihoon, and I watched the reapings back to get a better sense of some of the tributes, but it only helps so much. The main event is tonight and I’m bracing myself for it. There were a few other mentors who seemed interested in talking to me last night and I’m afraid I’ll have to fend them off.”

Minghao huffs out a laugh. “Sure, I’m sure the boy from District 7 is in demand. They weren’t at all interested in talking to the District 7 mentor.”

“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Junhui asks. Minghao props his head up so he can look at Junhui.

“You’re stunning,” Minghao says, eyes wide. “You never notice when people are looking at you, but they always are.”

There’s something that Minghao is wrapping his words around, hiding them, and Junhui almost thinks he hears “I always am.”

Junhui hums, looking away to hide how overwhelmed he feels. “Thank you, but they’re definitely interested in you. The other tributes apparently talk about you and you made that entrance at the parade that caught everyone’s attention. After training scores, I’m sure it’ll only increase.”

“I guess we’ll find out,” Minghao says a little warily. “Alliances are solidified tonight, right? That’s how it works?”

“It is,” Junhui says. “It helps with the gala appearance and the interviews if alliances are public. After tonight, you’ll be a Career and have all of the benefits it comes with. More importantly, you’ll be far safer.”

Minghao hums and lays his head back down on Junhui’s chest. Junhui runs a hand through his hair, gently detangling. He should get Minghao to brush it before they go back into the living room. He thinks that Minghao falls asleep for a little bit, his breath even and his weight fully dropped onto Junhui. Junhui doesn’t mind—Minghao always looks sweet when he’s asleep, like nothing is bothering him, nothing is tightening his shoulders and he doesn’t have his teeth digging into his bottom lip. He rubs his hand up and down Minghao’s back slowly, his fingers catching on the notches of Minghao’s spine through his thin t-shirt. 

He has to wake Minghao up an hour later, blinking into his own consciousness now that he can’t rest his head on Minghao’s.

“Score time, Hao,” Junhui says quietly, sliding his hand up and scratching gently behind Minghao’s ear to wake him up. It draws a shiver out of Minghao, a small noise coming from his chest that Junhui can’t decipher but thinks he understands anyway. “Good nap?”

“You’re comfortable,” Minghao mumbles, not quite coherent yet. “Don’t wanna move.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you have to,” Junhui says, muffling his laugh so Minghao won’t give him that petulant just-woken-up glare he’s perfected. He kisses the top of Minghao’s head, an apology or something like that. “C’mon, we have to go find out how talented and hot and cool you are.”

“Brat,” Minghao huffs. He sits up anyway, putting out a hand and pulling Junhui up too. “You have to tell me I’m talented and hot and cool if I get a bad score too. Lie if you have to.”

Junhui tries not to snort at how serious Minghao’s face is. “Got it, got it. I won’t have to, but noted. Brush your hair please.”

Minghao huffs again, but he does as he’s told and runs a brush through his hair, taming it down, before following Junhui to the living room and settling on the couch between Junhui and Seokmin. The program starts soon after they sit down and Junhui’s brain blurs out the Career’s scores, all 11s and 12s, and Caspian’s sad 5. He’ll have to give Wonwoo his condolences for that. Districts 5 and 6 pass without much fanfare, solid 7s and 8s, and then they’re at Lottie’s turn. Ash puts an arm around Lottie’s shoulders and Junhui braces himself.

“Charlotte Hale,” Caesar starts dramatically. “Seven.”

“Good job!” Ash says, echoed by Seokmin. Lottie looks pleased and Minghao tenses. He slips one hand into Junhui’s and the other into Seokmin’s, gripping tightly.

Junhui isn’t even sure he hears Minghao’s name called, just sees his tribute photo and hears Caesar’s pause and then, through the haze in Junhui’s brain, an impressed:

“Eleven.”

“Holy shit,” Minghao says under his breath. Seokmin lets out a gasp and keeps hold of Minghao’s hand while Junhui pulls Minghao into the tightest hug he can. Eleven. He did it. He fucking did it.

“I’m so proud of you,” Junhui whispers. “So proud of you, little one. You’re so good.”

Minghao’s smile is wide when he pulls away. It falters when Lottie whistles and asks “damn, Minghao, how’d you get that one?”

“I’d rather not say.” Minghao tries to make it sound coy, but Junhui knows his reluctance to share has nothing to do with hiding it and everything to do with how vicious he had to have been to get that score.

“Ah, ah, Lottie, you always want to keep your strategy separate,” Junhui says. He goes for teasing and lands in ferally protective, but he’s not going to apologize, especially not after the conversation he had with Wonwoo and Jihoon this morning. Lottie’s smile falters. She’ll be okay.

Junhui is glad that Seokmin is keeping track of the rest of the scores, because all Junhui processes is that the only one to score above a nine is the District 10 girl, who gets a ten. No one touches Minghao’s score. Minghao is going to be a Career. It makes Junhui a little sick, but the relief does its best to drown that out. Minghao is leaning heavily into Junhui’s side as the program wraps up, the adrenaline leaving him and making him a little vulnerable in front of everyone else. Seokmin ushers them toward the dinner table “to celebrate” and Junhui watches Minghao swing back and forth between joking and laughing like everything is fine, like he just got one of the highest scores and he’s happy about it, and the times where his face flickers with something that moves on so fast that Junhui can’t quite tell what it is.

He really would love if the start of the mentor meetings would stop overlapping with the end of dinner because Junhui desperately wants to check in on Minghao, wants to get to the root of what’s causing the rapid change in his mood, but Junhui has to go so he has enough time to secure the alliance and the plan with the other mentors—they won’t have much real strategizing time after tonight. Minghao lingers at the dining table again, drinking a cup of tea and doing a lot of staring into the middle distance, and Junhui grabs his jacket before coming back to the table.

“I’ll be gone a little longer tonight, but then we can go up to the roof, okay? Will you be fine until I’m back?” Junhui asks.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Minghao sighs. “Just working through some thoughts, don’t worry about it right now. Go bat your eyelashes, please.”

Junhui laughs and is glad for the smile that appears on Minghao’s face when he does. “Alright, brat. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Minghao is saying a quiet “bye” when Junhui leans in and kisses his forehead softly, almost unthinkingly, a nonexistent habit. Minghao’s breath hitches and he reaches up and puts a hand on Junhui’s cheek, his own habit, and Junhui is in the elevator before he can convince himself to stay.

He’s not really sure what to do when he gets down to the meeting room, whether he should go to Jihoon and Wonwoo like he normally would or if he should approach the Careers first. Is that presumptive? Desperate? He’s still trying to decide when he walks into the room and Olivine calls his name. Thank God.

“An 11,” Juniper says when Junhui grabs a drink and joins the group. “Impressive.”

“Thanks, I think,” Junhui says, trying for his most charming grin. “Though I can’t take much credit, I’ll still take the praise.”

“What did he do for his test?” Flint asks. 

Junhui knows his answer might swing things, so he braces himself as he tells them that, like some of the other Careers, Minghao utilized those stupid orange pixels he hates so much and ran the simulator for ten minutes, straight through. The twist, Minghao whispered to Junhui, was that the pixels were far more realistic this time. He spent ten minutes running the simulator and sinking knives into the ribs of real people without hesitation or an “injury.” Flint nods.

“We’d like for Minghao to join the other kids,” Olivine says with a rather winning smile. “His score is fantastic, obviously, and he’s very skilled with his weapons, but he has survival skills that our tributes lack.”

“Would these be on the standard terms of the pack?” Junhui asks. Standard terms, a.k.a. be friends for two or three weeks until only the pack remains, then hunt each other as if they’re nothing but strangers. Junhui knows how Minghao can get around that, but it will only work if he’s fully integrated into the standard plan.

“Of course,” Juniper says. “He would be a full member, not like some of the stragglers of years past.”

Juniper is referring to the rogue nine and ten scorers that sometimes exist on the outskirts of the pack, never fully taken in, but providing some kind of service to the pack right until someone snaps their neck. Junhui has never understood them and why they’d be willing to subject themselves to that, but that’s not his problem. If Minghao is a full member to the point that the other mentors are acknowledging the stragglers, Junhui doesn’t have to be concerned about that.

“What role do you want him in?” Junhui has a lot of questions for someone they all know is going to say “yes.”

“Long-distance with Cassia,” Cress says. “He and Cassia will have to go into the Cornucopia to get their weapons, but then we’d like them hanging back and picking people off as they slip away. The same will go for any hunts. He and Cassia will maintain the same role throughout.”

Junhui hums. “Then yes. I think this would be good for everyone, so yes. Minghao will join the pack.”

There it is. Junhui said it out loud and this isn’t the kind of thing you take back. Minghao is a Career and Junhui has either set him up to win or doomed him. Junhui supposes that it depends on who you ask.

“Excellent,” Calliope says with a smile. Junhui has always kind of liked the District 4 mentors, has always thought that they’re at least pleasant, even if they stick closely to the other Career mentors and don’t talk much otherwise. There’s something very comforting about the Career pack mentors, much like the pack themselves: they’re incredibly loyal until the end. They understand that it takes loyalty, even if it’s cautious, to maintain order and get to the finish line. Minghao is going to win by taking advantage of that, but it’s nice that he can find safety in it until he does. “I know they’ve spoken, but we can officially introduce everyone tomorrow night at the gala. We’re looking forward to it, Junhui. With Minghao in, this is the strongest pack in the last few years.”

Jesus Christ. Yeah, Junhui is really fucking relieved that Minghao is in on their good side.

“We are as well,” Junhui says. “I hate to run off, but I’m hoping to say hi to Wonwoo and Jihoon before I run back up to Minghao. We’ll see all of you tomorrow night?”

There are a few nods and kind variations of “see you tomorrow” that give Junhui the green light to walk away and see what Jihoon and Wonwoo are thinking.

Jihoon whistles when Junhui comes up to their table. “You’re hot shit tonight, Jun. You don’t know how many people looked distraught when you went over to the pack. It was almost funny.”

“I can’t decide if it’s because they wanted to ally with Minghao or if it’s because Minghao makes the Careers that much scarier,” Wonwoo says.

“Both could be true,” Junhui shrugs. “He’s in. He’s a Career. Why do I feel so awful about it?”

“Because he’s sweet,” Wonwoo says. “At his core, he’s not a Career and you hate asking him to do it. I get that, but Jun, he’s in the pack for a reason. He scored an 11. Whether we all like it morally or not, he’s good at this. He’s really fucking good at this. If he was good at this and he wasn’t a Career, we would all be way more worried. This is a good thing.”

“I know you never wanted any of this for him, but this is the best thing that could have happened,” Jihoon says, patting Junhui’s hand where it’s laying on the table. It’s a rare display of affection, which is how Junhui knows that things are dire. “It’s going to be hard for him to do and it’s going to be hard for you to watch, but this is the only way we can get him back to you.”

“I want him back so badly, I—” Junhui cuts off with a sigh. “I need him to come home. I know I’m asking so much of him, but I need him to come back to me. I’ve never needed someone like I need him and I feel so selfish about it.”

“You love him,” Wonwoo says softly. “You love him and that’s not selfish. There’s a reason he’s going along with this, there’s a reason he scored an 11 and has worked this hard to get into the pack and it’s because he wants to come back to you too. He loves you and that’s the core of it. It’s okay to need him. It’s okay to love him like this.”

“Yeah,” Junhui says, his head in his hands. Wonwoo is right—Junhui is doing all of this because he loves Minghao, that was never in question. Minghao is his best friend. It’s okay to love him like this. “I think I’m going to go back upstairs. I promised I would take him to the roof tonight.”

“Tell him congratulations for us,” Jihoon says. “Tell him we’re sorry too.”

Knives, sinking in between his ribs, buried there. Tell him congratulations. The knives shift when he breathes, cutting deeper. Tell him we’re sorry too.

“I’ll tell him,” Junhui says quietly. “Thank you guys. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jihoon and Wonwoo echo “goodnight” behind Junhui, but he’s already turned to go. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t see Minghao in the next five minutes, he’s going to start screaming. Tell him we’re sorry too. Junhui needs to tell him that he’s sorry.

He finds Minghao in the windowsill in Junhui’s bedroom again, leaning his head against the glass, breathing evenly like he’s asleep. Junhui knows he’s not, not like this, but he knows that Minghao probably wishes he was. Minghao doesn’t move until Junhui is next to him, leaning against the windowsill and taking Minghao’s hand where it rests on his stomach. 

“Did I do it?” Minghao asks softly, still looking out the window.

“You did,” Junhui whispers. “Let’s go to the roof, Hao.”

Minghao hums his assent, not breaking the hold he has on Junhui’s hand as he gets down and they go into the kitchen, void of attendants at the late hour. They’re quiet as Junhui heats the tea kettle and Minghao grabs the mugs, working in tandem until they both have tea that’s been steeped long enough and Junhui has dug up a blanket to take to the roof with them. Minghao leans heavily against him in the elevator, following Junhui quietly through the maze that is the rooftop garden. They find a corner of the roof that’s hidden from anything else by the brick half-walls that line the garden and Junhui lays the blanket down, sitting and leaning against the brick. Minghao sits next to him, curled up with his knees to his chest, protective. They drink their tea in a silence that drips down Junhui’s spine, all wrong.

“I know it hurts,” Junhui says quietly, “but you did well today. I want you to know that. You’re being so, so brave.”

“I’m not,” Minghao says. He’s staring off into the distance, where the city center is brightly lit. “I’m not being brave. I’m doing exactly what I’ve been told to do and I’m becoming exactly who they want me to be. That’s not brave.”

“You had other options, you know,” Junhui says. Minghao’s face is blank, emotionless where Junhui can see it. “You could have given up at any point. You’re brave because you’re fighting back. They don’t want you to win, Minghao. It’s too soon to have another victor from 7 and there haven’t been enough Career victors in the last few years. You’re brave because you’re making it clear that you don’t care whether or not they want you to win, you’re going to do it anyway.”

“The simulator targets had the faces of the other tributes,” Minghao whispers after a moment. “I didn’t want to say anything about it because it’s awful, but I can’t stop— I can’t stop thinking about it. Did you know that the girl from District 8 is only 13? I scored an 11, so you can imagine what I did all four times she showed up.”

“Oh, Hao,” Junhui says, barely breathing it out. There’s nothing to say to that. 

“I’m good at this, aren’t I?” Minghao says, finally turning to face Junhui. “I’m good at this. That’s why I’m a Career. Jun—”

The sound that comes out of Minghao when he finally starts crying is something wretched.

“Jun, I don’t want to be good at this.”

“I’m so sorry, Minghao,” Junhui says, catching Minghao before he can tip over with how hard his sobs are tearing through him. He pulls Minghao toward him, nearly into his lap, wrapping around him with a hand on the back of his neck like Junhui is trying to keep him from disappearing. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry you have to be good at this.”

Junhui doesn’t know how long he holds Minghao or how long it takes for Minghao to catch his breath and regain some kind of control over his body. When he tenses up a little, Junhui is convinced he’s going to move away and his stomach turns over, but he curls more fully into Junhui instead. Junhui can feel the tears pressing against his shoulder. Minghao is clutching at Junhui’s shirt a little desperately, hands tangled in the hem of the shirt and knuckles brushing against Junhui’s bare skin.

“We only have three nights left,” Minghao whispers, barely audible. “Can we go to bed?”

“Yeah, we can,” Junhui says. He waits for Minghao to start moving to get up, gathering their empty mugs in one hand while Minghao gets the blanket. Junhui reaches out for Minghao’s free hand, tangling their fingers together on the way downstairs to remind himself that Minghao is real, he’s right here, he’s still Junhui’s tonight. They drop their things off and Junhui pulls Minghao toward his bedroom. They’re slow with the way they get ready for bed, Minghao entirely in Junhui’s clothes rather than any of his that Junhui brought. He curls into Junhui again when they’re in bed, his hands flitting around like he’s not going to settle until he figures out where he can touch. Junhui has an idea of what he needs and, instead of moving Minghao’s hands, Junhui wraps his arm around Minghao’s waist and pushes up the hem of his t-shirt so he can lay a hand on his waist, skin-to-skin.

Minghao lets out a shaky breath, caught between a gasp, a sigh, and a sob, and he pushes the collar of Junhui’s shirt to the side so he can rest a hand on his shoulder like he’s trying to hold onto him. 

“There you go, little one,” Junhui says softly. “We’re okay. We’re okay for the night. You can sleep.”

“If I do, I lose the night,” Minghao says. His grip tightens on Junhui’s shoulder. “I don’t want to lose any more nights with you.”

“You need sleep, Hao.” Junhui feels Minghao’s breath start to pick up again, so he pushes the hem of Minghao’s shirt further up so he can run his hand up and down Minghao’s side, trying to soothe him. “I know. I don’t want to lose any either, but you need to be rested going into this. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Minghao goes quiet and Junhui thinks he may have drifted off, his breaths evening out, but after a little while, he shifts so he can look at Junhui without moving Junhui’s hand off of his waist. “I’m sorry you’re going to have to watch this. I wish you didn’t have to.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Junhui says. “None of this is your fault.”

“I’m just—” Minghao stumbles over whatever he was about to say. “I’m just afraid. I’m so scared.”

“I know,” Junhui says. He brings his free hand up to cup Minghao’s cheek, two points of contact that nearly burn. “You don’t have to be scared right now though. Try to rest, please. I’m right here, you’re right here, we’re safe.”

“Okay,” Minghao relents. He lays back down and Junhui slides the hand that was on his cheek to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. Junhui knows that Minghao is exhausted and it doesn’t take long for his breathing to even back out, steady this time. He must be almost asleep when he whispers, in a voice that Junhui can barely make out, “Thank you for keeping me safe.”

“Always,” Junhui chokes out. Always, in the alter everything way. Everything in Junhui alters, tips, pours over, Minghao shifts his hand back under Junhui’s shirt, burning skin, and Junhui loves him. Junhui loves him and he can hear Wonwoo saying “it’s okay to love him like this,” but it’s not. Wonwoo didn’t mean that Junhui could love Minghao like this, like he can feel Minghao’s breaths in his own lungs, like they’re twined together so tightly that the string has cut into their bones. Junhui loves Minghao like this, like Minghao carries Junhui’s heart around with him and Junhui is going to have a gaping hole when Minghao leaves and takes it with him, his heart on Minghao’s sleeve, in Minghao’s hands.

Junhui loves him like this, Junhui has always loved him like this, and it’s not okay to love him like this. Junhui is selfish anyway—he pulls Minghao closer and presses a kiss to the top of his head and Junhui’s chest is so empty and he bleeds. He bleeds, he bleeds, he bleeds.

Chapter Text

I beg you, eat me up. Want me down to the marrow.

— Hélène Cixous, The Love of the Wolf

When Minghao wakes up, he’s a little surprised to find that Junhui is already awake, sitting up and drinking out of a mug, his free hand buried in Minghao’s hair where he has his head in Junhui’s lap. Minghao is a little more surprised at the way that Junhui seems to have just been watching him sleep, a little less surprised at the soft smile on Junhui’s face when he realizes that Minghao has woken up.

“Good morning, birthday boy,” Junhui says, light and airy. He runs his hand through Minghao’s hair, keeping his hand there when he’s done. “Y’know, I’ve never actually seen you on your birthday.”

“Usually we have to wait until 11 to talk,” Minghao says. “I don’t have to sleep in the chair in your study this year, so I guess that’s a win.”

“Is that all?” Junhui laughs. He’s bright this morning, shimmering with something that Minghao can’t place. “Nothing to say about actually seeing me?”

“I mean, it’s definitely a positive,” Minghao teases. “Crazy that this is one of my better birthdays just because you’re actually with me.”

There’s a pretty blush running across Junhui’s face, threatening to take over. “Sap. Even if you’re about to get all dressed up for everyone to see?”

Minghao isn’t quite awake enough to have an effective brain-to-mouth filter, so the “as long as you see me too” that falls out of his mouth is enough to ignite his own blush. He doesn’t try to walk it back—Junhui wouldn’t believe him anyway. He’s already said it. Junhui sets his mug down on the bedside table and lays his now-free hand on Minghao’s stomach, his shirt already a little hiked up from sleep, the barest brush of Junhui’s knuckles against Minghao’s skin. 

“You’re going to be pretty hard-pressed to get me to leave your side,” Junhui says. “Maybe Jeonghan will match our outfits again and I’ll have an excuse to stay close. Can’t separate a matching pair or something like that.”

“You don’t really need an excuse,” Minghao says. “If anything, your excuse is that I’ll want you there and it’s my birthday, so everyone has to follow that. I think that’s how that works.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Junhui laughs, shimmery. “We should get some food in you before the vultures arrive.”

Minghao groans, letting Junhui pull him up to a sitting position. “I love Jeonghan, but surely it can’t take all day to prepare for one event.”

“Yes, well, this is the Capitol,” Junhui says. “You’d think that how pretty you are would speed things up, but I think it only makes Jeonghan pickier.”

“Is it that it’s my birthday?” Minghao asks with a smile. “Is that why you’re being so sweet?”

Junhui gasps dramatically, pulling on Minghao again until he’s out of bed. “The implication that I need a special day to be sweet to you is offensive.”

“Sure, sure,” Minghao laughs. “You’re in a mood this morning though.”

“This is the only almost fun day pre-Games,” Junhui says. He turns on the right taps for them to brush their teeth the first time and Minghao is infinitely jealous. “As much as I hate it, it might actually be fun if you’re here. Gotta enjoy it.”

Minghao hums, wiping a bit of toothpaste off of Junhui’s mouth when he’s done. He always talks while he brushes his teeth and nine times out of ten, Minghao has to point out where that’s backfired on him, but Junhui never learns. It’s the first time that Minghao has done it for him, but they’ve had so many firsts recently and this is nowhere near the top of the list. Junhui blushes anyway, refusing to look at Minghao for a moment, and Minghao thinks it’s terribly cute. Junhui usually is, but there’s something sticky sweet about this morning that’s making Minghao more aware of how often he thinks that about Junhui. 

He doesn’t shove the thought to the side this time—it’s his birthday, it’s the only fun day, and Minghao woke up with his head in Junhui’s lap, meaning Junhui moved him when he woke up and still kept him close. He hasn’t ever let himself think about this for longer than a minute, but he can give himself today.

“C’mon, we might as well go to breakfast in our pajamas,” Minghao says with a smile. “Jeonghan won’t care either way.”

“Okay, fair,” Junhui laughs. It seems like he’s actually going to follow Minghao and behave, but when Minghao opens the bedroom door, Junhui drapes himself over Minghao’s back. It makes Minghao have to semi-drag both of them to the table, but they’re both laughing hard enough to make up for it. 

It gets a laugh out of Seokmin when they get to the table. “Junhui, are you torturing the birthday boy?”

“I would never,” Junhui says, nearly throwing himself into his chair. “I keep getting accused of things this morning and it’s so rude.”

Minghao huffs out a laugh and pours a new cup of coffee for Junhui before pouring his own. “Alright, drama queen, eat your breakfast.”

Once they’re all settled, Lottie clears her throat like she’s trying to prepare herself to speak. Minghao thinks it has something to do with Junhui’s reaction to her asking about his score, but she’ll be alright.

“It’s your birthday?” Lottie asks.

“Yeah, I’m 19 today,” Minghao says.

“Happy birthday in that case,” Lottie says with a small smile. “I’m glad it’s the gala day at least. A much better birthday party than training tests or interviews.”

Minghao laughs, grateful that their tentative friendliness has been restored. He’d hate for there to be anything tense between them when they have to be seen together over the next few days.

Jeonghan, Jisoo, and their teams arrive at the end of breakfast, a flurry of fabric, makeup, and what Minghao thinks is glitter, though God knows what that’s supposed to go with. He really hopes it isn’t him.

“Oh, good, you’re a blank slate,” Jeonghan says when he comes to stand next to Minghao, turning his face side to side and looking at him intently. “I figured you would have deeper bags under your eyes. I’m glad you’re sleeping well, my dear. I’m also glad I won’t have to use so much color corrector.”

Junhui smiles and Minghao knows that it’s about him sleeping well, and Minghao wonders if Junhui knows how much he has to do with it—probably not, considering how much Junhui seems to not quite get that Minghao is attached to him as much as he’s attached to Minghao. Jeonghan would have to use far more color corrector if Minghao had been sleeping alone.

“Alright, up, up, please,” Jeonghan says, clapping his hands together. “Junhui, you’re coming with us too. I can’t imagine you’ll stray far, so you can’t clash with Minghao.”

Junhui winks at Minghao and Minghao can feel his cheeks heat up. 

Seokmin joins them and everyone spreads out in Minghao’s bedroom, six people bustling around for a gala that they have seven hours to prepare for. Minghao finally gets why they’re starting so early—Jeonghan may have had his and Junhui’s measurements, but there’s a lot of altering happening on top of Lilak’s hands pushing through Minghao’s hair a million times and the makeup that Aurelias is applying, including some kind of shimmery serum on the “highlight points of your body, Minghao. You can’t just not highlight a highlight point. Stay still, please.”

They stop for lunch at some point, a brief break, before they’re back to it. Minghao asks about the gala later in the afternoon, though the only one who’s been to one before is Junhui. Seokmin and Jeonghan will be able to go tonight and Aurelias and Lilak are doing a commendable job of not throwing the fit about not being invited that Minghao knows they want to.

“It’s massive, I think that’s the first thing you notice,” Junhui says. He’s done with his alterations, sitting on Minghao’s bed until they get to him with makeup brush. “The president has this huge garden and the party happens all throughout it. They usually want the tributes to stay around the middle because there’s a lot of dancing that goes on, mostly between the tributes and the sponsors with deep enough pockets to get invited to the gala in the first place. Sometimes the mentors will pick up a few sponsors themselves, but it’s really an event for the tributes to garner interest after the scores.”

“I’m assuming that Minghao will be in high demand in that case,” Seokmin laughs.

Junhui’s face flickers with something tense, but he laughs it off. “He might be a hard one to get a hold of. People are going to be fascinated by him because he clearly has everything a victor has—beauty, skill, and the confidence that comes with it—and all of the Careers will meet in plain view at the beginning to make who’s in the pack clear. We’ll certainly be busy.”

“Save a dance for all of us, would you?”  Jeonghan asks. It’s 5 pm and the gala is at 7, so Jeonghan sends Seokmin to get ready and carefully helps Minghao out of the shirt and pants of the outfit, careful to not wrinkle them. “You’ve been standing for hours, swap with Junhui so we can finish with him.”

Minghao gets to watch as they pull the last pieces of Junhui’s look together, that same green from the parade running through his suit. Jeonghan has kept them on a consistent theme, entirely recognizable, and Minghao is excited to see what he does with the interview outfit as well. They finish up with Junhui’s makeup and Minghao sees what Aurelias was talking about with the highlight points—Jeonghan hasn’t gone for typical dress shirts, both Junhui and Minghao are in loose silk tops, and Aurelias has highlighted Junhui’s collarbones and cheekbones in a subtle, elegant way. Junhui shimmers, unabashedly bright like he was this morning. 

He turns around when he’s done and goes to swap with Minghao again, stopping him with a hand around his wrist and whispering to him as he passes. “How do I look?”

“You’re beautiful,” Minghao says, hushed like it’s his deepest secret. “You’re really, really beautiful, Jun.”

Minghao doesn’t know what’s gotten into Junhui today, but he tries to tamp down his blush and swallow his reaction when Junhui gives a small smile and kisses his forehead, saying “thank you” softly before letting Minghao go and sitting back on the bed like it’s normal for them. Jeonghan gives Minghao a knowing look when he steps back onto the little platform they’ve set up and he refuses to make eye contact.

He thinks he sees the vision when his outfit is complete. Where Junhui’s outfit is made of sharp angles, Minghao’s is softer, almost feminine, so completely opposite of what the other Career boys will be wearing. Minghao supposes it’s fair, he’s not built like them or like Junhui, but he doesn’t mind it right now like he has before. Jeonghan finishes off his outfit, weaponized softness, silk and the occasional hard edge as a reminder of where he is. Minghao adores it. Jeonghan helps him put in contacts, gray this time, and finishes off his makeup with brushes of shimmer on his collarbones that follows the deeper V of the cut of his shirt. He’s wearing a suit, yes, but it’s more than that, almost transcendent, and Jeonghan adds a few clip-on earrings lining his ears, a dainty bracelet, and a necklace that drops down into the neckline of his shirt, all complementing the soft angles. Minghao doesn’t quite know what to do with it—it’s not that he doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror, but he didn’t think he was capable of looking or feeling like this. 

Jeonghan adds a thin layer of lip tint, wiping it off after a moment and leaving a faded red shade, nothing dramatic enough to take away from his eyeshadow and his eyeliner, the sharpest thing on him. Lilak runs her hands through his hair one more time, keeping the messy styling, and Jeonghan declares that he’s finished right as the clock hits 6 pm. Just in time. He hustles his team out of the room under the guise of checking on Seokmin, but Minghao can guess why he’s actually doing it.

Junhui comes up next to him, putting out a hand to help Minghao down from the platform, entirely unnecessary. Minghao takes his hand anyway. He looks to the side and doesn’t quite tamp down a small gasp at what they look like standing next to each other.

“Hm?” Junhui seems distracted, but he notices where Minghao looks and he looks too, sucking in a quick breath when he realizes. 

They’re not matching, not in any traditional way. Jeonghan has dressed them as two parts of a whole, entirely individual yet complementary, and Minghao understands what he was going for: not the same, but not to be separated. Even when they’re apart tonight, they’ll still be a set. They need the other next to them to complete the look.

“Jeonghan did well,” Minghao says, a near-whisper. Junhui turns back to face him, running his free hand over wherever he’s distracted by: Minghao’s earrings, his bracelet, his collarbones, finally coming to rest at his face, though the only actual point of contact is where his thumb rests on Minghao’s lower lip. His eyes are wide while he looks.

“You really are breathtaking,” Junhui says. “Ethereal. You always are, but this is— I can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

Minghao doesn’t know what he could say that wouldn’t be wrenched up from a place inside of him that he pretends doesn’t exist, so he doesn’t. He takes Junhui’s hands so they’re holding both between them. Someone knocks on the door as Minghao whispers “thank you,” and it’s Seokmin, telling them they have to go. 

“Glad to see he picked up on knocking first,” Junhui says with a small smile. “C’mon, little one. Let’s go show you off.”

“You’ve changed your tune,” Minghao laughs. “Thought you weren’t looking forward to any of that.”

Junhui squeezes Minghao’s hands, dropping one and pulling him toward the door. He turns his head and winks at Minghao right before he opens it. “That was before we looked like we belong to each other. I’m fine now.”

Minghao only swallows down his “I’ve always belonged to you” because the way Junhui said it makes it clear that Junhui knows. It wasn’t that they didn’t belong to each other before, it was just about everyone knowing as soon as they see them. Minghao gets it. 

They get into the living room, the last ones to arrive, and it shouldn’t shock Minghao that Lottie is dressed entirely differently and that she’s in no way matching Ash, but it does. Jeonghan had a purpose tonight. Jisoo nods approvingly when he sees them. Seokmin and, strangely enough, Lottie, both look a little devastated. 

He and Junhui are still holding hands and they look like they belong to each other. They’re a tragedy in two parts. 

Seokmin claps his hands together, less enthusiastically than normal. Minghao gets that too. “Into the cars, please, let’s not be late and miss our entrance time.”

“Entrance?” Lottie asks once they’re in the elevator. “I thought we were just… going in.”

“Ah, not quite,” Seokmin says. “It’s traditional for the tributes to be announced as they come in. Very dramatic, I know, but the whole night is. It’s about mingling, sponsorships, all of that. It’s the best opportunity for them to remember who you are, especially since you’ll all look so different from your tribute photos.”

Minghao tries to frame it positively in his head, because this is what he wants, isn’t it? He wants the attention to be on him—he needs it to be on him—because he needs sponsorships, because he needs public support so they’ll like him if he wins, because he needs the other tributes to know that he’s backed by more than his district. The attention is what he wants. It makes him want to step out of his own skin, but it’s what he wants. It almost sounds true if he repeats it enough.

He tells himself that the hardest part about it will be the dancing which, now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t actually know how to do.

“How fucked am I if I don’t know how to dance?” Minghao whispers to Junhui once they’re in the backseat of the car.

Junhui laughs too hard considering the circumstances. Minghao is going through something. “I’ll teach you once we get there. You’ll pick it up quickly. I wanted your first dance of the night anyway.”

“I’m hoping you’ll have more than that,” Minghao sighs, all double meanings. “I don’t know how much dancing with sponsors I’m going to be able to handle.”

“I’ll try to take some away from you, try to leverage the Capitol charm I have,” Junhui says. He pats Minghao’s knee, comforting, but he draws his hand away as quick as it came. “I’ll also gladly take more than one dance with you.”

Minghao doesn’t have time to respond before they’re pulling up to the presidential mansion. Seokmin turns around in the passenger seat to tell them that Lottie is being announced now and Minghao has one minute. He would have appreciated some warning, but he tries to shake off the immediate nerves and pull himself together quickly.

He turns to Junhui right before the car door is opened. “Will you come with me?”

Minghao has asked this question before and he waits for Junhui to argue, but Junhui nods immediately this time, no hesitation. Minghao gets out of the car when his door is opened and lingers a moment, waiting for Junhui. As soon as they’re both standing, Junhui puts a hand on the small of Minghao’s back, guiding as they walk to the entrance. There’s a beat before Minghao’s name is called that Minghao worries about what this looks like, another beat where he decides he doesn’t care, and then the announcement of his name rings through the gardens.

He turns on what he hopes is his charm, all demure smiles and small nods of acknowledgment, still letting Junhui set their pace. By the time the District 8 girl is being announced and they find a spot near the rest of the tributes to stand, Minghao knows that he made the entrance he needed to make by the way he can feel eyes burning on him, on Junhui, and on Junhui’s hand. It may not have been the one he was expected to make, but he made it.

Once everyone has been announced, the crowd’s attention focuses back on the group of tributes, who have all moved into each other conversationally, a natural ebb and flow that’s meant to casually announce alliances. Minghao finds himself in a small circle with the Careers, Junhui dropping back to stand with the other Career mentors.

“I like your outfit,” Cassia says quietly to Minghao. “Very pretty.”

Minghao smiles at her and at Veronica when she nods in agreement. “All three of you look beautiful.”

Marina, the girl from District 4, grins and looks like she’s about to say something when Thaddeus interrupts her, asking a too-loud, “Not going to call us beautiful too?”

Thaddeus is laughing while he says it and Minghao realizes that oh, that really was just a joke. He plays along, half-rolling his eyes and saying in a monotone that he’s “sorry to offend, all six of you look beautiful. You especially, Thaddeus. Very radiant.”

He’s relieved that it gets a laugh out of everyone and that the conversation moves on from there with Minghao still involved. That’s the thing that Minghao has noticed about the pack: if you’re in with them, they can be weirdly kind and weirdly funny. Minghao doesn’t hate the time he’s had to spend with them so far and he can normally hold a conversation with them—save Coady, the District 4 boy, who passive-aggressively explained that his name might have been spelled like that, but it’s actually just pronounced like “Cody” as if Minghao was stupid for asking. It’s been a little weird to talk to him ever since.

If you’re not in the pack, it’s a different story entirely. As much as Minghao morally hates that he’s standing in this circle right now, there’s no better place for him to be.

They break the circle once they’ve spoken long enough for the message to be clear, all of them in search of their mentors and food before they start getting picked up for dances. Marina sighs and mutters something under her breath that sounds a lot like “all of these old fucking men” that makes Minghao have to stifle his laughter into his hand.

“You looked happy,” Junhui says when he finds Minghao again. “Even got them to laugh. The visual of it was perfect.”

Minghao shrugs. “They’re not bad kids. None of them are even 18 yet and they’re already homicidal maniacs, but they can be funny. It’s not the worst group to be in for the next few weeks.”

Junhui has this sad kind of half-smile on his face that means he’s thinking too hard about the timeline and Minghao tries his best to fix it. “Weren’t you going to show me how to dance?”

“Most of the tributes are eating first,” Junhui points out, his eyebrows a little raised.

“Sure, we can do that after, but what if we wait and someone asks me before you can?” Minghao asks, teasing. It works and Junhui circles his fingers around Minghao’s wrist and pulls him to a more secluded part of the gardens—they can still be seen, but at least they’re not in the middle of everything.

“No one here is going to put too much thought into the actual dance part of it,” Junhui says. “They’re going to focus on the conversation and the physical contact, which sucks, but it’s how it is. Everyone does some kind of loose closed position, swaying thing. The important part is where you put your hands. For now, I’ll lead and I’ll tell you where to put your hands to follow.”

Junhui places one hand on Minghao’s waist and Minghao briefly has the thought of it not at all being as good as last night before he does his best to shove that to the side in favor of taking Junhui’s hand. 

“Good, now put your hand over my shoulder,” Junhui says. There’s the barest dusting of a blush on his face and Minghao wonders if he’s thinking about the same thing. “Okay, then bring your feet here, yeah, good job. From here, it’s just a kind of swaying thing, meant to facilitate conversation or something stupid like that. You’ll dance with men and women both and you should lead with the women. Let the men set the positioning, they have a thing for it.”

Minghao sees why people like to follow so much—there’s something very sweet about letting Junhui guide them like this, even if they’re not doing much at all. “I’m assuming that you’re speaking from experience.”

Junhui rolls his eyes. “Regrettably. I, much like you do, appeal to both men and women, and they certainly make it my problem.”

“Who knew that being beautiful would get you into so much trouble?” Minghao asks. It has its intended effect: Junhui tensed up when he said “appeal” and Minghao’s comment makes his shoulders drop. “Thank you for teaching me. I’m afraid I would be lost without you.”

“Always,” Junhui says with a soft smile. “You need to eat before people start stealing you. We’ll dance later tonight, hm?”

Minghao nods and follows Junhui to a place a little to the side of the dance floor where there are tables in rows, heaped with enough food to feed Minghao’s family for a year—all of the same decadence that they’re served in their apartments, laid out like it’s possible that anyone could eat this much and not cease to exist entirely. Minghao hates it, hates the bad taste it puts in his mouth and how quickly his mood switches to something disgusted. Junhui puts his hand on Minghao’s back again, rubbing a comforting pattern into the layers of silk.

“I know, it’s too much,” Junhui whispers. “It’s overwhelming and it’s gross, but we don’t have to stay here. I just need you to eat something.”

Minghao hums his assent and tries to pretend he’s not walking between tables worth more money than his house and the shop combined, finally just picking one thing and eating enough to satisfy Junhui before asking if they can move on. Junhui nods and suggests they get a drink at least, but he gives a hard “no” to the first servers that come by. At Minghao’s strange look, Junhui grimaces.

“It’s awful, but it’s a drink that makes you purge so you can keep eating,” Junhui says. “School your face please, little one. I know, but it’s a big thing with party culture here, so we have to pretend not to be disgusted by it.”

“Sorry,” Minghao says quietly. “It’s just sickening. They really have no idea what it’s like to not have excess.”

“No, they don’t,” Junhui sighs. “Maybe we’ll skip the drink, we can go—”

“Hello,” a woman interrupts. Minghao guesses she’s in her 30s, but the swamp green she’s decked herself in ages her. “I was hoping to get a dance tonight, if you’d like.”

She phrases it like it’s an option and Minghao doesn’t know if he appreciates that or if he hates it. 

“Of course,” Minghao says with a small smile. “Jun, I’ll find you later?”

Junhui nods, his expression gone entirely blank, and Minghao guides the woman to the dance floor with their hands held in front of them, setting up their positioning and keeping a friendly distance between them.

“Do I get the pleasure of knowing your name?” Minghao asks the woman when they get into position, going with some kind of swaying to match the music being played by a small fucking orchestra to the side. The woman pulls him too close. There are so many string instruments. Minghao considers the merits of his early and immediate death.

“Poppy,” the woman says cheerily. “I’ve been so looking forward to talking with you since your eye-catching entrance in the parade.”

“Ah, I can’t take all of the credit for that one,” Minghao says with a laugh that somehow doesn’t sound forced. Minor mercies. “My stylist has a golden touch.”

“I can tell,” Poppy says, eyebrows raised. She’s at eye-level with Minghao’s collarbones. Awful. “Is this much different from your attire in your district?”

Minghao bites his tongue against almost everything that wants to come out of his mouth. “Ah, no, I was more often in some kind of apron. My mother and I run an apothecary in 7 and you always need lots of pockets for that.”

“Oh, how charming!” Poppy says. “Do you treat minor things, little remedies? It must be easier as medical technology advances.”

Minghao has watched people die in the back room of the apothecary because the “medical technology” was inaccessible or too expensive even for Junhui. He lies through his teeth. “We do, lots of sleeping draughts and remedies for more common injuries or illnesses. 

Poppy has more comments on how charming it is—it isn’t—and how “sweet” he must look in an apron—he doesn’t—and before Minghao knows it, he’s mildly dissociated enough to be passed off to another sponsor. It’s a man this time and he insists on leading. Minghao would like to amend his earlier statement: he doesn’t see the appeal in letting someone else lead. He only sees the appeal in letting Junhui lead. 

He looks around for Junhui when he gets the chance—half the time, he’s off to the side with Wonwoo and Jihoon, and the other half the time, he looks as charming as can be while dancing with someone else. There’s a little bit of solidarity in knowing that he’s having a terrible time too.

Minghao stops counting at the tenth time he’s handed off, but he estimates that he’s around person 16 when something happens that makes him stumble. People have said mildly insane things all night, all things that could be chalked up to a happy ignorance that itches under Minghao’s skin but isn’t the worst. It isn’t until a woman with neon pink eyes pulls Minghao too close and opens her mouth too much.

He didn’t actually catch her name, he’s not even sure she gave it, but he doubts he’ll ever forget her. It starts off fine, the same laundry list of out-of-touch pleasantries, even the same innocent questions about Junhui.

“You and Junhui are a striking pair,” the woman comments. “Your entrance was certainly something.”

“Thank you, I’ll pass the compliment off to our stylist,” Minghao says nicely. “He certainly has an eye for these things.”

“I do have to ask though,” the woman starts. Minghao thinks she doesn’t have to ask anything. She certainly doesn’t need to ask, “How did you land Junhui? I’ve been trying with him for two years now and you have him wrapped around your finger so easily.”

“I’m sorry?” Minghao asks, taken aback.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that Junhui likes to play hard to get,” the woman laughs. “I’m just wondering how you finally got him. I’d love some tips to wear him down.”

“No,” Minghao says firmly. He drops the woman’s hands and she looks shocked. “No, I’m not having this conversation. Have a good night.”

Minghao walks away before she can say anything else, moving a little too quickly over to the area of the garden where Jihoon, Junhui, and Wonwoo are sitting at a table.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Junhui asks as soon as he sees Minghao’s face. “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, it—” Minghao doesn’t know how to say any of that without making Junhui’s skin crawl too. “Neon pink eyes.”

“Goddamnit,” Junhui says under his breath. He stands up, looking intently at Minghao before he seems to make a decision. “Jihoon, Wonwoo, I’m going to take Minghao back. Will one of you hunt Seokmin down and let him know? He’ll be fine with it if you tell him that someone made Minghao uncomfortable.”

They nod their assent and Minghao says a quick “thank you” before Junhui is pulling him away toward the entrance where he asks an attendant very nicely about a car to go back to the training center. The attendant is torn and Minghao gets it, the party isn’t over, but he relents when Junhui promises that no one will say anything about his involvement. They won’t—only Seokmin will actually know and he certainly won’t tell—and Minghao is grateful that they can actually protect someone from the reach of the Capitol, even if it’s just for a moment.

Junhui holds Minghao’s hand when they get into the back of the car and he doesn’t let go until they’re in the apartment. Junhui pulls Minghao to the kitchen and Minghao doesn’t ever forget how well Junhui knows him, but there are a few times where it really hits him, like when Junhui busies himself making two cups of tea immediately, handing one to Minghao and guiding him toward Junhui’s bedroom before saying anything. They end up in the windowsill again, the window open to get some kind of fresh air, and Junhui waits until Minghao is settled to ask what happened.

“It was fine, mostly,” Minghao sighs. “They were too touchy, but nothing too awful. It wasn’t until the woman with the pink eyes stole me and started asking about you.”

“Neem is a little… obsessed with me,” Junhui grimaces. “I should have known that she would try to get to you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Minghao says. “Not at all. She was just being disgusting, asking how I ‘landed’ you and if I had any tips so she could ‘wear you down,’ and it was just… awful. It wasn’t a good look, but I dropped her hands and told her I wasn’t going to have that conversation with her and walked away. Might have done some damage to everything I’d just built up, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

“First of all, it wouldn’t matter if you did any damage, I’m glad you left her,” Junhui says. “Second of all, no one likes Neem. She has money and that’s the only reason she gets invited to these things, but everyone knows she’s incessantly annoying. You probably won points with some of the people there entirely because you told her no. I’m just angry that she talked to you like that.”

“It made me want to claw my own eyes out,” Minghao admits. “That someone would reduce our relationship to me giving advice on how to ‘land’ you. It made me feel… cheap, I guess. Like everyone was seeing me like that.”

“Oh, no, little one,” Junhui says softly. “Not at all. Everyone who came up to me was asking about you, because everyone can see who you are and that you’re incredible on your own. They all know. I know.”

“I don’t like thinking about what people think of us,” Minghao whispers. He looks out the window, a little afraid to look at Junhui when he says it. It’s 11. It’s fitting. “I want you with me. That should be enough. I’ll let them have anything else, but I don’t— I don’t want to give them this. I don’t want to give them you.”

Junhui is quiet for long enough that Minghao looks back. There’s something a little broken about Junhui’s smile and Minghao feels it like a phantom ache. 

“I promised you another dance,” Junhui says quietly. He gets down from the windowsill, takes both of their mugs and sets them on the bedside table, and turns back to offer his hands out to Minghao. Minghao takes them, letting Junhui help him out of the windowsill and pull him into position. 

Junhui leads.

“We lost the orchestra,” Minghao says.

“I think we can manage,” Junhui says, his voice catching in a short laugh. He draws Minghao closer, his arm around Minghao’s waist and their joined hands pulled close to his chest. Minghao slides his fingers into the hair at the nape of Junhui’s neck, still soft despite the styling. 

Their movements are timed to some melody that Minghao thinks lives in him, drawn from somewhere inside him that he never lets see the light, somewhere that he shoved all of his thoughts about Junhui and hoped they wouldn’t swallow him whole. It’s hard being 16 and in love. Best not to think about it at all, so he never did. 

“I’m sorry that the night ended the way it did,” Junhui says softly. “You were doing so well. You’re doing so well.”

“I’m trying,” Minghao says. He can feel how bitter his smile is. “I promised everyone that I would try. It still doesn’t feel like enough. I don’t— I don’t know if I can do this, Jun.”

Junhui hums, thinking. “Do you want an optimistic response or a realistic one?”

“The latter,” Minghao says.

“I think that you can,” Junhui says. He’s watching Minghao carefully as he speaks. “I say that as someone who’s done it. I think you can. It’s going to change you though, Minghao. As soon as you take a life, you’re never the same. You’re going to have to take more than one, and that changes you even more. The second one is almost harder because you can’t even try to call it a mistake. If you win and you come back, everything is going to feel different. You’re going to be different.”

“Yeah,” Minghao chokes out. He can’t get anything else out, can only focus on timing his movements to Junhui’s.

“Minghao, you don’t have to do this,” Junhui whispers. His voice breaks on it, but he means it. Minghao knows he means it. “You’ve tried so hard already, you can be done. None of us could ever hold that against you.”

“I’m only 19,” Minghao says. “There’s so much I haven’t done, but it’s— I won’t get to do them if I win either. Not like I always thought I could. I’d be doing everything as a victor, not as who I was before this. I think that version of me died as soon as they called my name. I won’t know who I am anymore. None of you will know who I am anymore.”

Junhui’s smile is small, half of what it should be. “You found me when I didn’t know who I was. I’d do the same for you if you’d let me. I don’t think there could be a version of you that I wouldn’t want to know everything about.”

“How can you know that?” Minghao asks, a little desperately. “You can’t possibly— You can’t—”

“I can,” Junhui says. “I know because nothing could ever really change who you are at your core. I know because I know myself, I know that I’m selfish and that every version of me has always wanted every version of you. I’m selfish and I’m going to keep wanting all of you—whatever version, whatever scars, whatever comes next after this. You don’t have to do this, Minghao, but if you do, I’m going to be right next to you. Whatever you do, whatever you don’t do, whatever you become, I’m going to be there.”

“Jun,” Minghao starts, some kind of unknown protest on his tongue, but Junhui shakes his head.

“You aren’t getting it, are you?” Junhui asks with a small laugh. “God, okay. I don’t know how to— I don’t know how else to say this. Hao, I know that I’ll be there after all of this because I’m in love with you. I’ve loved every version of you that you’ve been and I’ll love every version of you that you might become. I’ll love you if you stop trying and I’ll love you if you have blood on your hands. I want you to make this choice for yourself, but please don’t think that whoever you may become will be anything but someone that I’m desperately in love with."

They’re not moving anymore, so still, held close. Minghao feels hollowed out, like that place in his chest where he’s kept his thoughts about Junhui for so long has been torn open and emptied. Everything that he held there is mixing with the fear that’s been filling Minghao’s lungs and turning it soft, if only for a moment. 

“I love you,” Minghao whispers. “I’m in love with you.”

“Oh,” Junhui says, barely getting it out. He’s tearing up, Minghao is tearing up, and they’ve cried so much in the past week that Minghao thinks it’s a miracle that they haven’t drowned. He would drown in these tears though. He would.

“I love you,” Minghao repeats, because he can. He finally can, his chest is cracked open and raw, the lights are on and shining in that place that’s weighed every one of his steps down for the past three years. 

Junhui moves the arm that’s around Minghao’s waist so he can cup Minghao’s cheek with his free hand, so he can press the lightest kiss to Minghao’s forehead, so he can bring their joined hands up to his lips and brush a kiss across Minghao’s knuckles, not letting go.

Minghao uses the hand at the back of Junhui’s neck to guide him into looking back up, to hold him steady despite both of them shaking, to kiss him softly, honey sweet, Junhui’s first. Junhui kisses back so carefully, says “I love you” into the barest space between them like it’s a relief, finally letting out a breath that’s held everything too tightly for too long. They’re so weighed down by everything, but they kiss light and bright and shimmery. A relief, a reprieve, a repentance for everything that got them here in Junhui’s bedroom in the Capitol, holding each other carefully like they’re afraid the other will break, but Minghao would let Junhui shatter him if it happens when he tries to pull Minghao closer like this.

Minghao pulls back enough to give a promise again, to tell Junhui “I’ll try,” to feel the way Junhui’s breath hitches in his chest and the way that Junhui holds Minghao that much harder.

“Thank you,” Junhui whispers. “Thank you, Hao. I’m not— I couldn’t—”

“I know,” Minghao says. “I know, it’s okay.”

“I’m asking so much of you,” Junhui says. His tears don’t fall, but Minghao can tell that he’s barely holding them back. “I’m so sorry. I’m asking for so much.”

“There’s nothing you could ask for that I wouldn’t give you,” Minghao says, pulling the words from deep inside him. “I’d give you everything.”

They both know it’s a promise that he desperately wants to keep. They both know that he can’t. They don’t need to say it. Junhui kisses Minghao again and Minghao can taste all the bittersweet swirling in him, but he’s not sure which comes first. He’s not sure if it’s happiness, relief, love, all tinged with sorrow, or if it’s despair, grief, longing, all tinged with joy. He thinks it might just be desperation.

Junhui breaks the kiss and looks at Minghao carefully. “Can you, um, can you—” Junhui cuts off and Minghao can see the hesitance in his eyes. “Can you take your contacts out? Is that okay to ask?”

It makes Minghao laugh, a little too suddenly, and Junhui’s smile feels like something that Minghao shouldn’t be allowed to see—it’s too private, too tender, too revealing for Junhui to be sharing it.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Minghao says, pulling Junhui toward the bathroom with him. They keep the lights low and Minghao wipes off his makeup and takes out his contacts before turning to Junhui, who’s been standing still, just watching Minghao.

“You too,” Minghao says, but he lightly pushes Junhui until he leans against the counter instead of handing him anything. Minghao is gentle, so gentle, with how he wipes Junhui’s makeup off for him. Junhui waits for Minghao to be done before he kisses him again, slow and soft.

When Junhui mutters something about how there’s “too much silk happening,” he moves back to his closet so they can take off their gala outfits. Minghao shrugs off his jacket before realizing that he’s not going to be able to undo the button clasps that run down the back of his shirt by himself. 

“Jun,” Minghao says, getting Junhui’s attention. “Can you help me take this off?”

“Of course,” Junhui says, but Minghao can feel that he’s a little nervous about it when he wavers before moving to undo the clasps. His hands are shaking while they try to undo the clasps, grazes of his knuckles on Minghao’s skin, unsteady. He works his way down slowly, carefully, delicate in the way that he pulls the fabric apart as he goes. Minghao is starting to realize that Junhui has always been delicate with him like this, holding Minghao’s heart with timid hands, achingly soft in the way he looks at Minghao, the way he whispers to Minghao in the dark of whatever bed they’re sharing, the gentle way he would touch Minghao, off-handedly and whenever he had the chance.

The clasps undone, Junhui moves tentatively, fingers finding the hem of Minghao’s shirt and pulling up to help him take it off. He lets the shirt drop to the floor and Minghao thinks he should be more concerned about it, but he’s a little distracted by the way that Junhui is running his hands, feather-light and hummingbird-flitting, across Minghao’s collarbones, down his side, around his waist. His eyes follow the movements of his hands and Minghao can’t dig up any embarrassment, any hesitation, can only live in how vulnerable Junhui is letting himself be. 

Minghao has never seen Junhui want anything, has only seen him take whatever is being offered to him, careful to never come off as ungrateful or greedy. Minghao has tried for years to draw anything out of Junhui, to learn what Junhui actually thinks and wants and needs, but it’s hard when Junhui is so careful. The reaction to his Games took every ounce of want from him and replaced it with desperate acceptance.

He’s letting himself want now. Minghao can see it in how wide his eyes are while he looks, in the way that his touches get more solid as he goes, the way his breath catches when Minghao takes one of Junhui’s hands and kisses his palm before closing his fingers around Junhui’s. Minghao turns Junhui around carefully, slowly to give him time to adjust—everything in Junhui’s brain tends to race far faster than he wants it to and Minghao knows that he desperately doesn’t want to race right now. He times his movements to it, a different kind of dance. 

Junhui’s shirt has the same clasps, three right at the back of his neck, and Minghao starts to undo them, pulling them open gently. He leaves a soft kiss on Junhui’s skin once he has them all undone and watches the shiver roll down Junhui’s spine, does it twice more after he lifts Junhui’s shirt off of him just to see the way Junhui shudders, and Junhui turns around and catches Minghao in a near-frantic kiss, hands on Minghao’s face, a careful hold. There’s nothing heated about it, it’s still achingly soft, but there’s the edge of the want again, like now that Junhui has let himself want, he can’t hold it back. 

It’s far too cold to stay like this—it’s November, they’re in the mountains, and Minghao is sure that at least one of the shivers that runs through Junhui is the chill seeping in from the window.

“C’mon, honey,” Minghao says softly, smiling at the surprise on Junhui’s face at the endearment. Minghao holds Junhui steady while he changes, but he lets Minghao pull the t-shirt on for him, one of Minghao’s older ones that Junhui stretched the shoulders of years ago. It ruffles Junhui’s hair and Minghao huffs out a laugh while he runs his hands through Junhui’s hair to fix it. They swap positions and Minghao is almost certain that Junhui helps Minghao into his t-shirt just to ruffle Minghao’s hair too, far messier than the gentle tousle that Minghao caused for him.

“Cute,” Junhui says with a smile as he fixes Minghao’s hair. “So cute. You’re so cute.”

Minghao feels his face heat up with his blush and it only makes Junhui’s smile grow. Junhui puts a hand on Minghao’s cheek and steps closer, kissing high up on his other cheek, kissing the top of his ear, and Minghao can still feel his smile. Junhui settles his hands on Minghao’s waist, guiding him and walking him backwards toward the bed, laughing when Minghao nearly trips anyway. He gets Minghao onto the bed, laying on his back, and his eyes are bright when he settles nearly on top of Minghao.

“So sweet, so pretty,” Junhui says. He kisses Minghao’s forehead again, kisses the tip of his nose, kisses both cheeks. “Love you so much. I can’t believe I get to love you like this.”

There’s an unspoken undertone to it that sounds a lot like a clock ticking and Minghao feels it, he does, but he shoves it aside for now. They can give themselves this.

“I can’t believe I can say it out loud,” Minghao says. His smile is only a little foreign, a little rusty. “You’re so easy to love, it’s hard not to let it slip.”

“Oh,” Junhui says softly, a little winded. Minghao knows why—Junhui has never thought of himself as anything other than a burden. He’s apologized to Minghao too many times for things that aren’t his fault, things that he does without thinking, things that he never needs to apologize for like “I’m sorry we can’t go places without people looking at you like they look at me.” Maybe there would be a little solace in Minghao winning, a little bit of people looking at them the same way for the same reasons. Minghao thinks he can bear it if it means Junhui doesn’t apologize like that ever again.

“Jun, you have to know how easy it is to love you,” Minghao says. It’s the barest acknowledgement of the world outside the room, but it suddenly feels urgent that Minghao say this, that Junhui understands. There’s a “just in case” buried there that they’ll just have to cope with. “You’re so easy to love, you’re so easy to care about. I know you don’t think that, but I need you to understand. I started caring about you as my best friend so easily and I fell in love with you so easily. I’ve seen everything you’ve been willing to show me and I still think it. I still know it.”

“Okay,” Junhui whispers. His eyes are searching Minghao’s face and Minghao knows that he’s looking for any lie, any hesitation, but he won’t find any. He must realize it, because he leans down to kiss Minghao again. He kisses like he’s pouring himself into it, intention in every touch, in the way he runs a thumb along Minghao’s cheekbone, soft, soft, soft.

“I love you,” Junhui whispers as they catch their breath. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

“It took you as long as it needed to,” Minghao says. His smile feels cut in half, but he’s trying. “I know what you’re thinking about and— I know. It’s okay. I love you. You love me. That’s all that matters in the end, Jun. That’s all there is.”

“That’s all there is,” Junhui echoes. “It’s all I have.”

He kisses Minghao before Minghao can respond, but they both know. They’ve been reduced to this, stripped of everything else, but no one can take that. I love you. It’s all I have.

They’re both exhausted and Junhui moves them so Minghao can curl into him, so he can wrap an arm around Minghao’s waist and slip his hand under Minghao’s shirt, fingers settling into the spaces between Minghao’s ribs, holding him in. Minghao settles his hand right under the hem of Junhui’s shirt, his fingers ghosting a pattern over Junhui’s side. 

“We have tomorrow morning free,” Minghao says. “I think I want to just lay here with you.”

“Yeah,” Junhui says. He presses a kiss to the top of Minghao’s head. “Let’s do that. Happy birthday, Hao. I always missed you the most on your birthday.”

“I did too,” Minghao admits. “It’s why I waited so long every year. Just wanted to hear your voice. Thank you for always calling.”

“Thank you for always waiting,” Junhui says. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

“Always,” Minghao says. He can feel sleep threatening to take him, his eyes and his heart heavy with it. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Junhui whispers. “Goodnight, little one.”

Minghao gets out his last “goodnight” before he’s pulled under, Junhui’s fingers at his ribs and Junhui’s head resting on his, safe and surrounded. It’s all he has.

Chapter Text

In a parallel universe or another world

or a different life,

we sit across from each other at the kitchen table

and go over the grocery list.

— Trista Mateer, The Dogs I Have Kissed

Junhui is grateful for every morning that he wakes up before Minghao. It was always the opposite in 7—Minghao would wake up early to open the apothecary before school and even on the weekends, Junhui could never get him to linger past 8 am. Half the time, Minghao would drag Junhui out of bed with him or knock on his door far too early. Junhui always preferred the mornings that he didn’t, because it came with the twofold benefit of sleeping later and the way that Minghao would run his hand through Junhui’s hair as a soft goodbye as he left in the morning.

Junhui really should have known sooner. It’s 8 am and they have 26 hours left. He tries not to think about it.

Waking up before Minghao means that Junhui can see him like he is right now: relaxed, unburdened, all sweet and soft. All Junhui’s, if he wants to get a little more honest with himself. Minghao looks like Junhui’s, like he always has, like he has since the first night Junhui slept over—the night before Junhui had to go back to the Capitol for the first time, when he was 15-years-old and terrified. Minghao was five days from 14 and already far wiser than Junhui could ever hope to be. He saw Junhui’s hesitation to go back to his own house in the Victor’s Village and he grabbed Junhui by the hand, pulling him close under the blankets to accommodate for how small the bed was compared to two teenage boys. It was the last time they slept that close—Junhui’s house was only a 20 minute walk away and his bed could actually fit both of them. 

Until the reaping. Junhui has so many things in life that he could say that he did “until the reaping,” but he never really thought he would be referring to any other reaping than his own. He could try to frame this as a nice one of those things—Junhui doesn’t know how long it would have taken him to realize he loved Minghao if they weren’t running out the clock with every breath—but none of it would feel right. Junhui knows how close he was to realizing it, can look back and see the flickers of it, and it wouldn’t have taken long. Even if it hadn’t, Junhui would have rather waited five, ten, fifteen more years than realize it because he’s about to lose Minghao to the Games.

He tries not to think about it.

Minghao somehow got closer while they were sleeping, less curled into Junhui and more draped over him. One of Junhui’s arms is intermittently losing feeling where it’s wrapped around Minghao’s waist, but Junhui would rather die than actually move away. Minghao starts to stir as Junhui readjusts, letting out some kind of upset huff that he presses into Junhui’s shoulder, making Junhui laugh.

“Loud,” Minghao nearly whines, patting around until he can properly cover Junhui’s mouth with his hand. It only makes Junhui laugh harder—Minghao may always wake up early, but he’s never happy about it. “Shh, Junnie. We’re sleeping.”

“I don’t really think we are, little one,” Junhui says after he pulls Minghao’s hand away, twining their fingers together instead. Minghao huffs again, more forceful and more awake. “Sorry to break it to you.”

“No, you’re not,” Minghao says when he wakes up enough to move and look at Junhui. “Good morning.”

“Why are you saying good morning like I’ve wronged you?” Junhui laughs. “Nobody made you wake up, baby. You woke yourself up.”

Minghao’s eyes widen and Junhui backtracks in his mind, realizing what he said right as Minghao smiles, small and private. “Yeah, okay. I’m still mad about it.”

He’s laughing, giving himself away entirely even as he tries to suppress it.

“And that’s on you,” Junhui smiles. He moves his hand to the back of Minghao’s neck, pulling him back down so Junhui can kiss the top of his head. He’s gotten a little attached to doing it in the last few days and it hasn’t been long enough for it to become a habit, but Junhui may just force it to be one anyway. “Good morning to you too, brat.”

“Hey, be nice to me,” Minghao complains. He breaks out of Junhui’s hold on his neck and he’s smiling when he looks back up. “I have a big day. I can’t start it on a bad note.”

Junhui expects the reminder to hurt, but it’s soothed by how wide Minghao’s smile is, how his eyes nearly glitter in the morning light, how his hair is still messy, how he looks sweet and carefree and like Junhui couldn’t imagine loving anyone more than he loves Minghao right now. He’s sure he’ll find out—he thinks that every time Minghao looks at Junhui like this, he’ll have to ask himself the same question all over again.

“You do have a big day,” Junhui agrees. “You have to get all dolled up again and show off in front of some of the weirdest people you’ve ever met.”

Minghao shrugs. “Like I said. I don’t mind everyone looking as long as you are too.”

“I always am,” Junhui says. “There are some people that I wish wouldn’t look, but I don’t think I have any control over that one.”

“Are you referring to Neem or the weird guy who told me that he was glad I wasn’t as masculine as all of the other Careers?” Minghao laughs. Junhui is glad that he’s laughing at it, because Junhui certainly isn’t.

“Well,” Junhui huffs, “at least he acknowledged you as a Career. We know we have that going for us.”

Minghao laughs again and finds Junhui’s hand so he can press a kiss to his palm before wrapping Junhui’s hand in both of his. “No need to sulk, Jun. He may have said that, but most of the others just wanted to talk about how your outfit matched mine. I have a lot of compliments to pass off to Jeonghan.”

“You know Caesar will ask you about that, right?” Junhui asks. Minghao goes easily when Junhui moves them so they’re both laying on their sides, their hands held between them. “If I had to bet, he’ll hit at least one of three topics: your score, your alliance, and your relationship with me, especially after our entrance last night.”

“I figured,” Minghao says easily. It makes Junhui smile—of course Minghao thought about that. He doesn’t really do things without thinking them through. “When I initially asked you to come with me, I was planning to call you my best friend and move on with it. Thinking back on what it looked like, I’m not really sure that he’ll let me get away with that. Even the way we were dressed gave us away.”

“You don’t have to tell him anything,” Junhui says. “You can still just call me your best friend. He won’t press if it’s going to be awkward; he’s very good at reading whether people will say anything else. Strangely enough, he’s one of the kindest people to have anything to do with the Games. You can brush past it and switch to something else and he’ll follow you.”

Minghao hums, tapping a pattern onto the back of Junhui’s hand. “I’ll figure it out. Depends on how he asks about it, I guess. I don’t think I’ll profess my undying love or something like that, but I don’t have to confirm or deny either way.”

“You’re so much better at this than I was,” Junhui says. He shoves at Minghao’s shoulder when Minghao starts laughing—Junhui meant that as a compliment, not as an opportunity for Minghao to bring up Junhui’s disastrous interviews with Caesar. “Hey now, we don’t need to—”

“What was it that you told him again?” Minghao asks, bright and teasing. “Oh, yeah, when he complimented you on being the youngest person to ever win the Games, you said—”

“Yes, yes, I said,” Junhui sighs. “Get back to me on whether you have a better answer when he asks about you being the oldest person to ever win the Games.”

He’s sure that Minghao really will have a better answer. It’s not difficult to top Junhui’s nervous “Sorry, what? Is that a good thing?” The Capitol residents found it charming. Minghao has never let him live it down. 

“Ew, that makes us sound gross,” Minghao says. He wrinkles his nose a little with it and Junhui is so, so fond of him. “Oldest person to win the Games and the youngest person to win the Games?”

“I’m literally older than you,” Junhui laughs. “I think they’ll all understand. We’ll be a power couple at the very least.”

“Somehow worse,” Minghao sighs, entirely exaggerated. “Listen, I love you, but I don’t think I want to live your life here. I don’t know about all of this.”

“I hate you,” Junhui says. His smile feels permanent. “I’m afraid you actually can’t back out now. You’re going to be hard pressed to get me away from you for any longer than I have to be.”

Minghao finally laughs, apparently done with his dramatics. “I’ll allow it.”

“Oh, you’ll allow it?” Junhui teases. He moves quickly, pushing Minghao onto his back so Junhui can hold himself above him. “That’s all?”

Minghao’s smile is wide when he puts a hand on the back of Junhui’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss. It’s soft, a ghost of a kiss more than anything, but it still makes Junhui’s chest bleed something gold, warmth running through him.

“Good morning,” Minghao near-whispers into the small space between them, tender and sweet. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Junhui echoes, letting it fall out of his mouth, easy easy easy. He kisses Minghao again, lingering, and he’s a little surprised when Minghao uses the hand on the back of Junhui’s neck to hold him steady. Minghao deepens the kiss like it’s easy, like he’s done it a hundred times, like he already knows what Junhui likes before Junhui does. It makes Junhui’s head spin and he’s breathing heavily when Minghao pulls back. Minghao’s smile is bright, face a little flushed and lips a little swollen, and Junhui kind of wants to cry. 

“Wanna lay back for me?” Minghao asks, too soft for the way it sends heat through Junhui. He lets Minghao guide him onto his back, switching their positions easily, and Minghao runs a hand through Junhui’s hair, pure affection. “Is this okay?”

Junhui nods, but he realizes that no, Minghao needs him to say it. He gets it all at once—Minghao knows that last night was Junhui’s first kiss and he’s being careful to not push. It’s achingly kind, achingly Minghao. “Yeah, this is okay. More than okay.”

When Minghao kisses him again, he’s less tentative, guiding Junhui and humming approvingly when Junhui tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of Minghao’s neck. Minghao is still cupping Junhui’s face gently, but he bites at Junhui’s lip and swallows Junhui’s gasp and Junhui can feel the little smirk on Minghao’s face. He pulls back to see it, marveling at it, Minghao’s easy confidence swirling with the heat in Junhui’s chest. 

“You’re stunning,” Minghao says, hushed and warm. He moves his hand from Junhui’s face to be able to rest his thumb on Junhui’s bottom lip, pulling lightly. “So beautiful. I love you so much.”

Junhui moves Minghao’s hand, kissing his palm and lacing their fingers together, and the look in Minghao’s eyes is molten adoration. Junhui could drown in it. “You know that you’re the best thing to ever happen to me, right? You always have been. Changed my life, Hao. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

It’s startlingly honest, wrenched out of Junhui’s chest like a plea for something that he can’t name. He needs Minghao to know.

“You’re everything,” Minghao says softly. “You always have been. I can’t imagine a life without you.”

It’s a confession that sounds like sorrow. It is. Junhui doesn’t know how to say that he can’t imagine a life without Minghao either, that he’s being asked to imagine a life without Minghao and it looks like static if Junhui looks at it for too long. It looks like Junhui wouldn’t be there anymore, like he’d drift away, like he really did give his heart to Minghao and he won’t ever get it back. “You come home too, Junhui,” but he can’t. Junhui has only ever had the space between Minghao’s ribs to call home. He can’t.

“I don’t know how to do this without you,” Junhui says, his deepest confession. “I don’t think I can. I don’t think I can do this if you—”

“Die,” Minghao whispers. Molten adoration. Junhui is already drowning in it. “Yeah, I know. It’s unfair of me to ask you to keep going, but I’m asking anyway. I can’t— They can’t take both of us. They can’t.”

“I can’t,” Junhui chokes out. He’s not sure when he started to cry. “I can’t do it on my own. I can’t watch you die and be okay. I can’t.”

Minghao’s expression is torn in half, falling apart at the seams. He kisses Junhui again instead of saying anything and Junhui clings hard, trying to pull Minghao in further like they’re not pressed together already. Junhui wants to keep them tied together, he wants to tie the knots so tight that the rope cuts into his bones, embedded in him. He tugs Minghao harder, pulls him closer, pulls until Minghao has dropped his weight onto Junhui, until Junhui can wrap his arms around Minghao, too tight.

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says, a broken noise that he muffles into Junhui’s skin where his face is pressed into Junhui’s neck. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The apology, branded into Junhui’s skin, sends a chill down his spine that makes a home there. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. None of this is your fault. It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t want to die.” Minghao’s voice cracks on it, shatters into harsh edges, sharp sharp too sharp and digging into Junhui.

“I’m so sorry,” Junhui says, because there’s nothing else to say to that. “I love you. I love you so much and I’m so sorry.”

Minghao cries, can only choke out some combination of “I don’t want to die” and “I’m so scared” and Junhui wants to hide him away, his bleeding-heart boy who never asked the world for anything and is being punished anyway. His bleeding-heart boy with healing hands and sugared words, syrupy sweet and dripping inside of Junhui’s lungs.

It’s 9 am. They have 25 hours. Minghao is so scared, he doesn’t want to die. Junhui wants to tear everything down.

Junhui holds Minghao close, runs a hand through his hair and waits for him to be able to take a full breath before putting a hand under his chin and guiding him so he’s looking up at Junhui. He’s a wreck. Junhui loves him so much that it burns.

“Hey, little one,” Junhui says softly. “Let’s clean you up, okay? You’ll feel a little better.”

Minghao blinks a few times, processing, before he nods. His expression is open as he lets Junhui help him out of bed, help him up to sit on the counter while Junhui runs a cloth under his eyes, down his cheeks, wherever the sadness has touched him. He’s almost pliant, exhaustion already weighing him down so early in the morning, and Junhui takes advantage of the quiet moment to help him a little more, to brush his hair and help him into fresh clothes, to sit him down back in bed and kiss his forehead before Junhui sneaks into the kitchen. Junhui is busying himself making tea and gathering a few pieces of fruit, whatever he thinks Minghao will actually eat, when someone knocks lightly on the wall before speaking.

“Is he okay?” Seokmin asks. He’s not put together yet and Junhui wonders if all of the Capitol residents can look this normal when they let themselves. Seokmin’s hair is still orange, his eyes are still a pale gray, but he’s wearing rumpled pajamas and he hasn’t pasted his smile on yet. “I heard him— Yeah. Is he okay? Can I help?”

“He’s not,” Junhui says after a moment. “Can you find a tray or something? I’m not going to drag him out here to eat.”

“Of course, yeah,” Seokmin says before starting to look through the cabinets. After a second of thought, Junhui pulls a third mug down to make Seokmin’s tea as well. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you any longer this morning. Jeonghan has big plans for his interview outfit and an hour was pushing it.”

“You didn’t have to get us anything, so thank you for the hour,” Junhui says. He nods gratefully when Seokmin starts stacking the things Junhui gathered onto a tray. “He really likes you and Jeonghan. You’ve been really kind.”

“Yes, well,” Seokmin stops himself and sighs. “You love him, don’t you?”

Junhui’s hands tremble as he hands Seokmin his mug. “I do. I love him.”

“Neither of you deserve this,” Seokmin says, hushed into a near-whisper. “You already did everything they asked you to. I’m sorry they’re doing this to you. I’m sorry they’re doing it to him.”

“Seokmin,” Junhui starts, but Seokmin shakes his head. 

“I know,” Seokmin says. “I want to help, Jeonghan and I both do. He could win. We’ll help however we can.”

“Thank you,” Junhui says. Seokmin nods, holds up his mug of tea, and leaves the room with a quiet “see you in an hour.” Junhui stares after him before taking the tray back to his bedroom.

Minghao hasn’t moved from where Junhui left him, his stare a little vacant as he looks out the window. He gives a soft smile when he sees Junhui and Junhui lets out the breath he’s been holding for too long. Junhui settles the tray on the bed, letting Minghao hold it still while he settles next to him, still careful to be able to watch Minghao’s face.

“Can you eat something for me?” Junhui asks. Minghao nods and goes for the fruit that Seokmin carefully washed, to Junhui’s great relief. “Thank you. We have to get something in you before the vultures come after you.”

“Caesar?” Minghao asks, confused.

“Aurelias,” Junhui laughs. “We can’t have you messing up his meticulous lip glossing.”

The joke gets a huff of laughter out of Minghao and Junhui smiles. “Lilak’s the real problem. The woman hates when I move when she’s trying to make my hair ‘artfully messy.’”

“To her credit, she does it well,” Junhui says with a shrug. He carefully spreads jam on a piece of bread and sets it in front of Minghao with a look that hopefully says “eat this voluntarily or I will be force-feeding it to you.” Junhui needs Minghao to be the kind of well-fed that the other Careers are in case something goes wrong. He’s positive that Minghao can handle hunger more than the others and is far more self-sufficient, but Junhui is covering every possibility. Minghao picks up on it and obeys, gratefully accepting the mug of tea when Junhui stops shoving food in his direction.

“How much longer do we have?” Minghao asks quietly. 

“Probably 20 minutes,” Junhui says. Time shouldn’t hurt like this. “Come sit on the windowsill, get some fresh air.”

“You’re demanding this morning,” Minghao says, his mouth barely turned up in the corners. He’s teasing. Junhui breathes out a sigh of relief with the joke and the color coming back into Minghao’s cheeks.

“Am I not allowed to take care of you now?” Junhui asks dramatically, climbing into the windowsill bench and putting out a hand to pull Minghao up. “God, maybe I want to revisit the boyfriend thing. So many drawbacks.”

Minghao kicks weakly at him and Junhui grabs his shin as he does, pulling both of Minghao’s legs into his lap and moving closer. “You’re not allowed to reconsider,” Minghao says. “It’s legally binding or something like that.”

Junhui laughs when Minghao’s blush reaches up to his ears even when he’s trying to play it cool. “Whatever you say, baby. I’m just following you.”

“That’s normally my thing,” Minghao says. There’s a soft smile on his face that’s Junhui’s best-kept secret. 

“Hao, I don’t think you realize how much I’ve just been trailing after you for the last six years,” Junhui says, a joke that’s a little too truthful. “You made me that tea and I was a goner. You’ve always had me wrapped around your finger.”

When 13-year-old Minghao invited Junhui into his kitchen, when he said that Junhui could come back the next day, that was it for Junhui. He’s not sure that he’s done anything since then that didn’t have him thinking of Minghao—how much he wanted to tell Minghao something, whether Minghao would like something he found, what Minghao would think when he saw Junhui’s interviews in the Capitol, if Minghao would be out of school yet so Junhui could sit behind the counter at the apothecary with him, tucked away and fleeing when someone came in.

Once, when Minghao was 15, he finally asked Junhui why he would go upstairs when someone came in or why he always insisted on meeting Minghao somewhere instead of walking together. Junhui didn’t know how to explain that he didn’t want people to associate Minghao with him and all of his baggage.

I’m tied to you, Junhui couldn’t say. They’ll never be able to pull me away. You don’t need to be burdened by it.

Minghao smiles at him, leans forward to kiss him, tea and strawberries and “I’m tied to you,” and Junhui thinks he could have just said it. Maybe he should have just said it. They don’t have enough time to question things like that. Junhui moves closer and tangles a hand in Minghao’s hair and doesn’t ask questions.

“I love you,” Minghao whispers, pressing it into Junhui’s skin where he kisses the corner of his mouth. Junhui wishes it didn’t make him cry, he wishes that he wasn’t crying when Jeonghan knocks on the door and asks if he can come in, but Junhui doesn’t think anyone will hold it against him. Junhui whispers his “I love you” and kisses Minghao’s forehead before he calls back to Jeonghan that he can come in.

Jeonghan is a little tentative about how he opens the door and there’s a knowing look on his face when he takes in how Junhui and Minghao are sitting. “I had the team wait outside for a bit. I wanted to make sure you both were actually ready.”

“Thank you,” Minghao says with a smile. “I think we’re okay. I know you have to get started.”

Minghao climbs down carefully and he’s gentle with helping Junhui down. He wipes under Junhui’s eyes with his thumbs, waiting for Junhui’s nod to turn back to Jeonghan. “They can come in.”

Jeonghan leans out of the door and calls toward the others, who descend quickly. Aurelias drags in the platform that was shoved into a corner in Minghao’s room and Lilak takes Minghao to the bathroom to “really assess the skincare situation.” Minghao laughs and Junhui feels like he’s attuned to it, watching as Minghao switches back on, teasing Lilak for a piece of hair that’s slightly out of place to start up the back and forth they’ve settled into.

“He’s good at this,” Seokmin says, patting the spot on the floor next to him, relegated to the corner like Junhui is. “It’s almost impossible to tell that he’s miserable.”

Junhui lets out a surprised laugh and he grins when it makes Minghao whip his head over to look, even as Lilak gripes at him. “He completely underestimates it too. He has no idea how much people already adore him.”

“He’ll know by the time the interviews are done,” Seokmin says. “Do you two have a strategy ready?”

“Kind of,” Junhui says. “We know what Caesar’s going to ask and how Minghao will respond is kind of up to him in the moment—he’s usually best at things when he can read the situation. Planning too much throws him off.”

Seokmin hums. “The other mentors have strict plans. You’re trusting him with a lot.”

“He’s smarter than me,” Junhui shrugs. “I won the Games by chance. He’s going to win the Games on purpose.”

Seokmin turns to look at Junhui and Junhui doesn’t really want to see the look on his face, so he keeps his eyes on Minghao. “He is,” Seokmin says, surprising Junhui enough to look over. “I meant what I said about wanting to help.”

“What about Lottie?” Junhui asks. It’s probably too harsh, but Junhui isn’t playing with Minghao’s safety. 

Seokmin doesn’t flinch, holding eye contact while he speaks. “I meant what I said about wanting to help.”

“Okay,” Junhui says softly. “Thank you. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Both of them sit back, Junhui content to watch Minghao and—to Junhui’s only mild surprise—Seokmin content to watch Jeonghan. If Junhui thinks too hard about how long they sit there before Minghao is done with any alterations and Jeonghan calls Junhui up, he thinks that he’d start screaming, so he doesn’t. Minghao is back in his normal clothes for the time being, perched on the bed and watching Junhui closely. Junhui wonders if he’s trying to commit him to memory like Junhui is with him.

“Are you matching us again?” Junhui asks jokingly when Jeonghan starts handing him clothes to pull on.

“Of course,” Jeonghan says, like Junhui is an idiot for asking. “Have I not made it clear that I’ve been dressing you two as a couple? How did you win the Games?”

It makes Minghao bark out a laugh, entirely at Junhui’s expense, and Junhui bites out a “hey!” that only makes everyone in the room laugh more.

“All of you are awful,” Junhui groans. Minghao’s laugh is far too bright for a traitor. “Especially you, Hao. The betrayal hurts.”

“You’ll be alright, baby,” Minghao says with a grin. Junhui’s blush is less about Minghao calling him “baby” than it is about Lilak hitting Aurelias on the shoulder and saying he owes her money because “they’re together! I won the bet!”

“And let’s keep that information between all of us, hm?” Jeonghan says, staring down Aurelias and Lilak. They agree quickly, promising to not say anything about Junhui and Minghao, though Lilak definitely says something under her breath about the money. “Though, Aurelias, did you actually bet against them being together? Have you been in the same room as we’ve been?”

“I thought it wouldn’t happen until Minghao won,” Aurelias shrugs. Junhui adds him to the count of people who genuinely believe Minghao can win and he’s only a little surprised about how long it’s gotten. 

The excitement dies down as the team gets to work, finishing with Junhui entirely and sending Seokmin off to get ready before they bring Minghao back up. Junhui is admittedly a little confused about where Jeonghan is going with their opposing black and white outfits and it takes the finishing touches for Junhui to understand. 

Jeonghan sends everyone else out of the room and drags Junhui and Minghao so they can look in the mirror together and Junhui sees it: Jeonghan has dressed Minghao like he’s above all of this again, like he’s otherworldly, swathed in soft white silk save the thin black strips of leather crossing his torso, a harness of black cutting into the white. Junhui is the opposite, all-black outfit only interrupted by delicate white embroidered details on his shirt, running around his wrists and his collar. Little pieces of the other, clearly tied together.

“I know that Junhui will be in the front row during the interview,” Jeonghan says softly. “I want them to have to look at what they’re trying to tear apart. I want them to know.”

Minghao’s breath hitches and Jeonghan just smiles, almost sad, and tells them on his way out of the room that they have 10 minutes before they need to leave. Another reprieve.

“Are you okay with them knowing?” Junhui asks, turning Minghao to face him. “You don’t have to tell them anything.”

“I don’t know that I’ll tell them the whole truth,” Minghao says after a moment, “but I want them to have to look at us. I want it to hurt.”

Junhui can see the anger that lives just under Minghao’s skin, the anger that shakes his voice and sounds like vengeance. Junhui knows it well—he’s just hidden it deeper. Maybe he shouldn’t have. Maybe they need it. He leans down to kiss Minghao and it’s heavy, shaking, and Junhui is careful not to mess up Minghao’s outfit even as he deepens the kiss, trying to pour every ounce of anger, trust, love, pain, everything he has and everything he is into it. Minghao folds into Junhui, trying to get as close as he can, and Junhui feels like something vital is being ripped from his chest when he has to pull away.

“Make it hurt,” Junhui says quietly. Jeonghan chose light blue contacts for Minghao today and he’s gorgeous, he always is, but he’s not just Junhui’s. This Minghao isn’t Junhui’s bleeding-heart boy—he’s a weapon, too sharp and too precise, the reflection of the knives he’ll carry in 15 hours. 

Junhui tries not to think about it. Minghao can take out his contacts soon.

“Let’s go give ‘em hell,” Junhui says. He tangles their fingers together and doesn’t think about the blue. Minghao clings and he’s still Junhui’s. He still is.

They’re quiet in the car on the way to the venue, tucked together in the backseat with Jeonghan and Seokmin in the row in front of him. Junhui is glad that Lottie, Ash, and Jisoo are following in a separate car—they’re not forcing Lottie and Minghao together anymore. Welcome to the Games.

Junhui is ushered into the front row of the audience with Ash as the boy from District 6 finishes his interview. Junhui isn’t sure if he registers any of Lottie’s interview, but he thinks it’s probably fine. Ash doesn’t smell like alcohol for once and her eyes are clear. He doesn’t need to pay attention. 

He’s only thinking about the slight shake in Minghao’s hands when they pulled Junhui away from him, the barest hint that Minghao isn’t as composed as he’s pretending to be. Junhui knows that this is what he’s been dreading: being held out as a shiny new thing, a new addition to the Careers and to the playing field, heavy laden with expectations. Junhui has complete faith in him, but he’s still a little nervous about the way that he had to pull Minghao’s bottom lip from between his teeth right before he left.

Each tribute only has five minutes on stage, five minutes to set themselves up as a victor or a victim. Junhui’s stomach turns over when Minghao walks on stage, but he registers how loud the audience is and he can’t help his smile. Minghao hasn’t said a word, but they already know that he’s no victim.

“Minghao, so great to finally meet you!” Caesar says, all bright purples this year. It’s an interesting choice. “I’ve heard so much about you, you know.”

“All good things, I hope,” Minghao laughs, bright and beautiful. Junhui thinks a woman behind him gasps at the sound. He gets it.

“Only the best!” Caesar exclaims. “Minghao, tell me, how did you get from the reaping to being the most exciting surprise of the Games?”

“Very carefully,” Minghao jokes. “Though I can’t take all of the credit—I’ve had a lot of support from my district and from all of you here in the Capitol. I’ve met some of the best people here, Caesar, and they’ve helped me along the way as well.”

“Oh, we’re honored to do it,” Caesar laughs, guiding the crowd’s cheers. Junhui tries not to cheer too—Minghao is good at this. He’s really fucking good at this. “I have to ask about this support from your district. You seem rather close to your mentor, our Jun.”

Junhui thinks he does a remarkable job of not flinching at “our Jun,” and the crowd cheers again when the cameras pan toward him and he smiles, gesturing toward Minghao like he’s trying to push the attention back. It gets laughs from the audience and from Minghao, who’s looking over at Junhui with a soft smile. 

“Ah, yeah, I would say we’re close,” Minghao says, tone sugary sweet before he turns back to Caesar. “Junnie has been my best friend since I was 13. I actually just turned 19 yesterday, so we’re in our sixth year together.”

“19,” Caesar says, momentarily shocked. It matches the strange silence that runs through the audience. Make it hurt. Caesar seems to shake himself back together and he takes the bait that Minghao has just thrown him. “Sorry, did I hear you say ‘together?’”

Minghao gives a rueful look, letting his features go soft and sad. He’s already opened the wound. He’s just twisting the knife now. “Not quite in the way you’re thinking, though that’s not for our lack of wanting. It’s a little hard to do something about being in love with your best friend when one of you is about to walk into the Games. Isn’t it better to never know what you’re missing?”

“Oh, Minghao, I don’t know,” Caesar says, words dripping with the same sympathy that Junhui feels shudder through the audience. The camera turns back toward Junhui and Junhui gives his best wry smile, heart-wrenching and longing. Some of the audience members are crying—they all think they know Junhui, “our Jun,” and here he is in front of them, heartbroken at the hands of the Games.

“I’m sorry, I hate to bring the mood down on such a big night,” Minghao apologizes, patting Caesar’s hand comfortingly.

“You’ve done no such thing,” Caesar says as he takes Minghao’s hand in both of his, back to being an interviewer after a brief stint as a mourner. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say that I sincerely hope that you and Junhui can come back to each other.”

The audience members are shouting a number of things and Junhui can’t quite pick out what they are, but he knows the tone. Caesar really is speaking for all of them. Minghao did it. He hasn’t just set himself up as a victor—he’s set himself up as the only victor the Capitol will accept. He’s the only one they want to win. Junhui puts both hands over his heart like a thank you, knowing that eyes are still on him.

“Thank you,” Minghao says, all elegant sincerity. “All of you, thank you. I hope we can meet again.”

The audience cheers and Minghao’s smile is gorgeous when he waves before leaving the stage. Junhui doesn’t even try to hide how quickly he’s out of his chair and going backstage again, a little desperate to find Minghao. 

He finds Minghao in a side hallway, huddled with Jeonghan and Seokmin. The other two move to try to block Junhui and Minghao from sight when Junhui brings Minghao into a tight hug, one hand at the back of his neck and nearly whispering into his hair.

“You’re incredible,” Junhui rushes out. “Oh, my baby, you did so well.”

“Do you think it worked?” Minghao asks. “Did I do enough?”

“More than enough,” Junhui says, pulling back to look at Minghao. “They want you to win. It’s exactly what you need. You were perfect.”

Minghao smiles, a little nervous and a little tentative, but Junhui can see the relief all over his face. “When can we leave?”

“Now, if you want,” Seokmin says, turning around to look at them. “They won’t need you again, we can go.”

“Thank God,” Jeonghan sighs, pulling a laugh out of Junhui. “Let’s go before someone tries to talk to either of you.”

Jeonghan and Seokmin keep trying to block Junhui and Minghao from sight as they all walk quickly back toward the car and Junhui reminds himself to thank both of them—the last District 7 escort and stylists only ever wanted more publicity. Jeonghan and Seokmin are protecting Junhui and Minghao instead and Junhui doesn’t quite know how to put his gratitude into words.

All of the adrenaline seems to leave Minghao at once and he leans heavily into Junhui when they’re back in the car. Junhui wraps an arm around Minghao’s waist to support him, only moving once they’re out of the car and going up to the apartment. Jeonghan and Seokmin give them a nod before going into Seokmin’s room at the other end of the hallway. Junhui brings Minghao into his room and pulls Minghao into the bathroom first, determined to clean him up, knowing that it will help him rest.

Once Junhui gets both of their makeup off, Minghao pulls him close so Junhui is standing in between his legs where he’s sitting on the counter. It means that Minghao is the one to lean down and Junhui tries to burn this kiss into his mind—the feeling of Minghao’s hands cradling his face gently, contrasting with how hard Minghao kisses him, the way that Minghao moves one of his hands to Junhui’s jaw, pulling Junhui’s mouth open so he can deepen the kiss. Junhui untucks Minghao’s shirt to be able to slip his hands under the fabric, memorizing the heat of Minghao’s skin, the hitch in his breath when Junhui touches him.

“C’mon, baby,” Junhui whispers into the barest space between them.  Junhui moves a hand to be able to tug gently at the leather straps crossing Minghao’s chest and he can’t help his smile when Minghao makes a noise a little too close to a whine. Junhui isn’t sure where his confidence is coming from, but he has a suspicion that it’s entirely built on knowing Minghao like the back of his hand. None of his reactions are surprising and Junhui doesn’t really want to think about how long he’s been paying attention to Minghao like this.

It’s 9 pm. They have 13 hours left. Junhui is going to make them count.

He pulls at the straps again, his other hand still on Minghao’s waist, and guides Minghao toward the bed, turning them at the last second so Junhui can get Minghao on his back and straddle him, holding him still while Junhui ducks back down to kiss him. Minghao tangles his hands in Junhui’s hair as Junhui licks into his mouth and swallows down the noise that Minghao makes when he does. Minghao is worked up already, vocal and a little desperate with how he kisses back. Junhui understands it, feels it too, and he’s reluctant to break the kiss, but he can’t move his hand any higher under Minghao’s shirt without taking off the harness. A shame.

The buckles of the straps are on the front and before Junhui undoes them, he looks down at Minghao. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, please,” Minghao says quickly, his voice gliding over the “please” easily. Junhui doesn’t try to suppress the shudder that runs through him, just pauses briefly before working the buckles open, pulling the straps from under Minghao and throwing the harness toward the end of the bed somewhere. It being gone means that, when Junhui leans back down to kiss Minghao, he can slide his hand up higher on Minghao’s waist, settling on his ribs.

Junhui didn’t realize how much he was missing from not having kissed anyone before, though he has the distinct feeling that it wouldn’t be nearly as good if it wasn’t Minghao that he was kissing. He was Minghao’s from the start. Junhui is confident that nothing could compare to how eagerly Minghao kisses back, how soft he is anywhere Junhui touches, how much Junhui’s chest flares with the amount of love he’s stored inside of himself in the last few years. He spares a thought for the few people that he knows that Minghao has been with, always just once, who Minghao walked away from saying that something was missing, because they didn’t get all of Minghao.

All of Minghao looks like: a breathy noise when Junhui pulls back and presses his thumb on Minghao’s bottom lip just to stop and look at him. It looks like Minghao’s eyes, dark again without his contacts, when he moves quickly and shifts them so he’s straddling Junhui, quick but tentative fingers working the buttons of Junhui’s shirt open when Junhui says yes. It looks like the way Minghao stares, his eyes wide when he pulls Junhui’s shirt open, just to end up looking back up at Junhui’s face when he whispers, awed, a soft “you’re beautiful” and a softer “I love you” pressed to Junhui’s lips when he leans back down.

No, Minghao is entirely Junhui’s, all of him poured into the way he kisses Junhui, vulnerable and open. Junhui can feel Minghao’s smile when it’s pressed to his neck, can feel it when Minghao nips at his collarbone, and Junhui groans, low and a little torn out of him. 

“My baby, my love,” Minghao says quietly as he keeps going. Junhui knows that Minghao is testing how much he can take, but Junhui has always been more of a giver. He moves Minghao so he can sit up, readjusting so Minghao is in his lap and Junhui can run his hands down Minghao’s face, barely there, down his neck, down to the buttons of his shirt, pulling it off entirely. He runs a hand up Minghao’s back, mapping the notches of his spine, memorizing the sound Minghao makes when Junhui presses a kiss right above his collarbone, light touches of his lips up Minghao’s neck until he gets his hand up high enough to pull Minghao down into a kiss.

“My breathtaking boy,” Junhui says, pulling back to look at Minghao. He takes in the way that Minghao’s blush runs down to his chest, how hard he’s breathing, how kiss-swollen his lips are. His eyes are bright and there’s a small smile on his face while he watches Junhui. “My sweet little one. Love of my life.”

“Yours,” Minghao breathes out, the softest sound that makes Junhui’s chest ache. He didn’t know he needed to hear Minghao say it, but now that he has, Junhui’s not sure that anything will ever be the same. He’s converted, Minghao’s to his core, kneeling at the altar and begging to hear Minghao’s sweet voice giving himself to Junhui again, begging to hear it forever. He wants to hear it now, he wants to hear it when they’re home, when Junhui can press his prayers into Minghao’s skin and know he has all the time in the world to atone before going to sleep and to wake up washed in forgiveness. Stitched up, stitched together, finding Minghao at their kitchen table in the morning and never having to unravel again. 

“Say it again,” Junhui pleads, begs, prays. “Please. Please say it again.”

“Yours,” Minghao says, holding Junhui’s face gently between his hands. “I’m yours, I always have been. I’m always going to be yours.”

Junhui feels how wet his eyes are, feels the desperation in his chest, the need that’s grown in him, ivy running through him. Minghao was always so good at tending the gardens. “I’m yours too,” Junhui whispers, cracked open. “I’m so in love with you.”

Minghao closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Junhui’s, the smallest space between them. “I think I was always supposed to love you, Jun. I was always supposed to be this in love with you.”

He pulls away to look at Junhui and something in his eyes tells Junhui that Minghao is about to wrench his own heart from his chest and hand it to Junhui, bleeding red. “Junhui, you have to know that if I die, I’ll die in love with you. Please don’t forget that. Please don’t ever forget that.”

“Minghao,” Junhui chokes out. “Please. Please.”

He’s not actually sure what he’s asking for, but Minghao seems to know. Minghao leans down and kisses him hard, almost too hard, longing and salt on his tongue. Junhui kisses back just as hard, lets Minghao pull his shirt off entirely, lets Minghao push him back again. He goes easily and he gasps into the kiss when Minghao moves so he can slot one leg in between Junhui’s, pressing his thigh forward. 

“I’ve got you, s’okay,” Minghao says soothingly when Junhui shifts his hips to try to find any kind of friction. Minghao moves a hand down and it’s simple from there, because things have always been simple between them: You’re my best friend. I’m in love with you. You know what I want when your name gets ripped out of my chest. 

Minghao talks him through it, soft guidance and “there you go, my love,” and “my baby, all mine, wanna hear you,” and a gasped out “please” when Junhui flips them. He’s a little overwhelmed, a little lost, but he stops and rifles a hand through the bedside table for what he knows one of the Capitol attendants put in the drawer when Minghao walked out of Junhui’s bedroom on the first morning. It was embarrassing when Junhui initially found it. He’s grateful now, when Minghao is finally out of the silk that wore like armor and guiding Junhui’s hands.

“Like that,” Minghao says, all kinds of breathy when he tells Junhui to keep going, tells him how to crook his fingers just right.

Junhui doesn’t know how to hold his words back, dripping honesty out of his mouth in between Minghao’s instructions, every “you’re so good, angel, just like that,” broken up with “you’re so beautiful, sound so beautiful, best thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Neither of them say anything when Junhui sinks in, but Junhui has to pull Minghao’s bottom lip from between his teeth as he adjusts, kissing him hard and whispering almost incoherently.

“Thank you, thank you, love you so much,” Junhui says, kissing every part of Minghao’s face that he can reach until Minghao nods, digging a heel into the back of Junhui’s thigh, an encouragement that Junhui doesn’t need. “Gorgeous, ‘m so in love with you.”

Minghao has both hands cradling Junhui’s face again, their foreheads together, and they move easily, Minghao whispering soft encouragements that break in half when Junhui follows his instruction of “there, baby, a little more.” Minghao takes Junhui’s hand in his own and shows him how he likes to be touched, what it takes for him to whine high and sweet, Junhui’s name mixed with Junhui’s own words. 

“So pretty, Hao, my little love, there you go,” Junhui says, slowing down to whisper to Minghao while he comes, talking him through it just to watch the breaths heave out of his chest while he tries to control them. 

“You too, you too,” Minghao gasps out, wincing a little when Junhui pulls out. It doesn’t take long with Minghao’s hands on him and Minghao kissing him, whispering soft words that wind their way through Junhui’s mind, “you’re so good, baby” and “love you so much, angel” swirling together. Minghao tugs on the hair at the back of Junhui’s neck and says “mine, my love, I’m yours, I’m yours,” and that’s it for Junhui. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything more than right now, when Minghao keeps whispering to him, when Minghao catches his weight fully and doesn’t say anything about the mess, just traces patterns on Junhui’s shoulder while he comes down. 

They’re quiet while they catch their breath, Junhui’s head tucked onto Minghao’s shoulder, Minghao holding him almost too hard. Junhui finally moves to look at Minghao, to take in how soft and vulnerable he still is, a half-smile on his face, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink. Junhui is certain that he’ll never see anything better. He’s certain that he’s going to see Minghao like this far too often when he closes his eyes. The thought lurches something in him, pulling at his lungs, almost wrong.

“You look like a dream,” Junhui says. He doesn’t say what he really means. You look like I’ll only have you in dreams.

Minghao gives him a look like he understands without Junhui saying it. “I think you’re the only dream I’ve ever had.”

Junhui feels the tears gather in his eyes again and he turns away quickly, muttering something about cleaning them up, and he’s grateful that Minghao lets him go. He just— He needs a minute. 

He cleans himself up and gets a warm towel to clean Minghao up as well, Minghao’s careful eyes on him the whole time. He holds out a hand to help Minghao up so they can put themselves back together. Minghao lets Junhui hold onto his silence, but Junhui breaks it when he grabs Minghao’s wrist gently while they’re getting dressed for bed.

“You’re shaking, little one,” Junhui says quietly. “Let me help.”

“Okay,” Minghao whispers. He’s pliant while Junhui helps him, letting Junhui move him around, and Junhui knows the exhaustion has settled in. When Junhui is done, he runs a hand through Minghao’s hair to smooth it down and leans down to kiss him, smiling when Minghao nearly melts into it. He pulls Minghao toward the bed, stripping off the top blanket and deciding that’s for tomorrow’s Junhui to deal with. 

Minghao immediately curls into Junhui’s side, making himself small and resting his head on Junhui’s shoulder. The breath he lets out when Junhui wraps an arm around his waist, lifting the hem of his shirt just to be close again, sounds heavy. 

“What are you thinking about?” Junhui asks, kissing the top of Minghao’s head before he settles further back into the bed.

Minghao’s arm tightens where he’s clinging to Junhui. “I don’t want this to be our last night. We should have— I don’t know. We should have had so many more than we did. I shouldn’t have to win the Games just to get another one.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Junhui sighs. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could do it for you.”

“I don’t,” Minghao says quickly. Junhui’s heart hurts a little—Minghao has always tried to protect him from the world, from prying eyes and snide comments, from everything that might hurt. Minghao keeps trying. “I’d do it ten times over before I asked you to do it again.”

“Okay, Hao, thank you,” Junhui says before Minghao can work himself up again. He feels himself choke on the words he tries to get out next, his body shuddering away from them, but Minghao has to know. He detangles them just enough to be able to look at Minghao, a hand under his chin to hold his attention. “If this is our last night, if you can’t come back, I’ll understand. You gave me tonight and I’ll understand if you can’t give me any others.”

The last thing he needs Minghao to think is that Junhui is telling him that he has to win. Minghao doesn’t need that kind of pressure, those expectations. Junhui knows exactly what’s being asked of Minghao right now. He doesn’t need Junhui to add onto it.

“I’m sorry,” Minghao whispers. The words bury themselves in Junhui’s lungs like knives. He’s about to protest, but Minghao shakes his head. “No, I need to say this. If I don’t win, I’m not going to be able to say I’m sorry, so I have to say it now. I’m sorry that things keep being taken from you. I wanted so, so badly to be something that you got to keep.” 

Junhui gives a wry smile and it aches. “I’ll always have you. I’m made of you.”

Minghao looks heartbroken, misery all over his face. He leans up to kiss Junhui, to whisper the saddest “I love you,” and it’s the last thing said for the night. It’s the only thing they could say.

It’s midnight. They have ten hours. Minghao falls asleep pressed as close to Junhui as he could get. Junhui is made of him.

He tries not to think about it.

Chapter Text

I said to the sun

“Tell me about the big bang”

The sun said

“it hurts to become”

— Andrea Gibson, I Sing the Body Electric, Especially When My Power’s Out

Minghao thinks that he’s lucky to have gotten five hours of sleep—he’s not sure how he managed to sleep at all. He owes it to a combination of exhaustion and something twisting his lungs that he can’t put a name to. “Sadness” isn’t enough to describe the feeling that’s dragging him down, hooked into his bones and holding too tightly, trying to drag him six feet under.

He tries not to wake Junhui up, but he’s not entirely sure that Junhui was asleep in the first place considering how quickly he reacts to Minghao readjusting, his arm still wrapped tightly around Minghao’s waist.

“Hey, it’s still early,” Junhui says, his voice low and rough. “You can go back to sleep, Hao.”

“I don’t think I can,” Minghao whispers. “It’s too—”

Junhui hums when Minghao cuts himself off. Junhui rests his head on Minghao’s and pulls him impossibly closer. “Yeah, I know. At least you slept.”

“Yeah,” Minghao says, and he’s surprised when he chokes on it. He doesn’t know when he started crying. Junhui traces a pattern on Minghao’s shoulder with his free hand and Minghao turns further into Junhui’s chest before he speaks again. “Can you just… talk? I wanna hear your voice.”

“Of course,” Junhui says easily. “Did I ever tell you about the second night we met? I know I’ve talked about the first one.”

Minghao shakes his head and Junhui hums again, resonating in his chest, pressing into Minghao’s. Minghao tries to hold it there.

“I spent all day thinking about whether I was going to go back,” Junhui says, hushed, his voice gliding over the words. “I knew you were lying about the tea because you’ve always been pretty bad at lying, but you were awful at it when you were 13. You were so nice about it in a roundabout way though, so I thought about whether I would go and pretend I didn’t know, if I would say anything, or if I would just avoid you and the apothecary for the rest of my life.”

“District 7 isn’t very big,” Minghao says. It’s muffled from the way he’s speaking into Junhui’s shirt more than anything, but Junhui understands anyway. He laughs softly.

“No, it’s not, but I was young and stupid,” Junhui says. “I was avoiding a lot of things. You were the first thing that I decided not to avoid. I waited until it was almost too late to make up my mind though, so…”

Minghao is still listening, paying rapt attention, but he’s lulled back into a half-sleep by the way that Junhui’s voice calms something in his chest that was kicking and screaming, trying to get loose. He lets it wash over his brain, pulls himself closer to be able to feel the words as Junhui says them, the way his chest moves with them, the sound of his laugh and the feel of it pressing into Minghao. Junhui runs through little stories, things he’s already told Minghao and things he hasn’t, and Minghao loves him, loves him, loves him. 

“I think I fell in love with you a long time ago,” Junhui says after finishing his last story. He starts tracing a pattern on Minghao’s waist and Minghao doesn’t know if it’s that or the words that make him shiver. “I think that’s why I didn’t realize it until now, because I think it was just normal for me. I knew something was different between how I felt about you and how I felt about Mingyu or how our friendship was versus how you were with Mingyu. I just kind of chalked it up to personality differences.”

Minghao moves so he can look at Junhui, his chin propped on his arms where they rest on Junhui’s chest. “I’ve been in love with you since I was 16, so that probably didn’t help you figure things out.”

Junhui’s smile is small, less intentional and more a product of all of the thoughts that Minghao can see him sorting through. “No, probably not. Why didn’t you ever say anything? You know I wouldn’t have reacted badly.”

“I know,” Minghao sighs. “I know that I could have told you. I wanted to so many times, but I was worried that you would let me down gently and you would be so nice about it, but it would have made things different between us. I didn’t want to lose you and I didn’t want you to lose me or our routines or anything like that. Part of protecting you meant not telling you.”

“I really, really love you,” Junhui says after a moment. “I wish I’d realized sooner.”

“Wishing doesn’t really help us now,” Minghao says, bittersweet on his tongue. “It happened like it needed to happen. You needed time, I needed some semblance of confidence, we both weren’t ready. That’s okay. We have each other now.” 

“I’m always going to be yours,” Junhui says. Minghao blinks a few times, processing, before he’s sitting up and pulling Junhui up with him.

“Jun,” Minghao says, only partially knowing where he’s going with this. “You can’t— You have to let yourself be happy eventually. If I don’t come back, you have to let yourself be happy.”

“I won’t be able to,” Junhui says ruefully, like it hurts coming out. “I’m a mentor until someone else wins. Every year, they’re going to drag me back and they’re going to talk about you. They’re going to ask me about you, they’re going to talk about you like they know you, all of it.”

All of the air in Minghao’s lungs leaves him at once. “I did that to you. I told them— No, I— I didn’t mean for—”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Junhui says quickly. He catches Minghao’s hands where his nails are already biting into his arms. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. It would be worse if everyone didn’t know. It would be worse if I had to keep coming back and pretending like you aren’t everything to me and they didn’t— Yeah. It would be worse. I’m glad they know.”

Minghao thinks he gets it, but he’s a little tied up in the way he’s going to doom Junhui if he loses. He’ll have done so much damage without ever having to face the consequences. 

There’s no going back on any of it. Wishing doesn’t help them now.

“I’m still sorry,” Minghao whispers. “Even if I win, they’ll still be all over you while I’m in the Arena.”

“I think I can handle them,” Junhui says, his mouth lifting up into a half-smile. “I’ve handled them for years. I have Jihoon and Wonwoo, I think I have Jeonghan and Seokmin, I’ll be alright. Don’t worry about that. You did the right thing last night because you made them want you to win. It makes my job easier because sponsors won’t be hard to find. You were perfect, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Minghao doesn’t really know what to say to that. He’s not sure that there’s anything he can say that wouldn’t make this excruciating for both of them. It’s not the time for that. He has four hours left.

“Come here,” Junhui says, pulling Minghao into his lap with an ease that makes Minghao kind of want to scream. Minghao’s knees bracket Junhui’s hips and Junhui pulls him down into a kiss, soft and sweet. “I love you. I love you so much and everyone can know that. Everyone can know that somehow, I got you to fall in love with me and it’s all of their losses. Everyone can know that if you win, they can’t have you, and—” Junhui cuts himself off and takes a breath, too deep, too sharp. “If you don’t win, I was the one who got to have you.”

Minghao searches Junhui’s face for anything hidden, anything he’s not saying, but Junhui is open and vulnerable in the morning light that’s streaming in from the window. Junhui wouldn’t lie to him anyway. Minghao leans down to kiss him again, harder this time. He doesn’t really know how to say “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I was supposed to be with you for so much longer, you were supposed to be mine, I was supposed to be yours,” without shattering Junhui, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t say any of it.

Instead, he says: “Just so you know, you’re never going to be able to get me out of your house after this. I’m afraid I’ll always be there.”

“We’ll be neighbors, Hao, you won’t have to do all of that to see me,” Junhui laughs. “I wouldn’t mind though. It’s always a little boring when you aren’t there.”

“That’s because all of your furniture looks like a Capitol resident with a penchant for the color of dirt picked it out and you don’t open your windows unless I do it for you,” Minghao sighs dramatically. Junhui smiles and slips his hands under Minghao’s shirt, resting them on his waist. “We’re redecorating.”

“Whatever you say, baby,” Junhui says. Their kiss is messy where it’s broken up by Junhui’s laughter and Minghao’s smile. “What are you changing first?”

“The bedroom, definitely,” Minghao decides. “It’s so dark in there. Even new curtains by themselves would be a huge improvement.”

“You’ve been thinking about this,” Junhui observes. “Oh, you have thoughts on the entire house, don’t you?”

Minghao huffs, but he can’t really keep his smile away. “Maybe. It’s very ‘single guy who has always lived on his own’ in there. It’s a little bleak.”

“I hate you,” Junhui laughs. “What’s the goal for it?”

“Two guys who are embarrassingly in love, only one of whom has taste, living together and maybe getting a cat,” Minghao shrugs. “I’m not asking for a lot.”

“No, of course not,” Junhui says, kissing Minghao again—it’s more their smiles pressed together than anything else, but it flares the warmth in Minghao’s chest. “You’re very low-maintenance.”

“Mhm,” Minghao hums. “Thoughts on the cat thing?”

“I’m in,” Junhui says. “I get to name it though.”

Minghao raises his eyebrows. “What are you thinking of?”

“Get back to me on that one,” Junhui says. He runs his hands higher up Minghao’s sides, settling his fingers in the gaps of Minghao’s ribs and leaning up to kiss Minghao’s nose where he’s wrinkled it. “Don’t give me that look, not all of us are as sharp as you at 6:30 in the morning. I’ll think it over and let you know.”

Minghao hums. “Okay. You can pick. I won’t even veto you.”

“Aw, Hao, you do love me,” Junhui laughs. “I’m excited. Now that you mention it, I really should redecorate. It’s crazy how you’re always right about things.”

“Sap,” Minghao says with a smile. “I really do love you, Junhui. Always have. Always will.”

Saying it doesn’t hurt like Minghao thought it would. There’s nothing but warm affection on Junhui’s face, no hurt marring his features, just want and love and a little bit of awe, and it’s how Junhui has always looked at him. Another always.

“Even if I pick a stupid cat name?” Junhui teases, but his voice is sugar sweet.

“Even if you pick a stupid cat name,” Minghao laughs.

They get another hour and a half of morning light, of Junhui’s hands running up and down Minghao’s spine, of Minghao’s hand on Junhui’s cheek, feeling how warm his blush is. Minghao thinks the atmosphere should be ruined by the way they slip from talking about after the Games to talking about Minghao’s strategy in the Arena, but they’re talking like Minghao is going to win. They’re talking about how to get to the finish line, how to get to painting the walls in the kitchen something other than that godawful beige color, how to get to the stupid cat name. 

Minghao is so sure that it’s going to be stupid. They talk like he’s going to find out.

Seokmin knocks tentatively on the door a little before 8:00, asking if he and Jeonghan can come in. Minghao finally shifts away from Junhui, though he doesn’t go far and he twines his fingers with Junhui’s between them. Junhui kisses him once, quick but searing, before he says they can come in.

“Good morning,” Jeonghan says, leaning against the doorframe. He raises his eyebrows at the rest of the room and Minghao thinks that yeah, they probably should have cleaned up. Hindsight is 20/20. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything about his silks lying all over the floor and Minghao counts his blessings. “They just dropped Minghao’s clothes off, they’re in his room. I’m sorry to come in a little early, but I thought it might give us some hints about what the Arena will be like and I wanted to go over it.”

“No, that’s smart, thank you,” Junhui says. “Let’s go look.”

Junhui follows behind Minghao as they filter out, still clinging to his hand. Minghao isn’t going to let go until he has to.

They all sit on the floor in the bedroom and Jeonghan pulls the clothes out of the closet, laying them down in the middle of their makeshift square so everyone can look.

“The fabric is thick,” Junhui says first. “Long sleeves, thicker canvas pants. It’ll be cold.”

“Forest, maybe?” Minghao asks. “The colors. The green is dark enough to be some kind of camouflage.”

“Plus the soles of the boots are thick,” Seokmin points out, turning one of them back and forth in his hands. “Must be rough ground, lots of traction on these.”

“And the jacket as well,” Jeonghan says. He’s been staring intently at the jacket the whole time. “It’s some kind of raincoat material, but it’s strange. Definitely water resistant, but it’s also really… durable?”

“The knives,” Junhui says quickly, sitting up straight. “I’d bet anything that the jackets are really hard to cut through. They’re trying to fuck with the knife throwers and the archers.” He turns to Minghao quickly. “They’re trying to fuck with you and Cassia. You know where you need to aim, right?”

Minghao spares Jeonghan and Seokmin the visual and just nods. Being at a distance is going to make it almost impossible to get enough force to shred the jacket like they could up close. If a tribute is running away, Minghao has to go for the neck or, if someone else is close enough to finish things, a leg. It’ll be useless to try to get them in the back. He’ll have to be careful from the front too, but the jackets don’t cover up the eyes. He guesses the wooden targets were good for something. “I’ll try to make sure Cassia knows.”

“Use it when you’re in the cornucopia,” Junhui says. “Keep it zipped, give yourself some kind of barrier. The other Careers will cover you and Cassia, but get your hands on close-combat weapons too. I don’t think you’re going to get in and out of the cornucopia easily.”

Seokmin shudders and Minghao understands, but it’s kind of the name of the Games. Jeonghan looks vaguely like he’s going to start screaming. Minghao understands that one too.

“I think I need to cut your hair,” Jeonghan says suddenly. “If they’re thinking of storms, I need to get your hair out of your eyes. We can do it fast.”

He means it too—Jeonghan manages to quickly trim Minghao’s hair “without making you look fucking stupid, you’re still cute” and they gather up the clothes to take to the prep area of the Arena. He gets to live in Junhui’s shirt a little longer.

It’s almost 8:45, they need to leave at 9, and this is where Junhui and Minghao have to say goodbye. Minghao feels a little nauseous. He looks over at Jeonghan and Seokmin, about to ask for a minute alone, but Jeonghan shakes his head and shoves the bag of clothes into Junhui’s arms.

“I love you, my dear, I truly do,” Jeonghan says, “but neither one of us wants me to be the last person you see. Seok already asked, Junhui can go in my place. We’ll all be better off for it.”

It gets a laugh out of Junhui and Minghao both and Minghao wonders how his luck can be so uneven—he got reaped, but he also got Jeonghan and Seokmin instead of the older guys that Junhui hated so much. He decides that it’s best not to think about the whole of it right now.

“Can I— Can we—” Minghao doesn’t know how to ask Jeonghan and Seokmin for a goodbye. He doesn’t know that he should.

“Come here,” Seokmin says once he realizes what Minghao is stumbling over. Seokmin puts his hand out and Minghao takes it, letting Seokmin pull him closer. Jeonghan wraps an arm around Minghao’s shoulders and Seokmin smiles, broken in half. “I don’t think this is goodbye, but if it is, I want you to know how proud of you we are. You were dealt a terrible hand and you handled it with far more grace than I would have. I’m better for having known you. I really hope that we’ll see each other again.”

Jeonghan clears his throat and he’s the one that Minghao really didn’t expect to cry, so the tears surprise him. “We’ll do whatever we can to help you. Thank you for letting us know you. I believe in you, Minghao. See you later, my dear.”

Minghao hugs Jeonghan first, hugs Seokmin second, and then Junhui is taking his hand and saying they have to go. It’s too quick. It’s not enough time. He didn’t get enough time with them. 

It doesn’t matter. Minghao chokes out his “thank you,” his “I love you both,” and then his “goodbye.” Junhui pulls him into the elevator and Minghao tries not to cry. He can’t cry so soon before they go into the Arena. He can’t have that all over his face.

“I’m so sorry,” Junhui says. He squeezes Minghao’s hand, the most comfort that he can give when they’re still in the Training Center. Minghao nods, resolute. He can’t cry.

He doesn’t process the vehicle they’re shoved into, doesn’t flinch when they bury the tracker deep in his arm. Junhui is looking at him and he can see the concern, he can see the worry, but Minghao can’t— He looks away. Junhui takes his hand again when they’re in the catacombs under the Arena, pulling him toward the District 7 launch room. It’s just a metal box, devoid of anything comforting, and Minghao gets why the districts call the launch rooms “the stockyards.” 

The room is cold, empty, a void. They have 30 minutes before Minghao steps onto the plate that will lift him into the Arena. He can’t cry.

“C’mon, little one, let’s get you dressed,” Junhui says softly. It’s different from the training mornings, when Junhui stood back and watched. No, Minghao is shaking a little too much for that. He couldn’t possibly get his boots laced tight enough. It holds them up, eats at their time, but Minghao doesn’t know how to get his body in check. Junhui runs a hand through Minghao’s hair once he’s dressed, foreign fabrics and too-tough boots that won’t meld into the terrain unless Minghao beats the hell out of them first. He vaguely makes a note to do so.

“I like the shorter hair,” Junhui says with a smile. It’s not quite broken yet. Minghao is grateful. “Very pretty.”

“Even in this outfit?” Minghao finds himself asking, laughing along with it. He’s surprised by it. Junhui’s smile grows even as his eyes start to fill with tears. 

“Even in this outfit,” Junhui confirms. He pulls Minghao closer and the boots have enough of a sole to make Minghao almost as tall as Junhui, just barely shorter. Minghao is glad he still is. Junhui sets a hand on Minghao’s cheek, his other coming to the back of Minghao’s neck, exposed from the haircut. Minghao knows that Junhui is being a little tentative, so he tangles his hands in the hem of Junhui’s shirt—Minghao’s shirt—and pulls him in, kissing him softly. Junhui’s breath hitches and he deepens the kiss. It would be sweet if there wasn’t salt on his tongue. Minghao wants to scream. They kiss for too long—not long enough, never long enough, but too long for this metal room. The clock in the corner says they have ten minutes.

“Your mom gave me your token,” Junhui says, short breaths almost catching in his chest. He rummages through the small bag at his side that held Minghao’s outfit, pulling out a small jewelry box. Minghao’s eyes go wide. “It was my gift that she was supposed to give you on your birthday. It’s simple, just a bracelet, but—”

“Show me, please,” Minghao interrupts. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

He does. Junhui opens the box and pulls out a thin gold bracelet, unadorned and exactly like Minghao would have wanted. It was always meant to be simple with them. Minghao holds out his arm and Junhui clasps it around Minghao’s wrist, staring at it for a little too long. They have five minutes.

Minghao pulls Junhui into a kiss, pouring everything he has into it, before pulling away and running a hand through Junhui’s hair, letting the bracelet brush against Junhui’s cheek. “It’s perfect. I love it. I love you.”

Junhui is trying so hard not to sob. Minghao can see how he holds it back, how the tears stream down his cheeks anyway. “I love you. I love you so much. I’m always going to love you.”

“Try to think of a good name,” Minghao says. He kisses Junhui quickly, never long enough. “I really won’t veto it, but we do have to live with it.”

“I’ll have one when you get back,” Junhui says, broken, shattered, but Minghao knows he’s trying so hard to hold it together. Two minutes. Junhui pulls back and starts rolling Minghao’s sleeves up, always too long. He rolls the left sleeve up enough to leave the bracelet visible. “So you don’t get caught in them. Be careful, my love.”

“I love you, Junhui,” Minghao says, whispers, somethings. The ringing is starting to pick up in his head. The clock in the corner counts down seconds. 47, 46, 45. “You’re in every part of me. I love you.”

36, 35, 34. “I love you,” Junhui says. He starts walking Minghao back toward the plate, pulling open the glass door even as he kisses Minghao again. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Minghao says, stepping onto the plate. 25, 24, 23. “Any last advice?”

“Throw straight, little one,” Junhui says. He manages to smile. Minghao manages to smile back. “Come home.”

14, 13, 12. “I’ll try,” Minghao says. “I’ll try.”

3, 2, 1. The glass door shuts. Junhui sobs. Minghao can’t cry. 

He doesn’t.

Chapter Text

the games

When I die, I will come in fast and low. I will stick the landing. There will be no confusion. The dead will make room for me.

— Richard Siken, Real Estate

I will carve my way out with only my teeth.

— Brenna Twohy, Little Red Riding Hood Addresses the Next Wolf

Despite it being 10 am in the Capitol, it’s near-dusk in the Arena. Golden hour. Minghao isn’t sure that he would have chosen oranges and yellows to highlight crimson red, but he’s not in charge of the visuals here.

He tries to take in as much as he can from his place on the platform, but they’re counting down from 30 and all Minghao can make out is water. It surrounds the strip of land the platforms are on and circles around the cornucopia, leaving only three paths of land for all 24 of them to get there, with two paths away from it and into what Minghao assumes is thick forest. No one can get around the cornucopia, but Minghao doesn’t need to. He’s lucky—he’s right near one of the paths, and he’s mapping how many people he’ll have to run by before getting to the weapons he needs when the countdown hits 10 and a voice rings out:

“Let the 76th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, probably a little too visibly, but it’s so fucking cliché and he’s already over—

Four people down from Minghao, a landmine explodes as the countdown hits 5. Someone stepped off. Someone stepped off, they already gave up, and the girl from District 9 screams because it’s Marcus. It’s Marcus. No cannon fires. It’s too early for that. The landmine was enough. Minghao swallows down the nausea and—

One. 

Minghao doesn’t hear the gong that sets them all free as much as he feels it, feels his feet hit grass as soon as it crawls down his spine, feels the way that he has to run past Lottie and the two District 6 tributes to get to the path. The boy tries to grab Minghao and Minghao can’t even figure out why, but he dodges quickly and runs down the path, hitting the cornucopia at the same time as Darius and Cassia, the other Careers following shortly behind. They’re the first ones in and Thaddeus calls out Minghao’s name, pointing to a crate that has exactly what he needs. He picks up the bag of throwing knives, hooking it over his shoulder, and he gets his hands on a larger knife right as someone jerks his arm back.

All Minghao knows is that it’s Caspian who grabbed his arm. He doesn’t need to know why. There’s a knife in Caspian’s chest before Minghao asks any questions. Caspian should have zipped his jacket up. It might have helped.

Minghao pulls the knife out of Caspian’s chest and tosses it aside, picking up a clean knife as he stands. He has other things to do. He doesn’t have time to wash blood off of anything.  He runs by Cassia as he goes to get in place, catching her shoulder. 

“The jackets are too thick to cut through from a distance,” Minghao rushes out. “Can’t go for the back.”

“Got it,” Cassia says, no hesitation. They split quickly, an unspoken assignment of one of them at each path away from the cornucopia. Anyone who’s smart has had enough time to grab the packs that sat on the outskirts of the supply haul and get into the forest by the time Cassia and Minghao move into place. Anyone who isn’t and tried to venture in further but made it out, like who Minghao thinks is the boy from 6, gets an arrow to the throat. He’s dead before he makes it to the forest.

Minghao should feel worse about that. He doesn’t. The boy tried to grab Minghao as soon as they started—maybe if he hadn’t wasted his time, he could have made it to the forest. The thought rings static into Minghao’s mind, a low buzzing at the base of his skull, dripping down his spine, unfamiliar. He ignores it.

The others are catching most of the ones who go into the cornucopia, so Minghao only has to bring one other person down. The girl has a knife in her eye as soon as she makes a run for the path. It shocks her, sends her stumbling, and she’s dead when she hits the ground. They’re still in the middle of the bloodbath and there’s no cannon for Willow, the girl from District 8. There weren’t any cannons when Minghao killed her four times in the simulator either. 

He looks away like it will clear the image of his knife piercing through a 13-year-old, just like he practiced. He wonders if the Game Makers got a kick out of that, if they’re patting themselves on the back for giving Minghao such an accurate score. The static splits and there’s a different sound now too, repeating over and over again, echoing in Minghao’s chest—not a cannon, not the opening gong, maybe a landmine. Maybe a landmine.

Cassia and Minghao don’t see anyone else, but Minghao can hear the fight still happening in the cornucopia. He’s suddenly glad that he’s been told to fight at a distance—there’s no expectation for him to go help. He’d be chastised if he did. They wait, Cassia watching the cornucopia and Minghao watching the tree line. It’s getting darker by the minute and the temperatures are dropping quickly. He thinks he can make out two fires being lit—one closer to the tree line and one further back, the smoke curling up over the trees, reaching out toward the false stars of the Arena’s dome. The smoke is too thick to be made of anything other than the greenest wood and he wonders if anyone took anything away from the survival skills training. He wonders if there’s anything else in the forest to burn.

The sounds in the cornucopia fall dim, fall silent, and Minghao is only listening to the sound of the lake when Darius calls out for him and Cassia. They’re quick to meet the others and Minghao wishes that he’d prepared himself more for what he was going to see—four bodies, unmoving, and pools of crimson red, shining in the moonlight. Minghao understands the visual now. 

He makes a count and realizes that the Careers are down a person. He’s about to ask when Marina shakes her head, sadness all over her face. 

“Coady ended up in the water,” Marina says softly, coming to stand between Cassia and Minghao, like she’s afraid to say it too loudly. “It’s not safe to drink.”

Minghao isn’t sure what to say to that—Coady wasn’t his favorite person by a longshot, but he was an ally. He was Marina’s friend and Minghao does like Marina, so in the midst of the crimson red and corpses, Marina goes easily when Minghao pulls her into a hug and whispers that he’s sorry for her loss. Marina clings back and Minghao can feel the weight of her grief in the slump of her shoulders—she and Coady are both only 16. They grew up together. The grief was going to come for one of them no matter what, but it doesn’t make it easier to swallow.

Minghao keeps an arm around Marina’s shoulders, letting her lean into him, and he makes the mistake of looking down. Caspian and his unzipped jacket, red on his hand where he must have pressed it to the space that Minghao created in between his ribs. None of it is easy to swallow.

“We have to move so they can collect the bodies,” Veronica says, all of them gathered just outside of the mouth of the cornucopia. Minghao has his back to the carnage, but he can still feel it behind him, intertwined with the static, the landmines in his chest. 

Eyes. It feels like eyes. Minghao knows there are cameras everywhere, the nation tuned in to watch, but this feels different. Caspian’s eyes didn’t close when he died. Minghao blinks.

“Minghao, could you see into the forest at all?” Thaddeus asks. 

Minghao doesn’t hesitate before he responds, small mercies, but his own voice is rough on his ears when he says that he “couldn’t make much out, the tree line is thick, but there are at least two fires lit. It’s too cold for most of them and they’re careless with the smoke. It’s pretty easy to track.”

Veronica nods and Minghao wonders when her nods will feel less like he’s proving himself. “In that case, we’ll follow the trail to the furthest fire and circle back. We can’t leave anyone on watch if they’re going to pick everything up, but I think we’re probably fine for the night.”

Pick everything up. Things. The people who died today are just bodies, just things. Caspian was 15. Willow was 13. There’s nothing left of Marcus to collect. 

“I could stay in the tree line,” Marina suggests. “There’s another bow, I could use it just for this. That way someone is watching.”

“I think that sounds okay,” Cassia says quickly. “If you’re far enough into the trees, it should still be fine with the hovercrafts.”

“It would be good to have someone close,” Minghao says. Marina is still leaning into him and he feels more than hears her sigh of relief when he sides with her too. “We don’t know how big the Arena is and whatever fucking clock we’re on is weird and we can’t predict it. If it gets light before we can get back, we’re leaving everything in the open and it’ll be much more vulnerable than in the dark.”

“Sounds fine to me,” Thaddeus shrugs. “Marina, go find somewhere comfortable. Take a few of the blankets so you don’t get too cold.”

Minghao rubs a hand on Marina’s shoulder, encouraging, and she smiles at him gratefully before going to gather her supplies. He’s glad that she’ll be able to stay behind—losing Coady so quickly was a shock that she needs a bit to recover from. It’s not like the five of them will be at a disadvantage for a hunt, Minghao thinks. 

Static, Minghao thinks. 

He’s watched the Games enough to have some sense of what the cornucopia supply haul entails, but Minghao can’t even see everything in the darkness and he already has to school his expression into something neutral. It feels unfair that the Careers get to have access to this every year—blankets, coats, torches, flashlights, packs of crackers and dried meat, fresh fucking fruit. Any weapon they could want. It’s obscene.

It’s obscene that, despite the Careers having access to all of this, people like Junhui could still win.

Minghao feels something turn over beneath his ribs at the thought of Junhui and he looks down at his wrist. He didn’t get any blood on the bracelet. He takes a deep breath and tries not to let his eyes linger too long, tries not to let the Careers or the cameras see how gutted he probably looks. Junhui only killed one person on offense. Minghao has already killed two. Static, brushing up against the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist.

He gratefully takes the backpack that Marina hands him, one that’s light and doesn’t get in the way of his knife bag. He moves around quickly to fill the pack, neatly tucking in enough food to sustain two or so days, water, a water bottle with a filter on it and iodine, and a tightly folded thermal blanket, hyperaware of the temperature that keeps dropping as the darkness settles in. He can tell that the Game Makers have started off by trying to mess with any internal clock or sleep schedules they may have. A relatively “tame” Arena combined with that kind of confusion is enough to throw anyone off. He wonders if they’ll still adhere to the “13 hours of carnage” rule, the one that bookies and betters rely on every year as the cut-off for the biggest bet of the Games. 

Minghao is almost sure of it—the tributes are easy to confuse at any time, easy to taunt, but the betting is an integral part of the Games. It can’t be messed with. They’ll see the death recap when the betting gets cut off at 11 pm. They’ll just have to wait and see what’s going on with the sun by then, but the moon is dominating the sky as the pack heads into the forest, flashlights and torches in hand.

Minghao thinks that the torches might be a little much—they’re so much more barbaric than DD batteries. It’s probably why Darius grabbed one in the first place. Minghao already had to tell the rest to actually pack at least a day’s worth of food in case they get separated or can’t get back soon. They’re not great at practicality, too reliant on what they have now to think about what they might not have later. Of course they wouldn’t all go for the flashlights, as light to carry as they may be.

There’s the drama of it all as well. The torches look much more typical “Hunger Games.” Minghao is glad someone else has taken charge of the visuals, because he’s not going to carry around any more weight than he needs just to look vicious. He shoves aside the brief thought that tells him that he already looks vicious entirely because he is. He almost asks about who they know is still alive, some kind of clambering need to know that his own kill list circulating amongst the bookies isn’t the longest one, but there were only three other bodies in the cornucopia. 

He takes a drink of water to try to wash the static out of his mouth and pretends it works.

Minghao winces as they get further into the forest and it’s clear that the others don’t know how to keep their steps light. He knows it doesn’t matter while they’re all in a group like this—part of the allure of hunting as a group is making themselves known, because it’s hard to track down tributes who aren’t scared and making mistakes. However, it’s a little irritating when they really could benefit from some element of surprise and Minghao keeps his voice calm as they get closer to the fire lit further into the forest.

“We’re going to spook whoever lit the fire if we’re too loud,” Minghao says, putting a hand on Cassia’s shoulder to bring her to a stop with him. The others follow suit, and they seem more curious than anything. “If they’re still there, they’ll be easy to catch if we don’t give away that we’re close. It’s better than chasing them down in the dark.”

“Veronica and I can go ahead and catch them,” Thaddeus suggests. He’s got a lighter tread than Darius by a mile, so Minghao nods his approval. He waits until he counts 60 seconds since the two went ahead to nod and start moving again, Darius and Cassia at his side. Minghao can make out a clearing right ahead of them, coming into sight right as he hears a scream. He buries his wince in favor of letting Darius run ahead, Minghao and Cassia staying back as directed. 

The static that hid his mind away from him is gone by the next time the girl opens her mouth. The landmines are silent, replaced by Copper’s begging, bargaining, and Minghao hears it all too clearly. Hunter’s ears, tuned over years in the forests of 7, sharpening the sound of:

“Please don’t, please, I’ll help you, I’ll do whatever!”

Copper’s voice cuts nearly in half at the end, her hope giving out in time with Thaddeus’ laugh, so different than every other time Minghao has heard it. This isn’t laughing at the gala, laughing at a joke over a water break before training scores, laughing ten minutes ago when Darius tripped over a tree root. This is cold, cruel, and there’s the same amount of joy in it. 

Minghao hears everything. He forces himself to watch, forces himself to listen, forces himself to get rid of any hope of being able to break away from his consciousness until the end. 

He asked Junhui, broken and scared, “What if I don’t feel bad about it?”

He didn’t need to worry. Thaddeus is brutal with a sword. It’s the first cannon he’s heard in the Games. 

Minghao has to swallow down his nausea, turning away as if he’s checking their surroundings. As if anyone would approach them when there’s five of them.

Five of them. He’s one of them. Accept it, Minghao, look where you are. This is who you have to be. This is who you are, at least for now. 

Minghao adds on that last bit in a desperate attempt to stop himself from crying. It works, even if he’s holding his composure tightly in between his hands like if he loosens his grip, he’ll crumple. When he gets back into the clearing, he doesn’t look at Copper, but he does start kicking dirt onto the fire, putting it out so no one else can benefit from the day and a half that she spent learning survival skills. She’d managed to pick up one of the packs on the edges of the cornucopia, a small one that Darius fits into his own backpack with ease.

Once the fire is out, one of their water bottles poured over it before Minghao could point out that they don’t have an endless supply of clean water, there’s no flame to distract Minghao from the way the sky is lightening above them. It’s only been a few hours, he’s sure of that, meaning he was right about the Game Makers fucking with the time in the Arena more than just flipping night and day. They’re operating on something else entirely.

“Is it supposed to be light already?” Cassia asks Minghao. 

He shrugs. “I don’t know that there’s any ‘supposed to’ here. We should head back though. We’ve only walked for two hours or so, but we shouldn’t leave Marina alone in the light any longer than we have to.”

Cassia nods and gets the attention of the other three, pointing at the sky and then looking at Minghao like she’s forgotten everything he just said to her. He repeats himself and once they’re moving again, he realizes what Cassia was doing when she asked him about the dawn light in the first place, why she waited for him to speak again instead of relaying the message.

Minghao has made one too many calls already, he has two too many years on the other Careers, and they’re letting him lead. He desperately doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t want this responsibility or this attention, but he hears Junhui’s voice in the back of his head for the first time since he got in the Arena.

It figures that the message would be some kind of sardonic “we talked about this” like Minghao is an idiot for forgetting that having some leadership role was the first part of their strategy. He would have preferred something reassuring, but Junhui has never been particularly known for his tact and Minghao isn’t going to lie to himself. Even so, he touches his right hand to his bracelet, letting the cold metal bite into his hand, grounding. It’s a different kind of reassurance than he might have been looking for, but sometimes he doesn’t actually need Junhui to say anything at all. It’s enough to know he’s there. If this is Minghao’s reminder of that, he’ll cling to it without complaint.

He lets the others keep up the conversation as they walk back toward the lake, focused on guiding them back without issue. Their loud steps are certainly scaring away any animals, but if Minghao looks closely, he can see the proof that they’re there—little prints in the dirt from what must be rabbits, birds’ nests higher in the trees, and some kind of tracks that look like deer, but it’s more likely that they belong to a mutt. He doubts that the Game Makers would let them have game that big. It’s far more likely that it’s some fucked up mutation, either one aggressive enough to be a threat or one that’s entirely unsafe to eat. Minghao wouldn’t put it past them considering they contaminated an entire lake.

The smaller hunting animals give Minghao a little hope that somewhere in the Arena, there’s clean water. There’s a pang in his chest when he remembers the advice he gave Marcus about following the animals. There’s a bigger pang when he realizes that the advice was never going to matter. Marcus never intended to get far enough to follow any animals, Minghao is almost sure of it. Stepping off the platform isn’t a split-second decision. It’s a commitment that Marcus made. It’s a commitment that Minghao wasn’t willing to make.

He spares a thought for Jihoon, who’s watched his tributes die for three years, but never like that. Minghao doesn’t know which is worse: watching someone you’re in charge of die at someone else’s hand or watching them give up entirely. Minghao hopes that Junhui and Wonwoo were with Jihoon when it all started. They should have been, the monitoring room should have been packed with all of the mentors. He hopes they’re all together.

He hopes that Wonwoo isn’t mad enough about Caspian to take it out on Junhui. They’ve been friends for years and Minghao doesn’t think it would be a problem, but Junhui’s tribute has never killed Wonwoo’s tribute. It turns over Minghao’s stomach again and Minghao wonders if he could find any of his normal plants for settling a stomach in the forest, if chewing on a mint leaf would feel like home, if the Minghao That He Is Right Now is allowed to feel like home at all. Maybe he won’t look. Maybe it’s for the best.

They make it back to the cornucopia shortly after the sun rises and Minghao has to try to convince his brain that it’s not 7 am, it hasn’t even been 12 hours in the Arena, he still has a grasp on reality. It’s tenuous, but it’s there. He wonders if they’re going to have to shift their sleep schedules to sleep when it’s dark if they’re never going to get a full night of rest. It depends on how long they’re in the Arena, Minghao supposes. The Games are usually almost two weeks long, so it’s a toss-up as to whether switching their internal clocks over will be worth the lag or if they need to get good at sleeping during the day. Both feel dangerous. Both feel too vulnerable.

Marina appears from the tree-line right as they’re getting to the path from the forest, following shortly behind.

“I didn’t see anyone,” she says to Minghao when he walks over to her. “Guard shift was fine.”

“That’s good, but I was going to ask how you were,” Minghao says, a small laugh escaping him, much to his own surprise. 

“Oh,” Marina says, but her serious look turns into a soft smile. “I’m not great, but it’s nice of you to ask. I looked away when the hovercrafts came. That helped.”

Minghao hums. “For the best, probably. We should sort all of this before we go much further, c’mon. Maybe we’ll dig up our favorite foods or something.” 

It’s a group effort to try to sort through everything, gathering all of the weapons and setting them in piles for each person—Minghao’s pile has knives and an axe or two that are far nicer than ones he’s ever used—and sorting out all of the food. The others tend to pass over anything beyond that, but Minghao manages to find things that are more survival focused and gathers them in two of the packs, setting them aside. There are a few spiles, which Minghao assumes means that there’s drinkable water in the trees, ropes and hand warmers, and a coil of a thin wire that’s perfect for rigging a snare, confirming what Minghao thought about the small game in the forest. The Game Makers wouldn’t remove every source of food beyond the cornucopia.

It may be the Hunger Games, but it’s not very fun to watch children starve on live TV.

He sets the packs of survival gear deeper into the cornucopia, far more concerned with their safety than the safety of anything else here. Food is replaceable. Survival isn’t. Cassia laughs when he tells her what he’s “stashing away” and Minghao tries to control the irritation under his skin, reminding himself again that they just don’t know. Their training has been built around defending what’s in the cornucopia, not about what could happen if they didn’t have it. 

If it were the attitude of any other district, as soon as the Game Makers figured it out, the cornucopia would have nothing but weapons. Minghao hears Junhui’s voice again, telling him that they won’t want someone from 7 to win again so soon. There have been too many non-Career victors in the last few years. Even if Minghao is a Career in the Arena, he’s nothing to the Capitol outside of it. Things are set up so the Careers will win, the Arena favors their ability to safeguard the cornucopia and not have to rely on anything in the forest, but Minghao isn’t on their list of approved winners. The cornucopia had his weapons, sure, but it had everyone’s.

Minghao tells himself it doesn’t matter. He tells himself that he did enough before this to make the Capitol like him, to reduce his chances of the Game Makers killing him off on their own. He tells himself all that matters is the people in the Arena with him right now.

It’s probably a lie. He can play pretend for now though. There’s been enough violence today to satiate the bloodthirst of the audience. He probably has a good two or three days before he needs to be worried about the mutts or some poisonous rain taking him out. 

The sun is high in the sky once all of the supplies are sorted out and the food is separated into daily rations. They come back together on the grass outside the cornucopia, blankets spread out like they’re at a picnic instead of somewhat desperately trying to catch the light before the false sun goes down again. The poison lake laps at the edges of the land they’re on and it’s almost soothing if Minghao closes his eyes and forgets how quickly Coady died.

“Do we have any idea how long it’s been?” Veronica asks. She’s laying back, relaxed as could be. There’s blood on her jacket.

“It hasn’t been 13 hours yet,” Minghao says. “They wouldn’t change what time they show the death recap.”

“Wouldn’t they?” Thaddeus asks. “If it was to mess with us?”

“I mean, I think they’re messing with us plenty already,” Minghao says. Darius laughs and Minghao wasn’t trying to be funny, but he’ll take it. “The death recap is part of betting, it’s too important to move.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you have all of that mentor knowledge,” Darius says, but there’s nothing taunting about it. Minghao is surprised—none of them have brought up his relationship with Junhui, but he figured it would be something they wouldn’t like. Darius doesn’t sound bothered by it at all and none of the others say anything. “I didn’t even think about betting.”

“Well, you should, bets on you are probably high,” Minghao shrugs. “All of you. Thaddeus probably has the most though. His kill count’s the highest.”

“I’ve only killed the girl from 5,” Thaddeus says, cocking his head to the side. “There weren’t a lot of people that came through the cornucopia this year for good reason. Didn’t you kill the boy from 3 and the other one?”

Minghao can only nod. The other one.

“So you’re at the top,” Thaddeus says. “Congratulations on being a real Career, my man.”

Everyone laughs and Minghao tries to. He really tries.

“Do we think the sun will go down soon?” Marina asks. She cuts a side glance at Minghao, obviously changing the subject for his benefit. He didn’t really intend to be friends with her, but she’s not his worst choice. He appreciates her concern at least, but he doesn’t love that she was able to read his discomfort. He needs to pull it together. “We should probably sleep whenever it does.”

“That’s gonna suck,” Darius groans. “But you’re right. We can set up guard shifts now, I guess.”

“I can take the first watch,” Minghao offers. “I slept plenty last night. We should probably just do two shifts each night if they’re going to be so short. Not worth disrupting too much.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Veronica says. “I’ll take the second shift. We can switch at ‘midnight’ I guess. Whenever the moon is highest in the sky. It’s not like we’ve got a better idea.”

They work out the rest of the schedules, something consistent that will help them regulate their internal clocks as best as they can. There’s no mention of what will happen if one of them dies, but Minghao doesn’t feel like they really need to acknowledge that. There are already only six of them when there are meant to be seven. It might help even out the shift schedules, but it’s still a loss. 

There’s discussion of a lunch that’s more than whatever dried meat they grabbed while sorting out rations, but their guards are down and they’re moving slowly. No one eats until the sun is lower in the sky, near dusk again.

Minghao feels like he’s being pulled in two. One part of him is trying to match the other Careers, the way they laze around in the sun, the way their rations are still enough for two meals if they were being smarter, but they don’t know how to be hungry like Minghao does. The other part of him is still on high enough alert that he won’t lay down or turn his back to the forest like they do. He’s there with them, he’s interacting with them, but his smaller habits, flitting nervous hands and how stiff his spine is while he scans the tree line, go unnoticed by the others. He’s certain they don’t go unnoticed by the cameras, but he can only act so well. He can only turn off so much.

They’re all still awake when night finally falls again, all of them bundled in blankets to combat how quickly the temperature dropped. They’re waiting for the Capitol seal to show up in the sky. 

They’re always going to be waiting for something here.

Minghao has always been good at being patient.

Chapter Text

Everyone wants a rock bottom. Some Icarus shit.

But the truth is some holes keep going, yawning, heady, one mistake becomes three:

there’s always a dark darker than the dark you know.

— Hala Alyan, You’re Not a Girl in a Movie

There’s something horrifyingly elegant about the way Minghao moves.

Junhui noticed it as soon as Minghao’s feet hit the grass: the smooth way he moved around the boy from District 6, the fluid movement of shoving a knife into Caspian’s chest. Even when Minghao’s eyes changed, dropping into something that Junhui recognized from his worst days, he was moving with grace. He threw straight and his eyes were empty the whole time.

The light is back in his eyes when the Careers settle in for the night, apparently ready for a semi-relaxed hour wait for the death recap. He’s sure that Minghao is exhausted, but he’s still on high alert, his eyes darting around and toward the tree line every few minutes. He’s the only one with the self-preservation instincts to do so—the Careers are always so casual in the first few days, so unconcerned about being targets themselves. It’s something that Junhui and Minghao talked about, that complacency that irritates Junhui to his core.

“You need to go check on the betting,” Wonwoo says quietly from where he’s sitting next to Junhui. The three of them are tucked into a corner of the mentor monitoring room, everyone giving Jihoon and Wonwoo space and letting Junhui take advantage of them surrounding him. “The bookies will want to see you looking confident.”

“The press is going to jump on me,” Junhui sighs, but he moves to stand anyway. “I won’t be gone long. I know they’re okay for now, but—”

“It’s alright,” Jihoon says. “We’ll come get you, you know that. Just make an appearance. He’s high on the list, but your visual matters too. Seal the deal for him.”

Junhui knows they’re right, knows that everyone has been waiting for Junhui to show up and confirm that he’s as confident in Minghao’s performance as Minghao seems to be. Wonwoo and Jihoon both had to step out to be interviewed and were kind enough to ask around, but Junhui would be the one that everyone would spill their thoughts to. The thought tastes like metal in his mouth, tinged brassy and red. They’ll want to talk about how Minghao has two kills already, how he helped hunt down the girl from 5, how he got the first kill and proved himself early. They’ll want to ask how Junhui feels about it.

He’s right—as soon as Junhui leaves the safety of the mentor room, he has two microphones in his face and he smiles, placating.

“I’d love to talk, but one at a time, please,” he lies smoothly. The two reporters are being flanked by a few more, a small group that Junhui wants to run away from, but Minghao is doing his part. Junhui has to play his role too. 

“Minghao is impressive,” one of them says—Clio, if Junhui remembers correctly. “You must be proud of him.”

“I’ve always been proud of him,” Junhui says. It’s too sincere. Metallic, blood red in his mouth. He won’t give them Minghao, he won’t give them this. He won’t. He is. He has to. “He’s doing well. He wants to come home, that's why he’s doing this.”

“You miss him already,” Clio says, not a question. She hesitates, really looks at Junhui, and pulls her microphone away. “I’ll let you go. Thanks for commenting, Jun.”

It’s nothing but a reprieve, another reporter filling Clio’s place when she backs away, but it wasn’t out of the kindness of her heart. There’s nothing more dramatic than a widower. Junhui gave her the perfect sound bite, the right level of drama. She didn’t need anything else from him. Junhui desperately wants a drink of water, but Tacita is asking him about whether he knows about the betting yet and Junhui has to say something about how he was on his way there, actually, can he get back to her on that? 

He’s walking away before Tacita can respond. 

“Jun!” 

It’s exactly the voice Junhui wants to hear and he pulls Hansol aside quickly, pulling them into a side hallway and out of view. “Tell me something good, please.”

“Listen, I’ve never been able to tell you anything good,” Hansol laughs. “But Minghao is about to make me a bunch of money and make you a mildly less-upset man. You look awful, by the way. Has no one told you that?”

“I mean, I figured, but you didn’t have to say it like that,” Junhui says, rolling his eyes. Hansol is Junhui’s favorite Capitol resident, sure, but if Hansol doesn’t cut the shit, Junhui’s pushing Jeonghan above him in that ranking. “So it’s going well?”

“Better than,” Hansol says. He seems to realize that Junhui isn’t really in the mood to play along this year and he takes his tablet out of his bag, pulling up the tribute list. “Minghao is at the top right now. He started high like the other Careers, but the first kill shot him to the top. It’s not the kill list that’s got him holding strong though. It’s the girl from 4, the way he’s being with her. I got worried for a second during the bloodbath, I’ll be honest, because the rumors went flying immediately that Minghao was just acting before this.”

Junhui sucks in a sharp breath and starts to say something, he’s really not sure what, but Hansol puts a hand on his shoulder and cuts him off. 

“No, it’s fine now,” Hansol assures. “He’s good, seriously. Especially now that the others are kind of looking to him to lead or whatever. He’s in a great spot.”

“What are the things that would knock him out of that?” Junhui asks. He’s anxious to get back to the mentor room, but he’s trying not to let it affect his judgment. He’s still a mentor, he still needs to know these things. Hansol has been 7’s bookie for four years and Junhui can tell that he’s taking this year much more seriously, meaning he has all of the information that Junhui needs. Junhui knows that they’re friends, he knows that Hansol can read him easily and that Hansol knows how much Junhui needs to hear good news, but that’s never all there is. Nothing is ever just good here.

“If he swings too hard either way, we’ll lose some people,” Hansol says, pulling up a few more models. “If he’s too vicious, he looks like he hasn’t been genuine. If he’s too soft, he’ll lose the people that want blood. I hate to say it, but he has to be a lot more careful than anyone else here. I have people worried that he’s just acting for the camera as well, that the thing with the girl is just him trying to get favor.”

Junhui rolls it over in his brain, but there’s no real solution here. People either believe Minghao or they don’t. Junhui can’t imagine what Minghao could do on his own that would be enough to convince people that he’s not faking it either way. There’s not anything that Junhui can do either and it makes him want to scream or sob or something, but he nods instead. It’s all he can do.

“He’s doing well,” Hansol says softly. “You know I’ll do whatever I can, but at some point, it’s all up to the Games and Minghao. He’s doing well, he’s balancing everything well. Trust him.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what everyone keeps saying,” Junhui sighs. “I do. I don’t trust them.”

Them: the Game Makers, the Careers, the Capitol, any of them. He trusts very few people in this world and one of them is in the Arena. Two of them are—

Oh. Junhui thinks he knows Mingyu and Minghao’s mom are. He hopes he knows, saving it in his brain until he can get back to the apartment. For now, Junhui nods and thanks Hansol quietly, letting Hansol go back to work and trying to slip back into the mentor room without running into another reporter. It doesn’t work. Tacita has been waiting by the door for him.

“So?” Tacita asks.

Junhui has to make a choice quickly. He’s not Minghao, he can’t talk in convincing niceties like Minghao can, but he’s never been known for that and he doesn’t try now. “I think he’s exceeding all of your expectations and you know I hoped he was going to do this well, but I didn’t have any expectations for him. I couldn’t ask anything of him but to try.”

“To try to win?” Tacita asks.

“To try not to lose himself,” Junhui says, still too honest. “He hasn’t. If he hasn’t after the bloodbath, he’s not going to.”

“Did you really think he could?”

“All of us do in the end,” Junhui says. It’s the strongest condemnation of the Games he’s ever given, but it’s nothing that the other victors haven’t said. Junhui has just never cared enough to talk about it before. “He’s the only one who could ever be strong enough not to.”

“Would you rather Minghao lose himself or lose the Games?” Tacita asks it hesitantly, like she knows it’s going too far. They always know it’s too far, but they always go there anyway.

Junhui lets the anger drip into his voice, the kind that will rile people up either way. It’s either his smartest move or his worst. He doesn’t care. He cares too much. “I’d rather Minghao lose the Games. I’d do anything to get him back, but not like that. He doesn’t want that and I couldn’t ask that of him. He’s all I have and I still couldn’t ask that of him.”

He turns away before Tacita can follow up, opens the door to the mentor room and wonders what the visual is. Hansol will tell him later. Junhui can’t think about it now, not when he’s walking in right as the death recap is starting, and he goes back to sit next to Jihoon and Wonwoo in front of the screen with Minghao’s name taped at the top, one camera always on him. It’s the thing that keeps all of them in the mentor room, paying rapt attention to their tributes. Usually the ones who have already lost tributes are gone, but Jihoon and Wonwoo were at Minghao’s screen five minutes into the Games. None of the mentors looked twice at them.

The Capitol theme plays, too loud and too grating. When the Capitol seal lights up the sky, Junhui can only watch Minghao. They keep track of the deaths together, both counting on their fingers as if Junhui doesn’t already know, both of them mouthing the names of the tributes that Minghao has seen the blood of. Caspian, Willow, Copper. 

Copper wasn’t Minghao’s kill, but Junhui knows too much about Minghao to think that Minghao isn’t going to hold Copper’s name in his mind for the rest of his life.

The seal is gone quicker than any of them hope. There were only nine deaths today. There are too many of them left and Junhui feels Minghao’s heart sink in his own chest. Minghao mouths Lottie’s name—not Charlotte, not this time. Just Lottie, who made it through. Junhui looks to his left, where Ash is watching Lottie intently. She seems to have found a cove of rocks to hide in and Junhui lets himself linger for a moment. Ash reaches out and pats Junhui’s hand gently, too knowing. Her eyes are too clear. Ash is doing this for him. She’s sober and she’s mentoring Lottie so Junhui doesn’t have to.

“He’ll be okay,” Ash says quietly. “You’ll be okay, Junnie.”

It’s not quite an empty promise. Ash knows Minghao, she knows Junhui, she knows the sound of their footsteps when they let themselves into her house a few times a week just to check on her. She knows what they look like when they sit with her when the memories hurt the worst. She knows how hard Minghao is trying. She knows how hard Junhui is trying. 

Junhui wants to ask about Lottie and her strategy and how Ash feels about all of this, but he can’t get the words out. He squeezes Ash’s hand, holds too tight, and turns back to Minghao’s screen. 

It doesn’t take long for the Careers to fall asleep, as comfortable as they feel. Minghao is unmoving where he sits, his bag of knives still strapped to his chest, the axe next to him. There’s nothing behind them, no way into the cornucopia but the forest. Minghao’s eyes are quick in how they flit back and forth across the tree line, scanning intently. 

“Why’d he take the first shift?” Jihoon asks. “You’d think he’d want to sleep while they’re still safe.”

“He’s never going to feel safe,” Junhui says. “The timing doesn’t matter to him. I’m not really sure though. He jumped on it fast.”

The mentor room isn’t quiet now that most of the tributes are letting themselves sleep. They’re all friends, as strange as it may be, and a few people come over to offer their condolences to Jihoon and Wonwoo, to offer their congratulations to Junhui and to wish him well. Calliope pats his hair softly, whispering her thanks as if Junhui can pass it on, but Junhui gets it. Marina has attached herself to Minghao and Minghao is relentlessly kind, relentlessly comforting, and Marina keeping her head on straight keeps her safe. Calliope looks less nauseous than she did earlier and it’s Minghao’s doing.

“Are you feeling better?” Junhui asks her. “I saw you crying.”

“Marina has been training with me since she was 12,” Calliope says, a nearly rueful smile on her face. 4 isn’t like 1 and 2—4's victors don’t handpick their tributes like the other two Career districts do. Their reaping is a smaller batch of names, sure, but there’s a random element to it that looks more like the other districts. Junhui wants to ask how badly Calliope didn’t want it to be Marina, but he thinks he already knows the answer. “I hate seeing her upset like that. She and Coady grew up together. I knew she would take it hard, but none of us expected it to happen so quickly.”

The water took them all by surprise. It’s one of the cruelest things the Game Makers have done in the last few years and he’s almost positive it would have taken out more tributes had Coady not jumped in the water as soon as he did. He barely got a chance to start swimming before he went under. Enough tributes saw it that he’s sure that the Game Makers feel a little cheated. It’s not like they don’t have the fucked up clock. They’ll be fine.

It was a stupid move on Coady’s part, but Junhui’s not going to say that. Junhui is glad one of the strongest Careers went out that quickly, but he’s really not going to say that.

What he says instead is that he’s “glad Marina’s feeling better. Minghao likes her. She’s sweet.”

She’s already got a kill, but she’s sweet. Tributes only have so many choices. Kill or be killed, and Marina was surprised enough by Coady that the boy from 11 almost had her, but she’s too quick to go out like that. Junhui really hopes Minghao doesn’t have to kill her. He could do it, but he’d hate it more than he would the others. It would stay with him more. Willow will already show up in his nightmares. He doesn’t need Marina to haunt him too.

“She is,” Calliope says. “So is he. Make sure you sleep, Junhui. It’s like having a newborn. Sleep when he does.”

It’s enough to get a small laugh out of Junhui and Calliope looks pleased, patting his hair again softly before she goes back to the other Career mentors. He’s grateful that they’ve let him stay with Jihoon and Wonwoo without any suspicion, but he’ll go check in at some point. None of the mentors are being soft on Junhui, that’s not how they all work, but they’re not asking him to be a Career mentor like the others and Junhui will take what he can get.

“You know I’m sending you and Jihoon to bed once Minghao goes down, right?” Wonwoo asks. “We’ll swap when he wakes up. Jihoon gets to sleep longer though.”

“You definitely do,” Junhui says to Jihoon. “Are you going to talk to his family?”

Jihoon nods. “They’ll set up a call like they usually do. Probably in the morning, once his family has some time to process. I’ll talk to them before they get interviewed, try to prep them for what they’ll get asked. I’m not sure they expected anything differently though. Marcus said he said some pretty firm goodbyes. I don’t think he told them what he was planning, which was good of him, but they didn’t think he was coming home.”

Jihoon doesn’t flinch when he says it, but his frown is set deep and his voice is wrung out. The only reason Marcus waited until he got to the platform was so they wouldn’t reap another boy from 9. Jihoon knew it was coming, all three of them knew it was coming, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. It doesn’t mean that it will be any easier to hear Marcus’ mother cry. 

That’s always what cuts all of them the deepest, far more than the tribute’s actual death. After their first year of mentoring, they learn to cope with watching a child they’ve known for a week get killed. A mother’s grief isn’t something anyone ever learns to cope with.

It takes an hour for Minghao to move from where he’s curled up in a blanket, one hand clutching a heating pack and one hand resting on the bag of knives. Junhui doesn’t know where Minghao is going when he gets up and starts walking down one of the paths away from the cornucopia, but he’s waited long enough that it doesn’t wake any of the Careers. He’s moving toward the forest, making the long walk toward the tree line with the camera at his back, and Junhui doesn’t understand until Jihoon taps his shoulder, pointing up at where the broadcast is playing on a big screen at the front of the room.

The camera is zoomed in on Minghao’s face and Junhui knows it’s dramatic that he gasps when he sees the tears streaming down Minghao’s face, but he can’t really help it. Minghao is silent, but he looks devastated, wiping furiously at his face with the back of his free hand. He’s being too rough again. He’s still standing straight, one of his hands is still resting on the bag of knives, but he’s crying freely once he makes it to the trees. Junhui feels Ash move closer, feels her hand back in his, and feels Wonwoo’s arm wrapping around his shoulders. Junhui’s stomach drops when Minghao stumbles and hits the ground, his knees cracking against hard earth, an audible pain.

Minghao throws up and they don’t move the camera away. The nation gets to watch as Minghao sobs and vomits into the bushes and Junhui knows why he took the first shift. He held the grief back as long as he could, but Minghao is only a boy. He’s Junhui’s bleeding-heart boy and he killed two people, he led the Careers to a third, and he’s spitting out bile that Junhui knows tastes like acid and blood. Junhui remembers it vividly. 

“Fuck,” Jihoon whispers. “I’m going to find Hansol.”

Junhui registers it vaguely. Jihoon is going to find Hansol because they’re not moving the cameras away and they want Minghao to look weak, they want him to look like he can’t do this, and Junhui wants to care about the visuals so badly, but he can’t. He can’t care because Minghao can’t stop crying and everything in Junhui is revolting, begging to help him, comfort him, something. He can’t. Junhui wipes roughly at his eyes as Minghao wipes at his own and everything hurts, sharp and bright. Knives buried in his ribs. It’s always the knives.

Minghao spits harshly one last time and stands slowly. He’s not quite staggering, but he’s not steady either. He scans the tree line again, scans where the rest of the Careers are still asleep by the cornucopia, and walks back toward them. The broadcast finally cuts away from him, picking up where one tribute seems to be getting too close to another while trying to use the night sky as cover, and Junhui looks back at his own monitor in time to see Minghao’s hands shake. He settles back in his place to keep watch and his eyes are still sharp, but he rests his head on his knees, finally caving to the exhaustion. He doesn’t have long before he’ll swap with Veronica, but Jihoon comes back in before they can.

“I have great news,” he says excitedly. Junhui looks up at him, still crying, and Jihoon grimaces. “Okay, maybe not great. Nothing is great. I have news.”

“Please just say it,” Wonwoo sighs. 

“It played well,” Jihoon says, sitting back down next to Wonwoo. “Solidified how people feel about Minghao. They think he’s genuine.”

“Awesome,” Junhui says flatly. “Really glad to hear that my boyfriend vomiting into some bushes on national television made people think they should bet more money on him.”

“At least he’s your boyfriend,” Wonwoo says, only half-joking. 

Junhui blinks a few times, watching Minghao wake Veronica up and waiting for Minghao to settle back down, dropping quickly into sleep with how the exhaustion weighs him down. “I’m going to go to bed now. Let me know when he wakes up.”

“You should sleep longer than the two hours he’s about to get,” Wonwoo says gently.

“I’ll be fine,” Junhui says, trying not to be too dismissive. Wonwoo is just worried, he gets it, but Junhui can’t do it. He can’t sleep when Minghao is awake. He’ll barely be able to sleep when Minghao is asleep. Best not to push it.

“Okay,” Wonwoo says, relenting. “I’ll call your room when he wakes up so we don’t miss anything.”

“Thank you,” Junhui says softly. Jihoon pushes himself in front of Junhui as they both leave the mentor room, blocking Junhui from the reporters just long enough to let him slip into the elevator. The mentor room is a few levels under the training center and Junhui has never been more grateful for how close it is. 

District 7's apartment is dark, Seokmin long-asleep, and Junhui feels the nausea rise in his throat when he steps into his own room. The attendant, the same boy that’s been so kind to Minghao this whole time, has tidied the room, but he’s left all of Minghao’s things carefully folded on the bed instead of taking them and he’s only replaced the top blanket. Junhui will have to thank him for it when he sees him next, pass on his gratitude that the boy didn’t take Junhui’s last pieces of Minghao away.

As badly as Junhui wants to sleep, he has something itching at the back of his mind that’s spurred on by the phone that’s been placed back on his bedside table now that Minghao isn’t sleeping in the room anymore. Before he can stop himself, he’s dialing his own phone number and holding his breath.

“Jun,” Mingyu says when he picks up. “Fuck, you called.”

Junhui lets out a breath, relief flooding through him. “Thank God. I really hoped that you would have been in my house by now.”

“I already replaced the window,” Mingyu says, almost placating. 

“Wait, you broke in?” Junhui asks. He almost laughs. “Minghao has a key in his room.”

“You expected me to dig through his stuff?” Mingyu asks. “If he came back and found out I went through all of his shit, he’d kill me. No, it was better to break your window. It’s fine. It’s fixed now. Don’t worry about it.”

“You know what, I’m not going to question it,” Junhui says. “Are you both there? Have you been there the whole time?”

Mingyu hums. “Yeah, we basically came straight here after you left. I didn’t want anyone to be able to get to her. I’ve been in the apothecary for a few hours every day, but everyone gets why we’re mostly closed.”

“Thank you for doing that,” Junhui says softly. “I know I don’t need to thank you for this, I know that’s not how we—”

“I know,” Mingyu interrupts. “I promised him I would stay with her. Jun— I don’t know how to ask this. He’s— I saw him earlier. Can he do this?”

Mingyu’s tone cuts straight through Junhui, some kind of heartbroken begging. It sounds like the only thing Mingyu said to Junhui after he said goodbye to Minghao, a whispered “please” that Mingyu choked out when he hugged Junhui too tight before they pulled him away. 

“He can,” Junhui says carefully, but he’s not going to lie to Mingyu. “Gyu, I don’t know if he will.”

There’s only silence on the other end of the line and if Junhui closed his eyes, he’s sure he could see the exact expression on Mingyu’s face. He doesn’t close his eyes. He doesn’t want to see it again. The reaping was enough.

“I’m so fucking scared,” Mingyu whispers. Junhui’s grip tightens on the phone even as he puts his head between his knees, trying to keep himself together. “I can’t watch, but I can’t look away. I know he’s all there now, but he faded out so quickly.”

It’s what Mingyu’s always called it: fading. Minghao fades in and out of himself sometimes. Mingyu had to explain it to Junhui when Junhui was 15, when Minghao faded in front of him for the first time and Junhui didn’t know what to do beyond try to find Mingyu and hope Mingyu could fix it. Neither of them ever can, but Mingyu has never sounded so hopeless about it.

“I’m sorry.” Junhui chokes on it. “I’m so sorry. I did everything I could to get him ready, I promise, but—”

“It wasn’t supposed to be him,” Mingyu says. “I wasn’t ever going to let him. I would have volunteered, I wouldn’t have let him, and he wasn’t supposed to be there, Jun, I wasn’t supposed to let him go.”

“He would have volunteered for you too,” Junhui says, even though it doesn’t help either of them. Mingyu and Minghao were always like this. Junhui knew every year that if one of them was reaped, it would ruin them both, no matter who managed to volunteer for the other. Junhui half-expected Mingyu to do it on instinct when Minghao’s name was called. “Mingyu, you know he never would have let you either. He has a chance, Mingyu. You wouldn’t have had one.”

It’s not meant to be cruel—it’s meant to be honest, some kind of comfort in their weird way, in the way that Junhui and Mingyu have always been too honest with each other. 

“You don’t think I know that?” Mingyu asks, his voice stretched thin, anger dripping in. “Of course I wouldn’t have had a chance, I never could have done it. I still would have gone in if it meant he didn’t have to break himself like this. Don’t act like you wouldn’t have either, Junhui. You wouldn’t be able to do it again and you would have gone in for him anyway.”

It’s not meant to be cruel either. It still shatters Junhui and he feels like he’s grasping at pieces of himself, like Mingyu has finally wrenched his ribs open and made him look at what they’ve become, broken promises and “I would have” and “you would have” and it doesn’t matter because Minghao is there anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Junhui says, because there’s nothing else to say. There’s no use fighting like this—Junhui is already broken and Mingyu can’t even say Minghao’s name.

Mingyu sighs, heavy and tired. “Tell me something good. Please.”

“All bets are on him,” Junhui says. “When I said he could do it, I meant it. He’s kind of incredible at this. Way fucking better than I ever was.”

“Yeah, well, no one ever thought you were great at any of it,” Mingyu jokes, half torn apart and half never letting Junhui live. “Pretty easy bar to clear.”

“Asshole,” Junhui laughs, surprising himself. “I fucking hate you. If I’d known that being friends with him meant you were there too, I might have reconsidered.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Mingyu laughs. “You were hooked on him immediately and I’ve been bothering him since we were five. Hey, are you two actually together?”

“Yeah,” Junhui admits, almost bashful about it. There’s something different about Mingyu knowing. “Happened on his birthday.”

“So you finally figured it out, huh?” Mingyu asks. “I wondered when you would realize. It’s been years, man. It was getting hard to watch.”

“Oh, sure, you were all-knowing this whole time,” Junhui says dryly. “I totally believe that.”

“You should,” Mingyu says. “You two were the only ones who didn’t know.”

“You really were,” Minghao’s mom says, apparently awake and trying to steal the phone from Mingyu. Junhui can hear them wrestling for it, Mingyu teasing her for her height like he always does. “You boys are so loud with all of your arguing. Can’t even let an old woman sleep.”

“You’re not that old, Mom,” Junhui placates. “Sorry to wake you up though.”

“Eh, I’m fine,” she sighs, in control of the phone this time. “Hi, Junnie. I’m so glad you called, we’re really missing you here.” Mingyu must still be in the room, because Junhui can hear him start to protest, accompanied with a light smacking noise and a yelp. “As I was saying, we’re really missing you here. How are you, honey?”

“Not great,” Junhui admits. “Pretty bad, actually. I know you guys are having a worse time, I shouldn’t complain, but—”

“Stop that,” Minghao’s mom cuts in. “Don’t do that to yourself. You know Minghao hates it when you do that.”

Minghao does hate it when Junhui downplays things and he’s never been afraid to say it, so it shouldn’t be surprising that his mom would bring it up, but there’s something that hurts so sharply about Minghao’s name finally being said. It knocks the air out of Junhui’s lungs all at once. 

“Sorry,” Junhui says weakly, his voice cracking on it. “I miss him. I miss him so badly. It’s not fair.”

“No, honey, it’s not.” Her tone has gone soft again and Junhui hates that it’s what breaks him. His crying is harsh in comparison, turning everything bitter. “I miss him too. It’s hard to watch when it’s taking so much from him.”

“Yeah, it is,” Junhui gets out. He stares at the windowsill and tries not to scream. “I’m glad he’s asleep for now. I’ll go back down when he wakes up.”

“I’ll let you get some rest then.” Junhui doesn’t want her to go, he so badly wants her to keep talking, but she’s exhausted too. He can’t keep her up just so he can feel better. “I know you’re busy and you probably can’t call again, but remember what I told you, Junhui. Come home.”

“I can’t,” Junhui whispers, too honest. “Not without him.”

“Then bring him home.”

There’s rustling where she must be handing the phone off to Mingyu, never one to say more than she needs to. She got her point across. Mingyu says a soft goodbye that Junhui barely registers and he doesn’t wait for Junhui to respond. The phone clicks off when he hangs up and Junhui sets it back on the table before he feels like his strings are cut, falling back into the bed and nearly sobbing when he realizes that he’s on Minghao’s side. 

Bring him home. Junhui doesn’t know if he can.

Junhui doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he remembers what has him gasping awake.

It’s been the same nightmare for years: the playback of his first kill, of the surprise all over Thistle’s face when he panicked and shoved a knife into her stomach, of the light flickering out of her eyes as he wrenched the knife out and watched her blood paint the grass around them. It’s supposed to be the same every time. It wasn’t.

Minghao’s surprise is so familiar to Junhui. The red of his blood isn’t. It painted the grass as Junhui wrenched the knife out of his stomach. 

The phone rings and Junhui barely manages to pick up the call. Wonwoo sounds tired when he says that Minghao is awake, Junhui should come downstairs. 

Minghao is awake. Junhui goes downstairs.

Chapter Text

All people are driven to the point of eating their gods, after a time.

— Margaret Atwood, Eating Snake

They’re just coming back from their hunt on the morning of the third day when it starts to storm, the blue skies of the close of the first sun cycle of the day shifting into a downpour far too quickly for Minghao’s taste.

There’s a brief moment where Minghao worries that the whole “poisonous rain” thing was an actual option, but though the rain hits his skin hard, there’s nothing abnormal about it. He wouldn’t chance drinking it, but it seems safe enough. The others come to the realization at the same time and Veronica laughs, giddy, when they break out of the forest and make it to the open field before the lake. Cassia comes up to meet them from her watch point in the tree line and takes Minghao’s bag from him, saying something about getting out an extra rain jacket, just in time for Marina to jump on his back. He catches her easily and the smile on his face feels foreign.

If it’s more than that, if it feels a little wrong, he doesn’t want to think about it. 

Veronica has commandeered Thaddeus’ back and Cassia wrinkled her nose when Darius offered—they fight like siblings more than any other tributes that Minghao has ever seen—and Minghao feels more settled on the walk to the cornucopia than he’s ever felt in the Arena. He sends up a mental “thank you” to Jeonghan when, despite getting drenched, his hair isn’t falling into his eyes and he doesn’t miss a step, even when he spins Marina to make her laugh before putting her back down when they get under the protection of the cornucopia.

“We should probably stay put until the rain stops,” Thaddeus says. “I can take a watch shift, set up so I can see the trees.”

“Let me help you rig up a tarp or something,” Darius offers. They move off to the side and start setting up a watch area while Minghao starts to build a fire at the mouth of the cornucopia, out of the rain but not far enough in to have to worry too much about smoke. They’ll need to dry out their wet clothes and keep warm if they don’t want to get sick in this cold.

“Good idea on the firewood yesterday,” Veronica says to Minghao, gathering up the morning rations. The sun is going down, which means it must be about 9 am. They’re semi-adjusted to the 12-hour clock at this point—not quite enough to have gotten their sleeping arrangements entirely figured out, but enough to have some idea of what time it is. They’ll need to sleep after breakfast and Minghao is grateful that he takes the night-shifts, because the rain may keep the sky dark enough to get an extra hour or two in. 

“Just didn’t want to leave us stranded in case it rained,” Minghao says as he gets the fire lit. “I had a feeling we were going to get a storm sooner rather than later. The rain jackets kind of gave it away.”

“Why do you think it’s raining like this?” Cassia asks all of them as they gather around the fire with their food. “If it’s not poisonous, I mean?”

Minghao is a little afraid to say why he thinks this is happening, but Veronica says it before he can. “There’s something going on in the forest. That’s what the rain is dragging up.”

“Something going on?” Marina asks.

“Mutts,” Minghao says quietly. “When we were scouting earlier, I saw small game tracks, but there were bigger tracks too that definitely weren’t game and there’s too much water for things to not be related. I’d bet there are lizard or snake mutts in the forest. There were mutts ten or so years ago that were lizards the size of dogs. Could be something like that.”

There’s a moment when Minghao realizes that they probably wouldn’t be able to remember them: Veronica is the oldest at 17 and Cassia is only 15. They’re children. They wouldn’t remember the Games that far back. Minghao tries not to let it itch under his skin. 

“Frogs too,” Darius offers. “They like the rain. Could be mutts.”

“Mutated frogs,” Marina says, wrinkling her nose. “Gross.”

“It’s not my favorite,” Darius shrugs. “I wonder if we’d be able to hear a cannon over the rain.”

There’s an almost comical timing to the scream they hear, shrill and pitching higher. Minghao is out into the rain immediately—the sound is too close. It’s too close to the edge of the trees and he can barely see through the rain, but he thinks there’s a girl that starts to make her way out of the tree line before something drags her back. She screams again and Minghao feels it echo inside him before the cannon fires.

It’s silent for a little too long before the mockingjay tone that comes before the hovercraft appears to pick the body up. It’s over in the span of minutes. Minghao wants to vomit.

“We should keep two people on guard,” he says faintly. Marina has appeared next to him and is clutching his hand. He barely feels it. “Cassia or I should stay up. Just in case.”

“In case of what?” Marina asks, nerves tinging her voice. 

“I don’t know,” Minghao admits. “I don’t know, Marina. You can tell Cassia that I’ll take the first shift.”

Minghao doesn’t know if he wants to talk to Thaddeus right now, so he rigs up his own tarp a little further away from the cornucopia, almost to one of the pathways. He can hear Junhui’s voice in his head about putting himself in danger, but he doesn’t know how to explain that he wouldn’t feel safe leaving himself vulnerable when he doesn’t know what’s going on. 

There’s something in the forest. Minghao can’t trust the others when he’s this scared. His fear mixes with the rain and turns the chill in his bones into something rancid. He keeps his eyes on the trees.

When Cassia comes to switch shifts with him, he’s quick to try to send her back to bed. She eyes him warily from beneath her rain jacket, though the storm is letting up as the night passes.

“You need to sleep, Minghao,” Cassia says. “Seriously, I can take watch. I can handle it.”

“I know you can, Cass,” Minghao sighs, “but I know I’m not going to sleep anyway after what we saw. You might as well take advantage of it.”

“Your mentor won’t sleep either,” Cassia says, a half-smile on her face. “You’re exhausted. At least lay down and let Jun sleep.”

Minghao’s laugh surprises him. “It’s cold of you to use that against me.”

“I’ll do it as much as I have to,” Cassia smiles. “Go to sleep. I’ve got it.”

“Fine, fine,” Minghao sighs. “Come get me if you need me.”

“I won’t, but thanks!” Cassia pushes Minghao out from under the tarp, laughing when he has to wipe water off his face and pull his jacket hood up quickly. He just shakes his head at her, going back under the protection of the cornucopia. He hangs up his jacket to dry and settles down in what must have been Cassia’s nest of blankets—there’s no use for all of them having their own when at least one of them is always on watch. 

He falls asleep too quickly. His last thought is that he hopes Junhui finally rests too.

Minghao wakes up to a horrible scream, too wet, and the sound of the birds, too dry. He’s up and out of the cornucopia before the others can stand, but he didn’t have anything to worry about. Minghao looks at the back of the boy from District 10 for too long, nearly unable to look a little further up to see the arrow that lives in his throat now. Minghao hopes they can clean him up before they send his body back home. His mother doesn’t need to see that twice.

Minghao doesn’t want to know his name, wants to white out that information and leave it aside, but he has a feeling Lennox is going to stay with him just like the others. There’s an arrow in his throat, but he was almost Minghao’s. Cassia saved him from another coating of blood on his hands. He wants to thank her. She looks entirely unfazed.

“What happened?” Minghao asks when he comes up next to Cassia.

“He ran out of the trees,” Cassia shrugs. “Started heading this way. He could have been running from something or he could have been running at us. Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“I guess not,” Minghao says. “Are you okay? The rain has stopped, so we probably only need one person on watch now. Darius is up.”

“I’m fine,” Cassia says. She shrugs again, entirely unfazed. “I’m hungry though. Sun’s up, so it’s probably 4 or 5, right?”

“Dinner time,” Minghao nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Dinner is the same as breakfast, the same as it always is, but if they don’t call it dinner, they have no chance of regulating. They may have just woken up and the sun may have just risen, but they have to stay in touch with real time somehow.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter and maybe they should adapt. Minghao still couldn’t help himself when he figured out that it was a 12-hour sun cycle. He had the faraway thought that if they adjusted to 12 hours, it would make it far harder to adjust when he got back. He’s clung to that since. He’d rather not lose some of his first hours back with Junhui because they’re on different clocks. 

There’s a lot of hope laced in that one thought. Minghao thinks it again, wraps his hand around his bracelet, and tries not to vomit the hope back up.

As much as Minghao hates going on hunts, there’s something so mind-numbingly brutal about day-long watch shifts that makes him almost wish he was with the others.

The key word there is “almost.” Minghao may be tucked into the tree line for a second sun cycle, the sun giving way to the softer afternoon light of 8 pm on his fourth day, but he’s not hunting another tribute. The cold seeps further through his boots and he counts his fucking blessings.

The watch shifts were Minghao’s idea anyway. Cassia looked at him with near-disdain when he suggested that one of the two of them stay behind on each hunt and he still hasn’t figured out if it’s because watch shifts are boring or if Cassia is more bloodthirsty than he thought. There’s an equal chance of both. Either way, the group acknowledged that it would be good to not leave the entirety of their supplies unwatched, no matter how bold a tribute would have to be to do anything about it. 

Cassia and Minghao both stay in the trees to almost encourage it, because whatever a tribute could steal before Cassia or Minghao takes them down could give a hint toward what goes on in the forest. There’s so much they don’t know. Any possible clues toward what the Game Makers might pull out at the end are more than worth the pain of having to stay hidden.

It means that when the girl from District 6—Sofia, Minghao thinks—appears out of the tree line after the sun goes down at 10 pm, Minghao doesn’t move while he watches her make it to the cornucopia. Sofia ducks into the mouth of the cornucopia, disappearing from sight, and Minghao pulls three knives from the bag at his chest, easily settling them into a throwing position. There’s a flicker of flame that reflects off the metal horn where Sofia must have pulled a torch out, a smart move for how dark it’s gotten, and Minghao waits patiently. 

As quick as Sofia is when she starts running back toward the tree line, Minghao is quicker. She’s only halfway down the path when she falls, the cannon firing as she does. Minghao feels the visual burn into his brain: the newly wet ground is slick and she falls into the water, a trail of red trickling after her. 

There’s red in the cornucopia too. There’s red. Minghao sprints back and he settles into a tense calm when he sees their main supply pile up in flames. There’s nothing else Minghao can do beyond trying to save what he can. There’s no other option.

There are supplies spread around the edges of the main pile and he zeroes in on what he tucked into the back of the horn days ago, slinging the two packs over his shoulder and pulling a bag of heat packs and jackets out of the way right before the fire catches it. He quickly gets the supplies he can out of the way of the fire, tossed to the side entirely, and he’s back in the cornucopia before he can think of doing anything else.

There’s red on his tongue where he bites it, choking down a scream when he has to shove his hands into the fire to pull out the pack that he knows has most of their water purifiers and iodine in it. It’s the only thing he can think to save, because it’s the only thing he can’t live without.

Everything else is going to burn. He finds one of the empty buckets that used to hold blankets and is so fucking careful about how he pulls water out of the lake to put the fire out before it goes any further—his hands are already a blistering red, nearing black in places where the fire burned hotter, where his skin was softer, more vulnerable. He can’t imagine the poisoned water would do him any good.

Minghao is sobbing when he finally gets the fire out, his hands flaring pain throughout his body. He has to purify the lake water before he can run it over his hands, biting his tongue open again when the water stings before it starts to soothe. He can’t scream. It would give him away. It would leave him vulnerable.

The mockingjay tone that signals the hovercraft has already come and gone, Sofia’s body already recovered, but there’s another one. It’s higher this time, less urgent, and it accompanies the pinging noise of the parachute that falls next to Minghao.

You’ve always had healing hands. Now you’ll need hunting hands too.

Keep going, angel.

— Junhui

The level of drama would make Minghao laugh if he wasn’t preoccupied with his sobbing again as he slathers the burn cream onto his hands, relief immediately making his shoulders sag. For burns like this at home, they would have to slather on some kind of aloe mixture and hope to save at least one of the hands. Now, with everything that Junhui must have saved up to get this kind of Capitol medicine, the burns on his hands start to scab over immediately, already healing. 

There’s still blood in his mouth, there’s still blood on his hands and blood on the grass. He stares at it, still trickling into the water even after Sofia’s body was lifted away.

There’s another cannon somewhere in the distance and, when Minghao knows the main camera isn’t on him, he tucks the note into his bag at his chest and pulls out his bracelet. He winces when he fastens it back on, but he can’t keep it off for long. It was a risk to take it off when he saw Sofia light the flame, to try to slip the bracelet off without anyone noticing, but he couldn’t afford getting the kind of burn that would have come from the metal heating up in the fire when he plunged his hands in.

It paid off. Junhui wouldn’t have been able to send the cream and such a casual note if the audience caught the movement. He wouldn’t have been able to send it if anyone caught onto the fact that Minghao let Sofia light the flame.

Minghao always thought it was weird that they never repainted anything in Junhui’s house, but he never felt like he could mention it until the morning before the Games, Junhui’s hands resting in the notches of Minghao’s spine so naturally that Minghao wants to cry.

“I think a sage green could be nice,” Minghao says. “In the kitchen, maybe? Take it through the dining room?”

Junhui hums. “Yeah, I like it. We can do it when you get home. It can be second on the list after the curtains in the bedroom.”

“Yeah, I like it,” Minghao says with a smile. Something burns in his chest along with the blush that runs high on Junhui’s cheeks when Minghao leans down to kiss them. “I’m going to spend too much time in the kitchen right after. That kind of access to food is going to be heaven after a few weeks of squirrels.”

“I’d offer to eat like that too in solidarity, but I’m not going to do that,” Junhui teases. “You’ll have to soak up those few days of the food supply before you destroy it. Hunting may be sparse, so make sure you all keep rations in your backpacks in case it takes a few days to snare something.”

“Got it,” Minghao says. “You know, I appreciate the sentiment of eating like me. It’s kind of sweet.”

“I’m glad that’s what you’re taking away from that,” Junhui laughs. He leans up to kiss Minghao again, their teeth nearly bumping together when Minghao hits lightly at Junhui’s shoulder. Minghao’s chest burns bright.

Minghao has never wanted his old, shitty axe from back home more than he does right now. As aerodynamic as the Capitol ones are, they just can’t chop through wood like his old one does. He understands the whole “different purpose” thing, but when he’s trying to cut up pieces of wood to use as stakes to hold their snares in place, he doesn’t really care. At least the utility knives work for carving the points in. He passes a handful of stakes to Veronica and Marina and lets them get to work.

When the others came back from their hunt, Minghao thinks they were more scared of losing all of the food supply than anything. They all had two days’ worth of rations left in their packs, but none of them were really prepared for not having food readily available. Cassia told Minghao that they all got a week’s worth of survival training, but their ability to fight was supposed to suffice.

It’s an incredibly stupid method of training. There are frequent enough years that the food supplies are destroyed that Minghao really thinks the Career districts should have learned, but apparently the victory of the other districts during those years didn’t faze them. That being said, it leaves the others wide open and vulnerable for people like Minghao to take advantage of, so Minghao can’t really complain.

“Remember that the main thing with snares is location,” Minghao says to Darius and Cassia, coming up behind them. “There’s no use setting up a snare if there’s not going to be any game that goes by. We’re going for the smaller animals that I saw in the forest, rabbits and squirrels mostly, so we need to look for tracks, nests, and any holes in the ground or trees where they may be hiding out.”

“How do you see the tracks when they’re so small?” Darius asks. Minghao tries to keep his mild irritation to himself—it’s like teaching a child. They just don’t know anything, but they were never taught. Still, Minghao has only been doing this for a day and he’s already far too impatient.

“Squint if you have to,” Minghao shrugs. “You may be better off looking at nests anyway, you’ve got a higher line of sight.”

“Hey!” Cassia says, mock-offended.

“Not my fault you’re so tiny,” Minghao shrugs again, laughing when she pushes at him. “C’mon, Cass, it just makes you better for things like this. Keep your eyes on the ground, it’s for the best. Go see what you guys can spot within a reasonable distance, leave a marker, and come back to get supplies.”

Minghao doesn’t have the highest hopes for what they’ll come back with, but he already went through the forest this morning and set up his own snares as a fallback. He’s showing the others how to do things, sure, but he’s not going to let himself starve just for a teaching moment. That plus the plants that he’s found and Thaddeus has gathered will put them in a safer place after their rations run low. If they’re lucky, they’ll pull something from Minghao’s snares and start supplementing the rations rather than replacing them all together. Minghao doesn’t really have great luck, but he’s pretty good at snaring rabbits. 

Minghao knows that it will have to balance out in the end to make all of this worth it. He planned for this, Junhui planned for this, they planned it all out. He let the food supply burn. He killed for this, wrenched up something awful from inside of him and killed a girl for his own gain. 

He made his bed. It’s time to lie in it.

Chapter Text

All night I stretched my arms across

him, rivers of blood, the dark woods, singing

with all my skin and bone Please keep him safe.

Let him lay his head on my chest and we will be

like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed

to pieces.

— Richard Siken, Saying Your Names

“Have you slept in the last 24 hours?” Seokmin asks from the doorway of Junhui’s bedroom. “You look like you haven’t.”

“Eh,” Junhui says noncommittally. “Slept, rested my eyes, laid down and watched some riveting TV. What’s the difference?”

Seokmin sighs and sits next to Junhui on the bed when Junhui nods. “I know you’re 20, but I’ll treat you like a child if I need to. Jeonghan and I are worried. Why aren’t you sleeping when he does?”

“He’s got the night shift,” Junhui shrugs. “Going to sleep at 10 in the morning doesn’t suit my composition. Part of me wants to adjust to whatever schedule he’s on, but I don’t think I like him that much.”

“Yes, you do,” Seokmin says. “Please don’t make up excuses with me. Why aren’t you sleeping, Jun?”

“It’s been almost a week.” Junhui is nearly whispering. It’s too real if he says it too loudly. “Every time I go to sleep, I kill him in my nightmares. Every time, Seokmin.”

Seokmin makes some kind of small, upset noise before taking Junhui’s hand. He keeps his hold loose to give Junhui a chance to pull away, but Junhui grips Seokmin’s hand a little desperately. 

“I’m so sorry,” Seokmin says quietly. “I can’t imagine how awful that is. The good thing about it being almost a week in is that it may be nearing the end.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Junhui says after a moment. “I’m sorry, I’m not very— I think I need to go to sleep. I’ll try, at least. I promise.”

Seokmin looks at him and Junhui knows that Seokmin knows he’s just trying to get out of the conversation, but Seokmin is kind enough to let it happen. He wishes Junhui a quiet “goodnight” and shuts the door behind him.

Junhui lets out a sigh. He knows that it’s late and he knows that Minghao fell asleep only minutes after the death recap, but Junhui doesn’t think that he can. He came up to his room because Jihoon shoved him out of the mentor room, but he turned on the TV stream as soon as he came in. As he watches, the camera pans over most of the sleeping tributes, lingering on the Careers. There are only nine tributes left and six of them are currently within 10 feet of each other. 

Marina is curled into Minghao’s side, both for warmth and for what Junhui assumes is comfort—she’s the one of them who killed today. Marina looked a little torn up about it and the grim acceptance on her face on the way back to the cornucopia mirrored Minghao’s. It looked nothing like the other Careers after a kill and Junhui wonders where it came from—he hasn’t heard or seen anything from Marina that would make him think that she’s any less of a Career than the other four, but she’s stuck close to Minghao for the past few days. Junhui wouldn’t be surprised if Minghao’s attitude, no matter how unspoken, was getting to her. She’s rather attached.

Junhui is proud of Minghao for it, he really is, but there’s something that turns over in his stomach when the camera zooms in on Marina and the grip she has on Minghao’s shirt. She looks like a child, her soft expression in sleep making her look far younger than Minghao. 

She looks like Minghao is caring for her. She looks like Minghao might hesitate.

It’s the same as it always is. Junhui doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he remembers how warm Minghao’s blood was when he had to wipe it off his face. The phone rings and Junhui goes downstairs. 

It’s just past 2 am on the seventh day. It’s the same as it always is.

“Why does he know how to hunt?” Wonwoo asks. The three of them are back in the mentor room around 4 pm, right as the sun rises again in the Arena. They barely fit on one of the couches that’s been brought in as the room layout has changed as mentors and monitors leave, but they make do so everyone can see Minghao’s screen. “Is that a thing people have to do in 7?”

“Yes and no,” Junhui says. He keeps his eye on where Minghao, Marina, and Veronica are heading further into the forest as they check their snares. The two girls are usually only good with carving the stakes, but Veronica asked enough times that Minghao is finally taking her out with him. Marina is just reluctant to be separated from Minghao. Junhui relates. “7 isn’t necessarily poor, but the apothecary isn’t a moneymaker and he always hunted to make up for it. It’s not really legal, but it’s not explicitly illegal either. As long as it doesn’t disrupt the forest, the Peacekeepers don’t really care. Minghao had to do it a lot more before we became friends, but he never actually gave it up. He hates taking what he thinks are handouts.”

“Honorable, I guess,” Jihoon says. “At least it paid off. The rest of them still can’t rig a snare right.”

“Eh, that was kind of the point,” Junhui shrugs. “They need him. Can’t exactly kill him in his sleep if they’ll starve without him.”

“You guys mastermind-ed that in a terrifying way,” Jihoon says. “I didn’t know you had it in you. It’s an impressive strategy.”

“Did Minghao come up with it?” Wonwoo teases.

It catches Junhui, making him laugh. “No, actually, I—”

“Fuck,” Minghao says on screen, but it’s almost drowned out by the storm that’s opened overhead. 

“Fuck,” Junhui says in the mentor room, but it’s almost drowned out by the sound of Minghao, Marina, and Veronica starting to run back toward the cornucopia. They don’t have another option—they have to get out of the forest. They don’t know what’s in them beyond the mutts they’ve seen and they don’t even have a real way to fight those off. 

Junhui has the distinct feeling that the storm is a product of two of the “weaker” Careers being in the forest with only Veronica to protect them. The Game Makers need to spice things up. Killing Minghao would do it. Junhui would scream, but his fear is trapping his mouth closed.

Marina stumbles and Minghao pulls her along before she can fall. Junhui’s stomach drops. Hesitation. Junhui sits frozen and horrified as he stares down the main screen and the main event: the lizard mutts that have appeared right behind Minghao, who’s running behind Veronica with a hand still on Marina’s arm.

“Minghao,” Marina says, warning. Minghao lets go of her arm like he’s trying to give them space to speed up, but he’s a second too late. Hesitation. 

Marina is just barely the slowest, but it doesn’t matter how slow she is when one of the mutts gets their teeth in her leg. She screams and Minghao and Veronica both hesitate. It means that they’re too late, the mutts are too fast, and Veronica has to catch Minghao before he runs back toward Marina, his knives already out. He struggles against Veronica’s hold, manages to sink a knife into the mutt with its teeth in Marina, but there are too many of them even with one dead.

Minghao yells Marina’s name, torn apart and desperate. Veronica yells Minghao’s name, sharp and demanding. She pulls him back with her and sends a knife flying into the mutt in front of her. She’s trying to pull them both to safety and it takes the cannon firing for Minghao to finally fucking move. Junhui knows he’s hyperventilating, he knows Wonwoo is trying to get him to breathe, but it doesn’t matter. 

Marina distracted enough mutts so only a few are following Minghao and Veronica, both of them whipping knives and taking them down when they realize. Veronica pulls on Minghao’s arm to get him to run again and it takes too long, it takes too fucking long for them to get out of the forest, Junhui isn’t breathing—

They break through the tree line and Junhui gasps out a breath in time with Minghao getting just far enough away before he collapses.

“Minghao, Minghao, it’s okay,” Veronica tells him, but Junhui is sure that Minghao can’t hear her. He’s panicking, his breaths are coming too fast, and he lets out a strangled scream that has Veronica yelling for the others even though they’ve already come running. 

“He’s okay,” Wonwoo whispers. “They’ve got him.”

They do—Thaddeus pulls Minghao up to get him further from the forest, grimacing with tears in his eyes as Veronica describes what happened.

“We couldn’t have saved her,” Veronica says once they’re nearly at the cornucopia. Minghao pushes away from Thaddeus and Cassia is on her knees next to him while he retches, the rain still pouring relentlessly around them. Junhui presses his hand to his mouth so he doesn’t start screaming. 

“You’re safe, it’s okay,” Cassia is saying quietly, rubbing Minghao’s back while he cries. “I’m sorry, Minghao. I’m so sorry.”

All of them are shaken—Darius wipes roughly at his eyes and Thaddeus is whispering something to Veronica while he runs his hands over her like he’s checking for injuries. They’re watching their oldest break down and they’re just kids. Marina was only 16, they were all friends, and they’re just kids. Junhui hears Olivine and Juniper talking quietly to Calliope and Junhui doesn’t know what possesses him to go over, but he ignores Jihoon’s protests and walks over.

“Calliope, I’m so sorry,” Junhui says when they open their circle for him. “I’m sorry he couldn’t save her.”

Junhui isn’t sure how much he means it, but there’s at least a small part of him that does. It’s enough that Calliope pulls Junhui into a hug, whispering “it’s okay, he tried, he tried” like she’s comforting Junhui as if Minghao was the one who died. She still has tears in her eyes. He wonders how much the other mentors know. 

Minghao is sobbing on the main screen when Calliope pulls back to look at Junhui. She’s the one between them who’s not crying now and Junhui is so overwhelmed.

“He tried,” Calliope says again. “You’re okay, Junhui. Thank you for apologizing, but you don’t need to. He tried to save her and he took care of her for so long. Most tributes don’t get either of those. It’s okay.”

It’s not, none of this is okay, but Junhui understands anyway. “I’m still sorry for your loss.”

Minghao is still crying. Cassia has him pulled close under the mouth of the cornucopia. His rain jacket is hanging somewhere to dry and Darius is doing his best to start a fire since Minghao can’t.

“Thank you,” Calliope says. Her eyes dart around the room quickly, but Juniper and Olivine have already gone back to their monitors. She pulls Junhui into a hug again and her voice is hushed, almost inaudible, when she speaks again. “I’d like to thank him for it. I hope I can thank him for it.”

She pulls away and Junhui doesn’t think he could get any words out if he tried. Calliope pats his arm and walks away, presumably to do what they all have to: go listen to a mother’s grief and be interviewed afterwards like nothing happened. 

Junhui shakes himself back into focus and goes to sit back down next to Wonwoo and Jihoon. Minghao’s face has gone expressionless, his eyes red and swollen, and Cassia is running a hand through his hair like she’s trying to brush it out with her fingers, as damp and messy as it may be. Jeonghan really was right about the haircut. After all of that, it’s still not falling into his eyes.

“Jun,” Wonwoo says quietly. “Jun, he hesitated.”

“I know,” Junhui whispers. There’s no other response to that. Minghao hesitated. Hesitation is a fatal mistake.

It’s Ash that appears in Junhui’s doorway this time, a little past midnight. He nods immediately, letting her sit next to him on the bed. She’s on Minghao’s side. Minghao wouldn’t mind.

“It was nice of Cassia to switch with Minghao for the night shift,” Ash says as she settles into the bed, legs criss-crossed and facing Junhui. “You should be able to sleep more tonight.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” Junhui says quietly. He’s staring out the window, a little too afraid to look over at Ash. She knows him too well. She sees him too well. “I’m feeling a little on edge.”

“About Marina?” Ash asks. Junhui hums. “That’s fair. Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Junhui says, but it sounds a little too petulant. Ash tsks at him in that motherly tone she uses on him, and Junhui sighs. “Yes. He hesitated, Ash. It seemed like he wanted to go back for Marina.”

“He probably would have,” Ash says. She pats Junhui’s hand at the distressed noise that tears out of his chest. “He won’t for anyone else though. He was attached to her, but she was the only one.”

“But he was attached to her,” Junhui says. He still won’t look. “He wasn’t supposed to be attached to any of them.”

“Sure, but you know Minghao,” Ash says, a little too like he’s being purposefully stupid. “He’s too soft. His heart’s too big. He was always going to have one person and it fits that it would be one of the younger ones. Marina is gone now though. He doesn’t have anyone left that he’s attached to.”

“Ash, I’m so scared,” Junhui whispers after a moment. “I thought I was going to watch him die. I thought I was going to lose him.”

Ash hums. “I know you’re scared, Junnie. I know. I don’t want to lose him either, but honey, if he wanted to save Marina and he died trying, you know it would have been how he wanted to go because of that too-big heart of his. It’s a miracle he hasn’t lost it and I don’t think he’d lose it now, but there’s not anyone else in that Arena to worry about like that. He wants to come home. He’s going to try, he’s been trying, and now there’s no one there to stop him from trying.”

“It’s just not fair,” Junhui says. He sounds like a child. He’s a child again, crying in Ash’s arms because his mentor told him he didn’t have a chance. He’s a child again, crying in Ash’s arms when he came out of the Arena because of who he’d become. “It’s not fair that he’s there, it’s not fair that I might lose him, it’s not fair that I barely had him.”

“None of it’s fair,” Ash says gently. “None of it’s fair, but you’ve always had him. Don’t go on thinking you barely had him, don’t do that to yourself or to him. He’s always looked at you like you’re his best thing. You’ve always had him, but it’s still not fair. I’m so sorry.”

Junhui feels the tears stream down his cheeks and he wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling Ash’s eyes heavily on him. “I don’t know what to do, Ash. I’m so tired. I’m tired of watching and waiting for something horrible to happen and I’m tired of going to sleep and seeing something horrible actually happen. I can’t do anything to help him except gather sponsors and wait. I feel useless. I’m supposed to protect him and I can’t do anything.”

“You need to sleep, Jun,” Ash says after a moment. She doesn’t argue about anything that he said and he tries not to choke on his sob. “I’ll sit with you for the nightmares. Have you showered in the last week? Actually, I don’t care, you should take one now. Go on, kid. I’ll be here.”

There are too many taps. Junhui gets them all wrong and figures a cold shower that’s a little too heavy on the water pressure has never hurt anyone. When he gets back into bed, Ash pulls the blanket up over him like he’s still a child and Junhui lets it happen. He might as well be. He’s as helpless as one.

Ash runs a hand through his hair and Junhui cries himself to sleep. It’s still the same as it always is.

“Are you excited to see them?” Jihoon asks Junhui that night. “I heard they got everyone’s parents, so you’ll see his mom.”

“I don’t know,” Junhui admits. The mentor room feels too empty and it doesn’t feel empty enough. There are eight of them left, plus Jihoon and Wonwoo. “I think I’m a little scared to see what they say. Mingyu is a wildcard, he could say anything, and I’m scared to see how sad Minghao’s mom will be.”

“Sad?” Wonwoo asks, confused. “He’s in the final eight. I’d think it would be a little happy if anything.”

Junhui sighs and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t think that she thinks that he’s coming home. I don’t know that Mingyu does either. I talked to them on that first night and it was— Maybe it’s changed, I don’t think they have a lot of optimism.”

Junhui knows that they may feign it for the interview—Junhui hasn’t been able to, but Mingyu has always been a better liar than him. God knows what Minghao’s mom will do, whether she’d be able to put on a smile or whether she’d even want to. Junhui is more anxious than he should be about this. He trusts them more than almost anyone else, but he’s going to be interviewed after them and then he’ll have to run to Hansol and hope they didn’t just ruin any chance Minghao had. Junhui should have called them, but he’s been too caught up in his own head for it. 

He can’t lose sight of what’s in front of him. He already has.

All of the tributes are settling in for the night and the main feed cuts away from them, meeting the promised airtime of 8 pm. Junhui watches with mild interest as the families and friends from 1 and 2 are interviewed and when the screen shows “District 7,” he’s a little shocked to realize that no, they’re not skipping over anyone. Moving from Cassia’s mother to Mingyu is correct. Everyone in between is dead.

“Can you tell us who you are to Minghao?” the interviewer asks.

“I’m Minghao’s best friend,” Mingyu says, his tone nearly flat. He looks like he’d rather eat glass than be standing in front of all of the cameras and Junhui feels the strangest sense of pride run through him. “Junhui too. They’re my best friends.”

“That’s sweet,” Wonwoo comments mildly. Jihoon’s laugh is quiet so he doesn’t disrupt anyone.

“You must be having a hard time with this then,” the interviewer says. She sounds almost sympathetic, but Junhui knows how sugary sweet and fake it really is. 

“Obviously,” Mingyu says. He’s tired, Junhui can see it all over his face, and it leaks into his voice. “One of my best friends is at risk of dying at all times and the other one is too. You can imagine that it’s not exactly fun to be sitting on the sidelines right now.”

“The other one is too?” The interviewer is suddenly far more engaged. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not going to spell it out for you,” Mingyu sighs. Junhui has to stifle a laugh when the cameras cut directly over to Minghao’s mom.

“He’s feisty,” Jihoon laughs. “They really thought they were going to get something out of him.”

“Mingyu is stubborn as hell, just like Minghao,” Junhui says. “They were never going to get anything out of him that he didn’t want to give or, in the case of that last part, isn't going to help Minghao. Sponsors will go wild over that fun addition to our love story.”

“Sure, Juliet,” Wonwoo sighs. “Pay attention, please. You missed her intro.”

Junhui tunes back in right in time to flinch with the too-blunt way the interviewer asks Minghao’s mother about what it would be like without Minghao in 7.

“Well, it would be rather bad, wouldn’t it?” Minghao’s mom says—not asks—and Junhui knows she wants to roll her eyes so badly. “Shouldn’t you be asking me what it will be like when he comes home?”

Junhui sucks in a sharp breath. The interviewer seems to pick up that Minghao’s mom is willing to go exactly one place with her interview. “What would it be like if he came home?”

“When he comes home,” Minghao’s mother says, putting a hard emphasis on “when.” “I think we’ll expand the apothecary. He’s always wanted to and we’ve never had the money for it. When he comes back and is living in the Victor’s Village, we can at least use his old bedroom upstairs. He’s going to be so happy. I’ll be happy seeing him happy. His homecoming will be a good day.”

The interviewer seems to be finished, or at least understands that Minghao’s mother is finished. They cut over to Lottie’s parents and Junhui doesn’t stop himself from laughing. 

“I see where Minghao gets it from,” Jihoon says, bumping Junhui’s shoulder with his. “I see why you like them so much. They only said what they wanted to and they still gave you the boost you need to send the last parachute.”

“They’re kind of incredible,” Junhui laughs. “I’ve gotta try to find Hansol and see what he’s hearing before an interviewer catches me to know what to do with it, but yeah, I think they did it. I’m sure they know exactly what they did too.”

“They seem like they would,” Jihoon says. “Go now. One of us will come get you if we need to.”

Junhui has been forced to leave the room to find Hansol while Minghao is awake a few times and every time, it’s both easier and harder to pull himself away. He glances at Minghao’s monitor one more time before he goes and he knows his look is probably too longing, as if Minghao isn’t just stoking a fire. It’s the end of the eighth day. Junhui thinks it’s more than a little warranted at this point.

He really should have known that the on-going interviews wouldn’t be enough to keep Tacita out of his face. Nothing ever is.

“So, Mingyu,” Tacita starts, but Junhui cuts her off with a hand raised. He knows where she’s going with this and he’s far too tired for it.

“Yes, Mingyu,” Junhui says. “He’s one of my best friends and he and Minghao have been friends since they were five. I think it’s fair that Mingyu reacted the way he did.”

“I was going to ask about his, ah, relationship with Minghao,” Tacita says. She lingers too long on “relationship” and Junhui wants to scream, but there’s a camera in his face. If Mingyu and Minghao’s mom can keep it together, so can he.

“They’re friends, like I said,” Junhui says calmly.

“Like you’re friends with Minghao?” Tacita asks. Junhui loosely committed to a life of non-violence after the Games, but he’s reconsidering.

“I’ve never just been friends with Minghao,” Junhui sighs. It’s a mirror of what Ash said last night. “I’ve always loved him differently. He’s always loved me differently. Is that what you wanted to hear? Or did you want some nonexistent gossip about Mingyu, who wants nothing to do with any of this? I’m so tired, Tacita. If you’re going to shove a microphone at me, at least ask good questions. I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

He really should stop walking away from interviews like this. He probably won’t.

Things always happen too fast and too slow when it gets down to the final few tributes. There are still eight of them left a day later and Junhui can imagine that the crowd is growing impatient—the ninth day has to deliver. When Junhui sees Minghao notice the girl hiding in the trees near a number of the Career’s snares, he knows that it’s going to.

Minghao is as careful about it as he was with the fire. Junhui barely notices his eyes flicker over to the girl before they focus back on Darius, the one who’s gone with Minghao today, but Junhui knows that Minghao knows exactly where the girl is and what she’s doing. Minghao knows what the girl is thinking and Junhui can see it all over her face—she’s going for Darius first. She doesn’t think Minghao noticed her and she’s hoping that she can surprise Minghao enough to take him out, but she knows she wouldn’t be able to do that with Darius.

She won’t be able to with Minghao either, but she doesn’t seem to know that.

The girl—Agnes, Wonwoo whispers—is brave when she nocks her arrow and she’s clearly good with it. Her arrow lands neatly in Darius’ heart. Junhui knows Minghao is acting, he knows that Minghao has to hesitate a moment when she shoots Darius, that he has to act like he’s surprised, but the brief pause where Agnes gets another arrow nocked makes Junhui stop breathing.

Minghao is faster than her. She doesn’t expect it. The shock is still on her face when three knives sink quickly into her chest.

Minghao runs over to Darius, the performance of the century, but there are already two cannons firing, one after another. Minghao tears up and for the first time in the Games, Junhui doesn’t know if it’s real. It might be real, it might not be. Junhui has an itch under his skin that tells him that Minghao isn’t really sure either.

Cress leaves the room without a word. He has to go do what they all have to do. 

Junhui won’t.

The Careers are hunting again. 

They had a strange day of mourning again, just like they did with Marina. It’s the first time Junhui has ever seen it happen—some kind of pause for a dead tribute, like they’re more friend than competitor. Cassia sobbed and Minghao held her in a tight hug like he didn’t let Darius die. 

He won’t appear on Minghao’s kill count, but Junhui knows that Minghao will count it. He’s going to count Darius as his kill right along with Agnes, a girl he used for his own gain right before he killed her. Minghao held Cassia almost too tightly and Junhui knew it would haunt him.

All four of them seem to have returned to some kind of normal when, early in the afternoon, Thaddeus suggests going on a hunt. It doesn’t take much for the others to agree and 7 pm finds them deep into the forest, nearing in on the girl from 9 whether they know it or not. Minghao and Cassia are behind Thaddeus and Veronica, still on long-distance, and Cassia seems to be trying to strike up a conversation that Minghao is trying his best to feign interest in.

“Have I told you that I never wanted to be a tribute?” Cassia asks. 

Minghao hums. “Isn’t that the whole point of the school you went to? To be a tribute?”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to be one,” Cassia says. “It just means I went to the school. It’s not like I chose to go. Juniper is my aunt and I love her, but I wasn’t really interested in following in her footsteps, but it’s a family tradition.”

Junhui looks over at Juniper, who looks proud despite what Cassia is saying about being forced into a family tradition of child murder. Weird.

“That sucks, I’m sorry,” Minghao says. It’s nearly convincing. Wonwoo tries to stifle his laugh and Junhui really wishes Jihoon were here to watch this. 

“It does!” Cassia says. She talks with her hands, even when she’s holding her bow. “I just always hoped I wouldn’t get picked. I should have known the family thing would kick in—Juniper doesn’t choose, but everyone knows she’s my aunt. My reaping was as shocking as yours was.”

Minghao looks sideways at Cassia, poorly veiled disbelief on his face. “Don’t you have to be the best in the school to be chosen as a tribute?”

“Yeah, that’s how 2 does it,” Cassia says. She nods like there’s anything in her brain but cognitive dissonance. Junhui gets that she was forced into the school, but he agrees with the now-obvious disbelief on Minghao’s face—she still clearly tried hard enough to be the best. No one forced her to go that far with it.

“Cass, I don’t really think we had the same reaping day experience,” Minghao says, tone measured. “I’m sure that was hard and it sucks that you were forced into the school, but it’s pretty different than being a random name drawn out of a bowl.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“Huh,” Cassia says. “I guess so, yeah. Just makes me feel different than the others did. I figured you would get it more.”

“I mean, I definitely do,” Minghao laughs. “It’s just a little—”

There’s the sound of a branch breaking off a tree and Minghao and Cassia both whip their heads to the left, weapons drawn. The girl from 9 was hiding up in the branches of one of the trees, but it seems like she tried to go too far up and pulled a weaker branch down. The one she’s standing on is precarious at best. Veronica’s smile when she realizes is haunting.

“Wren, is it?” Veronica asks the girl. At her nod, Veronica laughs, vicious. “Great. Cass, can you shoot Wren in the leg for me?”

“Got it,” Cassia says. Her aim is perfect and as Wren falls out of the tree with a cry, Junhui really wonders how much work she put into being the best. Clearly it wasn’t enough to make her realize she’s just as much of a Career as the others. She laughs when Wren hits the ground.

Veronica’s knife is on her throat immediately and Junhui loves Minghao, he really does, but he can’t take seeing everything that Minghao sees. He’s a little ashamed of the fact that he looks away as Cassia and Minghao are forced to stand back and watch. Wonwoo’s face is horrified when the cannon finally fires and Junhui looks back at him.

“It took five minutes,” Wonwoo says faintly. “I’m going to go, uh, wash my face or something. Sorry. I’ll be back.”

It’s the tenth day and Minghao has been better about holding himself together on hunts, but this one seems to have pushed him over the edge. His face is blank and he doesn’t even give an excuse before he walks away. Junhui saw how far back he was standing, but Cassia, Thaddeus, and Veronica must have done something horrible if Minghao is wiping blood off of his face.

Everything in Junhui hurts, sharp and bright, at the panic on Minghao’s face when he pulls his left hand down, at the way he grips his bracelet while he checks it for blood. It shines bright gold against the scarring on Minghao’s hands from the burn cream working wonders. Junhui hopes they’re able to clean up the scars when Minghao comes home. It’s okay if they don’t. Junhui will still want to hold his hand as desperately as he does right now, will still want to wipe away the tears that fall down Minghao’s face when he realizes the bracelet is clean.

He’s Junhui’s bleeding-heart boy with his blood-stained jacket and his cheeks rubbed nearly raw where he’s tried desperately to clean his face. Junhui wipes at his eyes in time with Minghao, runs a hand through his hair in time with Minghao, and watches in mixed horror and awe as his bleeding-heart boy feigns happiness at the death of a 15-year-old. 

It’s too much. It’s far too much, Junhui wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to do anything but stop watching the monitor, but his knees knock against the tile in the bathroom anyway. Wonwoo finds him there, flushes the toilet, and helps him back to the monitor.

“Get down here.” Jihoon’s voice is frantic when Junhui picks up the phone and Junhui doesn’t ask questions, just counts the seconds until he pushes through the doors into the mentor room. It’s empty save Juniper, who seems to have fallen asleep on the couch in front of her monitor.

“Cassia just woke up the other two. Listen closely to 1,” Jihoon says quietly. “Don’t wake her up.”

Junhui gets barely closer, relying heavily on the hunter’s ears that Minghao has helped him develop to hear rather than risking waking Juniper up. Minghao is still asleep and the others are huddled away from the cornucopia. The main camera is on them, but they’re speaking too quietly to get good audio. 

It’s clear in the mentor room.

“We have to talk about how to take him out,” Cassia whispers. “The plan was for Darius and Thaddeus to do it. Are we going to need all three of us?”

“Yeah, probably in the end,” Veronica says. “He’s gotten stronger over the past week. We’ll kill him and then we’ll split, alright?”

“When?” Thaddeus asks.

“I think we’ll just know, but one of us can signal,” Cassia shrugs. “Not yet though. Let him check the snares in the morning, bring back any food.”

Junhui thinks Thaddeus says it’s a good idea, but he’s already nearly running out the door. He makes sure it doesn’t slam behind him and walks straight to the Game Makers’ room.

Chapter Text

Everyone in this room got here somehow and everyone in this room will have to leave.

— Richard Siken, Unfinished Duet

Minghao is checking the last snare, two rabbits already strung up and attached to his pack, when he hears the mockingjays sing along with the pinging of the parachute. 

Thought you’d like a reprieve. Enjoy, angel. 

—Junhui

It’s a container of blackberries, small and metal. The eleventh day means that the cost of just this handful of berries must have been astronomical. It’s what Junhui has been saving up for since the burn cream on day four. It’s what Minghao has been waiting for.

He nods and smiles, trusting that there's a camera on him. It’s a thanks and a confirmation. Minghao pulls the third rabbit out of the snare, puts the blackberries carefully in his pack, and goes foraging. He’s seen mint and, on one strange day, rosemary, and he’s determined to put the blackberries to good use. His best hope with their supplies is some kind of soup, but it’ll be as good as anything else.

He’s half-convinced that he made the rosemary up until he finally comes across a small bush of it, checking to make sure it’s what he thinks it is before gathering it up and tucking it away with the blackberries. He finds a few other plants and stashes them too, grabbing more dandelion greens than he probably needs. It’s fine. There’s no such thing as too much food in the Arena.

When he makes it back to the cornucopia, it must be nearing 5 am because the sun is up and Minghao’s stomach is letting him know that it’s past time for breakfast.

“Good work with the fire,” Minghao tells Thaddeus, who smiles at him, full of pride. The others have soaked in any information that Minghao has given them, even if it took a few days for them to understand how to get an animal from the snare to a bowl. Minghao didn’t mind. He busies himself preparing the food he’s gathered, waiting for the girls to wake up before telling them about the blackberries. He offers each of them one, saving the rest for the soup, explaining it as some kind of blackberry-herb roasted rabbit something. He’s not a chef. He’s certainly never eating rabbit again after this, so it’s not like it matters that much.

He’s serving the soup before the others can start up their complaints about being hungry—they really are just children in the end. 

They really are just children in the end. It doesn’t take much oleander to kill someone, particularly if the bitter taste is hidden by the taste of berries and herbs and the person is particularly hungry after a day without much food. Thaddeus’ expression when the first cannon fires is shocked, his head whipping over to where Veronica has gone silent. Cassia looks betrayed. Minghao stares back at her and says nothing. Two more cannons fire, echoing in the empty spaces in his chest.

It was the kindest way he could have done it. He tried to be gentle with them. He really tried. 

He closes their eyes, packs away some of the cooked rabbit he set aside, and leaves to let the hovercrafts pick up their bodies. They’ll get to go home looking like they did in life. He really tried.

It feels fitting that it’s down to Lottie and Minghao, that it’s down to Minghao choosing to kill the Careers first so none of them could hurt Lottie. It’s some kind of karma for Minghao’s comment on reaping day—Lottie seems to have been a lot better at this than he thought she would be. Maybe he shouldn’t have given her any tips. Maybe she didn’t need them.

She didn’t. Minghao thinks that it’s rather strange that the knife in his stomach doesn’t hurt at all.

“Oh,” he says quietly. Lottie looks like she might pull the knife out and Minghao’s awareness is too heightened to let her—he gets both hands on the knife, holding it in. Even injured, he’s stronger than her, and she’s too emotional to think twice about it.

“I’m so sorry, Minghao,” Lottie whispers. “I’m so sorry. I had to. I had to do it.”

“I know,” Minghao says. He can’t muster up enough energy to be mad. He’s a bit busy trying not to bleed out.

Lottie manages to accidentally twist the knife and Minghao cries out, much louder than he meant to. He didn’t want Junhui to have to hear him like this. He’s already watching Minghao die.

“I owe you, I’ve owed you so much, and I’m sorry,” Lottie says quickly. “I’m so sorry I’m not paying you back.”

“You still can,” Minghao says slowly. There’s blood on his bracelet. There’s blood all over his bracelet and he’s going to die before she can even pull the knife out. “I need you to tell Jun something, okay?”

“Okay.” Lottie’s voice shakes and Minghao vaguely finds it strange that she’s crying.

“Tell him that it’s going to be okay,” Minghao says. “Tell him I love him. Tell him I’ll always love him.”

“Minghao,” Lottie says faintly. Maybe he just hears her faintly. 

It doesn’t matter what he hears—he feels the pressure of her hands on the knife lessen and he moves faster than he thought he could. The knife is out of his stomach and in Lottie’s chest before he can even apologize.

He has to shove her off of him, has to move quickly to push his hands onto the wound in his stomach and hope that pressure is going to be enough. It has to be enough. They won’t have a victor if it’s not. 

Minghao wonders if they usually pick up the victor first or if he’s just that close to dying. It’s starting to hurt, so he thinks it’s probably the latter. He’s picked up by the hovercraft unceremoniously, all of them apparently more concerned with stopping the bleeding than they are with the visual of Minghao ragdolled in the grips of the crane that drops down to get him.

“You’re going to be okay, Minghao,” someone says. It’s kind of them to say.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the blood on his bracelet or the movement of the hovercraft that blurs the world around him, but he sees enough to know that they manage to get to some kind of medical station that’s more equipped than this hovercraft apparently is—they got a tourniquet on him, but there’s probably more to do than that considering how blotted out around the edges his vision is.

He’s right: he’s in a room with too many doctors right as they bring him in, right as he calls out for Junhui, right as Junhui runs fast enough down the hallway to grab Minghao’s hand before he blacks out.

Chapter Text

after

You can put your strength down. I’m sitting here with you at your kitchen table. You don’t need to say anything.

— Eden Robinson, Writing Prompts for the Broken-hearted

I try, I do. I try and try. A happy ending?

Sure enough — Hello darling, welcome home.

I’ll call you darling, hold you tight. We are

not traitors but the lights go out.

— Richard Siken, Saying Your Names

Junhui is really glad Minghao is smart, because they never actually came up with a signal.

“And why not?” Wonwoo asks, strung out and tired. “What if he misses the meaning?”

“He’ll get it!” Junhui defends, keeping his voice hushed now that there are other mentors in the room. “What happened to your ‘trust him’ mantra?”

“A call at 2 am happened,” Wonwoo sighs. It’s 4 am now and Minghao just woke up and went to check the snares, meaning they’re all biding their time before the parachute drops in. “Jihoon, back me up here.”

“Nah, I think Minghao will get it,” Jihoon says. “Why else would Jun just send him, like, five berries? Let’s be honest.”

“Look, he just smiled!” Junhui says, pointing to the main screen where Minghao has a soft smile on his face. “He got it.”

“Or he got your note,” Wonwoo sighs. “You’re probably right though.”

“Thank you,” Junhui huffs, sitting back. As soon as he does, as soon as they’re not volleying words back and forth, Junhui feels the nervousness set in, something cold and acrid on his tongue. 

Minghao goes through the forest looking for what Junhui has to assume are herbs. It’s why Junhui went with the berries in the first place—when Minghao found the oleander and started drying it out on the second day, Junhui knew that he would have to provide something that would help cover the bitter taste if they hoped to get an entire group of Careers to eat it. The dandelion greens can be blamed for any aftertaste. Finding the oleander is the best thing that could have happened for this part of their plan.

Minghao gets back to the cornucopia and Junhui looks around the room nervously when Minghao pulls the dried oleander out with a sleight of hand and mixes it into the soup. Ash gives him a strange look and taps Wonwoo’s shoulder, whispering something quietly that Junhui can’t make out.

“Hey, Jun?” Wonwoo asks, catching Junhui’s attention. “Let’s go somewhere else. Seokmin has a room set up with Minghao’s monitor and everything.”

“How’d he swing that?” Junhui asks. He lets himself be pulled off the couch, his eyes flickering nervously back to the monitor. He’s a little hesitant to leave right as Minghao is about to try to poison three people and not get caught. 

“Very carefully,” Ash says. “Go with them, Junnie.”

Junhui wants to ask about how long they’ve had this planned, but Wonwoo and Jihoon are walking too quickly and pulling Junhui behind them. Jihoon pushes them through the reporters and Wonwoo blocks Junhui from any microphones with a hand, but Junhui still hears bits of what they’re yelling:

“Do you really think he can win?”

Yes. Junhui does. He thinks it even more when they get into the small room off of a side hallway with the main monitor and Minghao’s monitor set up. He knows that the main monitor will be following Minghao, but the tribute monitor has Minghao’s tracking information on the side—his exact location, his vitals, anything that the Capitol wants information on. It’s a massive invasion of privacy. Junhui is overwhelmingly grateful for it.

On both screens, Minghao serves the soup. Junhui feels his breath catch in his chest. There’s no telling how long it will take for the oleander to work and Minghao busies himself with “clean-up” and stoking the fire that Thaddeus poorly made to avoid eating, but he’ll only be able to put it off for so long. The worst thing that could happen is that one of them picks up on it. 

“Why is he staying? Why wouldn’t he leave in case they figure it out?” Wonwoo asks. “The cannons would tell him if it worked.”

As much as Junhui wants Minghao to just run, to get as far away as he can in case something goes wrong, he knows that Minghao won’t.  “He’s owning it,” Junhui says quietly. He leans against the counter at the back of the little room, too wired to sit in one of the strange blue chairs. “These are his friends and he’s killing them. He’s going to be there to see it through.”

He sees it through. Veronica goes first and Minghao doesn’t flinch when the cannon fires, doesn’t flinch at the look Thaddeus gives him before his own cannon fires either. No, Minghao doesn’t flinch until Cassia almost desperately asks him what he did. Minghao says nothing, just holds eye contact, but there’s anguish all over his face. He never wanted to do this. He never wanted this. He had a few options for how to take all of them out and this is the kindest way, so of course he was going to do it this way, but he never wanted this. 

There’s no pain when Cassia goes. That belongs to Minghao.

Wonwoo steps closer to the monitor as Minghao closes their eyes and starts to pack some of the rabbit he set aside. “So, he’s going to go after—”

“Lottie,” Junhui breathes out as he sees her. Minghao doesn’t. “No, no, no.”

“Turn around, Minghao,” Jihoon whispers. Junhui would be able to feel the tension in the room if he could feel anything at all.

Minghao’s surprise is so familiar to Junhui. Minghao with a knife in his stomach is so familiar to Junhui.

Junhui screams. 

Wonwoo has his arms around Junhui’s waist, holding him up, keeping him from sinking to the floor. Everything in Junhui hurts, sharp and bright and pitching up as he watches Minghao’s vitals start to drop. Lottie moves wrong and Minghao cries out and Junhui cries out, echoing off the walls of the concrete room.

“No, no, no, please,” Wonwoo whispers. 

“Hold onto the knife, hold it, hold it,” Jihoon chants. Junhui watches Minghao look down and see that his hands are covered in his own blood. Lottie keeps apologizing and for the first time, Minghao’s bracelet isn’t glinting gold. There’s only red. Junhui coughs, choking on his tears and the blood in his mouth.

“You still can,” Minghao says, breaking through the static in Junhui’s head. “I need you to tell Jun something, okay?”

“No!” Junhui yells, his fingernails tearing at his arms, tearing at Wonwoo’s arms. “No, please don’t do this, please don’t go—”

“Tell him that it’s going to be okay,” Minghao says. “Tell him I love him. Tell him I’ll always love him.”

“No, no, no, no,” Junhui sobs, but it’s incoherent. Nothing he’s saying makes sense, nothing he’s hearing makes sense, there’s nothing. He’s nothing. “Please, please, no—”

It happens so quickly. It always happens so quickly. Minghao’s blood paints the grass when he pulls the knife out of his stomach, Lottie’s paints the grass when he pushes a knife into her chest, and Junhui screams again because there’s a knife in Lottie’s chest and Minghao won, but his vitals are dropping too fast. Junhui can’t stop sobbing.

“Holy shit.” Wonwoo’s grip tightens on Junhui before he lets go as the hovercraft picks up Minghao first. It picks him up first. “Ji, get Seokmin or Jeonghan. Find out where they’re taking him.”

Jihoon throws open the door and Junhui can make out Hansol, Jeonghan, and Seokmin and the way they’re pushing reporters back. Jeonghan shoves hard at Tacita and turns his head. “Jun! Take the stairs down! They’re bringing him here!”

Junhui has no fucking idea how Jeonghan would know that, but Jeonghan seems to know everything and Junhui is sprinting down the hallway for the stairs before he can question it. One reporter manages to make it through the three men, running after Junhui until he’s thrown back by Wonwoo. The reporters seem to realize that there are two victors in the mix now and start to pull back, but Junhui is already through the door into the stairwell.

The hallway to the medical unit is too fucking long, but Junhui didn’t need to worry about finding Minghao. They pull him in from the hovercraft and Minghao is still conscious, he’s still Junhui’s, and he calls out Junhui’s name and something cracks open in Junhui’s chest.

Minghao’s hand is too cold when Junhui takes it and Junhui’s body runs too cold when Minghao passes out.

Junhui always tries to forcibly forget their Capitol escort’s name. Unfortunately, there’s something about how Salus says “Happy 75th Hunger Games, our Third Quarter Quell!” like he’s announcing a birthday party that makes Junhui remember his name just to curse him. Junhui is admittedly distracted by the reaping, but he makes note of it anyway.

The Quarter Quell was always meant to be cruel. Junhui thinks it’s crueler to 7 than the other districts—the only thing worse than sending a 13-year-old into the Arena is sending a 12-year-old. Junhui is used to holding Minghao when he cries, but Nico is so small, like he should have been much younger than 12. It feels different. Nico dies on the first day and Junhui has to try not to be grateful.

Rowan holds on for too long. Tacita asks Junhui how he would feel if there was a new “youngest victor” and Junhui has to walk away so he doesn’t start screaming.

Bad. He would feel pretty bad about it.

They never let the victors go home until the end of the Games, solely for the image of all of them surrounding the 16-year-old from 4, welcoming her into the long line of people with ghosts in their eyes. The train ride home after the last horrifying interview is somehow the most nauseating part. It was too loud with both Rowan and Nico in their car. It’s too quiet without them.

His house is too quiet when he and the Capitol attendant hauling his bags finally get there. The attendant wants to take the bags upstairs, Junhui knows it’s what he was told to do, but Junhui gently waves him off and finally gets him to just set the bags down by the door before he leaves. Junhui knows he’s being overprotective when he does it, but if the past is anything to go by, Junhui has the right to be protective of what’s in his bedroom.

He does. Minghao is asleep when Junhui walks in, curled into Junhui’s blankets and gone to the world. It’s late, well past when Minghao normally goes to bed, but Junhui knows he tried to hold out. In the past five years, Minghao has only been able to stay up until Junhui gets in once, but it’s the thought that counts. Junhui showers quickly, grateful to come home to his one button for his one source of water and the lack of critical thought needed for it, and crawls into bed next to Minghao.

It jostles Minghao and he blinks awake slowly, his eyes still a little hazy. He must have been out for a while. When he finally focuses on Junhui, the smile on his face feels a lot like absolution. Junhui let Rowan and Nico die. He's let a lot of people die. He’s killed a lot of people. Minghao still smiles at him like this.

“Hey, missed you,” Minghao says. His voice is hoarse, rough but still soft, and for some reason, that’s what makes Junhui cry. “Oh, Junnie. C’mere.”

Junhui feels like a child when he shifts so he can curl into Minghao’s arms, so he can cry into Minghao’s shoulder and get his own t-shirt wet when he does.

“I’m so sorry,” Minghao whispers. He’s surrounding Junhui, trying to make himself bigger like he always does, trying to make Junhui feel safe again. “I’m so sorry they made you do that. I’m so sorry they did that to them.”

“Them.” Minghao has always said “him.” Junhui cries twice as much, mourns twice as much, feels the grief try to drown him twice as much as it always does. 

“I couldn’t do it,” Junhui whispers once he catches his breath. “I couldn’t have saved them both even if I could save one.”

“You couldn’t have saved either of them, Junnie,” Minghao says softly. “No one can be saved once they’re reaped. You’re the one who told me that. You can’t keep doing this to yourself every time.”

That’s different too. Minghao always sits and lets Junhui cry, lets him beat himself black and blue with the regret and anger that drips out of his mouth. It’s helpful. This is helpful too. Minghao speaks with conviction like he’s been thinking about this since Junhui left. He probably has been. He knew as well as Junhui did that there wasn’t any hope this year. The Quarter Quell is meant to punish the victors just as much as it’s meant to punish the districts. They may have won the Games, but it doesn’t mean anything in the end. None of it does.

Junhui couldn’t have saved them. He couldn’t have. They were beyond saving when they entered the Arena, when they got fives for their training scores, when their mothers said goodbye to them, when their names were called. They were beyond saving when they were born outside the Capitol. All of them are.

None of them can be saved. Junhui cries. Minghao holds him. They don’t say anything else.

“Are you going to leave the room at all?” Jeonghan asks Junhui. They’re in Minghao’s room in the medical wing, still bustling in the evening hour, and both of them are holding one of Minghao’s hands like he hasn’t been unconscious for 12 hours, like his grip isn’t nonexistent. “Or do we need to bring things in for you?”

“I don’t think I can leave,” Junhui says. Admits, maybe. It’s not a bad thing, but it sounds a little desperate. He’s not pretending to be anything else.

“That’s alright,” Jeonghan says with a sigh. “We’ll all take shifts with you. Seokmin’s up next and I can have him bring you something to eat. He might cry, just so you’re prepared. He hasn’t seen Minghao since he came out of the Arena.”

“Everyone’s probably a little restless because of that,” Junhui says. “How’s the Capitol taking it?”

“Eh,” Jeonghan shrugs. “No one is taking the postponement of the interview well, but there’s a lot of hope that it’ll be tomorrow. All of the reporting about his recovery has been overwhelmingly positive.”

“Something has to be,” Junhui sighs. “I can’t say I’m feeling the same.”

“He’ll pull through, you heard them.” Jeonghan says it like he’s talking to a child. It’s fair. “They were able to fix everything, but his body is exhausted and he lost a lot of blood. It’s going to take him a while to recover from that. Give him some more time.”

Junhui can’t look away from Minghao’s face. He looks almost peaceful, like he’s sleeping in Junhui’s bed at home after the Games like he always does, like nothing is bothering him. They almost couldn’t save some of his organs and his hands are too smooth from the scar removal, but he looks like nothing is wrong. Junhui wants to scream. He wants to sob. He wants to kneel down and pray to a God that’s never liked him very much.

“I watched his vitals drop,” Junhui whispers. “His tracker showed his vitals and we could see them on the mentor screens. His heartbeat was barely there. I watched him as he died and he didn’t die and I’m still so scared. I’m scared like he isn’t right in front of me.”

“You got him back,” Jeonghan says gently. “You brought him home. He’s going to go home with you. You saved him.”

None of them can be saved. Minghao is coming home with Junhui. Junhui didn’t save him.

“Yeah,” Junhui says instead of anything that he’s really thinking. “I just need him to wake up. I saw him awake for a second, but even then, his hands were so cold. He was so cold.”

“He’s pretty warm now, I’ll give him that,” Jeonghan laughs. “My hand is so sweaty.”

“But you haven’t let go,” Junhui says, a smile finally breaking onto his face. It aches a little. Junhui isn’t going to think about it.

“Of course not,” Jeonghan says. “I’m pretty sure he’s my kid now. I can’t just sit in here and not hold his hand. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I think he’s alright with that,” Junhui laughs. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for him and for me. Hansol said you really helped with sponsorships and with keeping the reporters back.”

Jeonghan smiles and switches so he’s holding Minghao’s hand in both of his. “It was nothing. I’m afraid the reporters still heard you though. I’m sure that’ll be fun at the interview.”

“Sorry you have to be on stage for that,” Junhui grimaces. “I wish they would keep you and Seokmin out of it. At least we have some time to prepare.”

“And we can thank Minghao’s organs for that one,” Jeonghan laughs. “He’ll be alright, Jun. He’s stronger than any of us by a mile.”

“He certainly is,” Seokmin says from the doorway. “It’s been 12 hours since he got out and he already looks like he’s Sleeping Beauty or something.”

“It’s crazy, right?” Junhui laughs. “He’s like that at home too. Looking like that is easy for him.”

“And you’re sure you two just got together?” Jeonghan teases as he switches spots with Seokmin, who takes Minghao’s hand immediately. It makes something in Junhui’s chest flare up light, even as Jeonghan’s question embarasses him enough to heat up a blush across his face. “You sound like you’ve been in love with him for years.”

“I’m pretty sure I have been,” Junhui shrugs, a see-through kind of casual. “It’s fine. We’re good now and that’s all that matters.”

Junhui isn’t going to talk about the anxious thought buzzing at the back of his brain that Minghao will wake up and not want him anymore, that Minghao only went along with what Junhui wanted because he was about to go into the Arena. Junhui knows that Minghao wouldn’t do that, he knows that, but until Minghao wakes up, the bitterness and desperation is going to keep clawing at the back of his throat, threatening to choke him. He needs Minghao to wake up. 

Minghao’s hand is still limp.

“Seok, I texted you about bringing dinner,” Jeonghan says softly. “Did you not get it?”

“No, sorry,” Seokmin says. He’s clearly distracted, his eyes running over Minghao like he’s checking on him, but Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair to pull his attention back. “Sorry. I can go get something now.”

“I’ve got it, sweetheart,” Jeonghan whispers. Junhui aches. “I’ll be back in a bit. You stay.”

Once Jeonghan is gone, Junhui clears his throat to get Seokmin’s attention. “Pretty lucky that you guys both got placed with 7.”

Seokmin laughs. “Nobody is ever lucky here, my dear.” He doesn’t say anything else, just winks and goes back to examining Minghao.

There’s a knock on the door and Junhui is about to say something about being surprised that Jeonghan came back so quickly, but it’s Wonwoo hovering in the doorway instead. He’s a welcome sight.

“Hey, I just came to check on both of you,” Wonwoo says. Seokmin starts to stand to let Wonwoo take a place at Minghao’s side, but he shakes his head. “Sit down, Seokmin, I’m fine. It’s good to walk around for the first time in two weeks.”

“Felt that,” Junhui says. “I’m afraid I’m not quite there yet.”

“Do they have any idea when he’ll wake up?” Wonwoo asks.

Junhui shakes his head. “No, not yet. They said it could be in the next few hours or it could be a few days. He’s exhausted.”

“I can imagine.” Wonwoo’s laugh is almost hesitant. Junhui remembers what Wonwoo sounded like in that room too. Seokmin, Jeonghan, and Hansol were able to avoid watching it, but Jihoon and Wonwoo were right there with Junhui. Wonwoo watched. “He took a beating. I’m really proud of him though. I’ll be able to tell him—they’re still not sending us home until after the interview.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Junhui says with a grimace. “I know your family is waiting.”

“They’ll be there,” Wonwoo says. “I’m glad I’ll get to see him once he’s awake. It’ll be a better image than the last one I have of him.”

The last image Junhui has of him is the ghost of a smile and the squeeze of his hand. The last image Wonwoo has of him is red.

“It’ll be good, yeah,” Junhui says instead of screaming. “Where’s Jihoon?”

“Interviews,” Wonwoo shrugs. “They can’t get to you, so they’ve been hounding us. I don’t know if you know this, but our friend is a little famous.”

Junhui huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, sure. Thank you guys. I know I should go do one, but…” Junhui looks at Minghao as he trails off.

Seokmin clears his throat. “Actually, they did tell me that I needed to get you to do one interview. Just one before the Caesar interview.”

Junhui knows not to shoot the messenger, but he kind of wants to. “What if he wakes up?”

“Then he’ll be awake when you get back,” Wonwoo says. “Go on, I’ll sit with him. I’ll even hold his hand for you.”

“How kind of you,” Junhui says before he sighs and stands. “Fine. I’m not taking an interview with Tacita though. Fuck that bitch.”

He takes the interview with Clio—he might as well go with Tacita’s competitor and piss her off if he’s going to have to suffer through an interview. Junhui steps out onto the main floor from the elevator and even though he gets immediately swarmed, he can see her glaring at him from across the room when he calls out Clio’s name. The Red Sea of leeches parts to let her through. They move to a quieter hallway and Junhui finally takes a breath.

“Thanks for giving me the interview,” Clio says with a bright smile. “I’m sure you know what I’m going to ask.”

“I don’t know much right now, so why don’t you go ahead and ask?” Junhui says. He’s really trying to be amicable here. Clio’s face doesn’t change, so it’s working well enough.

“How do you feel now that Minghao won?” Clio asks. He wishes she would be more specific, but sure.

He gives a half-smile. Very convincing, Junhui. He tries again and pulls a full smile on. “Proud. I’m so proud of him for how hard he fought to get home. I’m proud of him for how hard he’s still fighting.”

“Do you know when he’ll wake up?”

“Whenever Sleeping Beauty decides to, I suppose,” Junhui laughs, all fake sweetness. Minghao is going to eat him alive for that one. Here’s hoping he never finds out. “To be honest though, no, we don’t know. He’s exhausted and he lost a lot of blood.”

“How hard was it for you to watch him get stabbed?” Clio asks. It would be nice if she would even slightly hesitate before asking something so insane, but she doesn’t give him that courtesy.

Junhui tries to suppress his laugh. It feels a little insensitive considering his best friend-slash-boyfriend is still lying unconscious in the medical unit, but Minghao would laugh too because what is Junhui even supposed to say? “Awful. It was awful. I thought I lost him.”

“Are you angry with Charlotte for it?”

“No,” Junhui says quickly. He’s surprised at how true it is. “Every tribute is just trying to survive. Minghao wasn’t upset with her either. She was doing what she had to. Of course I don’t love it, but I knew Lottie. She was a fighter. She fought until the end. I can’t slight her for that.”

Okay, maybe that’s going a bit far. He’s sad Lottie is dead and he’s not angry with her, but he can at least slight her for stabbing Minghao so thoroughly.

“What now, Jun?” Clio asks. “He hinted that if he were to come home, the two of you could be together.”

“I guess we’ll all find out when he wakes up,” Junhui says with a small smile. “I love him more than anything and he came back to me. I think we’ll be alright. As for what’s next, we’ll go home and we’ll try to cope with everything that happened and we’ll do it together.”

“I’m happy for you, Jun. We all are,” Clio says, giving Junhui what he thinks might be her real smile. “We’re happy for you both. Our victors.”

Junhui doesn’t flinch and he doesn’t let his face move from that small, bashful smile. 

It’s an honor, Clio, to be your victors and to do it together. That’s what he should say. “Thank you all for your support,” he says instead. “All of you helped bring him back to me. I’ll always be grateful for it.”

“Will we see you at the interview as well?”

“Of course,” Junhui says. “You’re going to be hard pressed to get me to stay away from him for that long. On that note, I really should go back downstairs. My hand is a little empty right now.”

It’s that last line that does it. Predictable. Everyone loves romance. Junhui doesn’t think that he’s particularly good at it, but it’s working well enough.

“Oh, absolutely, please go!” Clio says, nearly ushering him away. Junhui goes with it. “Give him our well wishes when he wakes up and we’ll see you both soon.”

Junhui waves goodbye and rolls his eyes at Tacita when she glares at him again as he goes back to the elevator. He has bigger things to worry about, thank you very much.

The hallway is still too long and, wait— Junhui is walking far too quickly because he thinks he hears Minghao’s laugh, he really does, and he might be going insane, but—

“Whenever Sleeping Beauty decides to?” Minghao asks when Junhui comes to a stop in the doorway. “Really, Jun?”

Chapter Text

God said:

        GOD MADE YOU. GOD DOES NOT CARE IF YOU ARE “GUILTY” OR NOT.

I said:

        I CARE IF I AM GUILTY!

I CARE IF I AM GUILTY!

God was silent.

        Everything was SILENT.

I lay back down in the snow.

— Frank Bidart, Half-light: Collected Poems 1965-2016

“Oh my God,” Junhui rushes out. He sits on the edge of the bed and takes Minghao’s hand. “Oh my God. Hi. I want to name the cat ‘Shrimp.’’”

It’s a stupid name. Minghao knew it was going to be a stupid name. 

“I love you,” Minghao says instead of what he was thinking. Fitting that it would come out first. “Hi. I love you so much. I can’t believe we’re naming a cat ‘Shrimp.’”

Junhui stalls like he’s still trying to figure out what’s going on before tears start brimming in his eyes. “Hi. I love you so fucking much. I missed you so much. We’re naming a cat something stupid and I love you.”

Minghao is aware of Seokmin and Wonwoo leaving the room, though Seokmin hesitates in the doorway when Minghao tries to sit up more and nearly whines with the pain. Wonwoo takes Seokmin’s arm and guides him out, shutting the door behind them, and Minghao is grateful.

Junhui moves closer and sets a soft hand on Minghao’s chest. “Lay back, little one. You’re still recovering, it’s okay.”

“I thought they fixed me,” Minghao says. It comes out a little petulant, but what else is the Capitol supposed to be good for? 

Junhui winces. “They did fix you. You didn’t bleed out, but the wound was deep and you’re going to have some leftover pain for a bit. You still have a scar too.”

“Fuck.” Minghao didn’t really need a reminder of the feeling of Lottie’s knife in his stomach and of Lottie’s knife not in his stomach, but of course they would fix some parts of him and say “fuck it” to the others. They only care about the visuals. 

“I’m so sorry, Hao,” Junhui whispers. He brings Minghao’s hand up to his lips, brushing a kiss across his fingers, and that’s what does it for Minghao. That’s what finally makes him cry. The sobs he lets out are horrible and they’re mixed with the pain of how hard he’s breathing, some awful combination of everything Minghao has held in for the past two weeks. 

Junhui helps Minghao adjust so they’re both lying on the bed, Minghao lying on his good side and curling into Junhui like Junhui can make it all stop. No one can, but Junhui wraps himself around Minghao like he’s trying to anyway.

“I missed you,” Junhui says softly while Minghao catches his breath. “Kept hearing your stupid comments in my head all the time.”

Minghao huffs out a laugh. “I heard you chastising me for, like, all of my decisions. It was crazy.”

“Hey now,” Junhui says, like he’s actually offended. His smile is giving him away. “I wouldn’t have chastised you for any of your decisions!”

“Not the night in the rain when I put myself on guard in front of Thaddeus?” Minghao asks.

Junhui hesitates. Minghao loves him. “Okay, maybe I’d chastise you for one or two choices. We didn’t know that the mutts wouldn’t come out of the forest! Are you insane?”

“It worked out,” Minghao shrugs. “And yes, to answer your question. I kind of felt insane.”

“You did it though,” Junhui says softly. “You did it. You got out. We’re going home.”

Minghao has been nauseous with pain since he woke up, but this is a different kind of sickness. He’s tipping off balance and the vertigo is pulling him to the ground, pulling him six feet under. 

“Yeah,” Minghao whispers. He turns his face into Junhui’s chest, blocking out the light. He just— Needs a second. He needs a second. “Did Ash call Lottie’s family?”

“Oh, honey,” Junhui says. It’s too sad, too knowing. “She did. They asked how you were.”

Minghao doesn’t quite swallow down some kind of pitiful sound, torn from his chest. Everything is tearing. The wound in his stomach was tearing. Lottie did that, but he was worse. He didn’t miss like she did.

“I want to apologize,” Minghao says, “but it wouldn’t be fair. They shouldn’t have to forgive me.”

“No, they shouldn’t,” Junhui says. His arms tighten around Minghao when that same pitiful sound comes out again, a wounded animal kind of hurt. “I’m sorry, baby, I just don’t want to lie to you. I never spoke to Ivy’s parents. It wasn’t fair for me to do it either.”

Ivy, the other tribute from 7 along with Junhui. Minghao remembers her death. He remembers Junhui crying when her face was projected into the sky four days in. Junhui didn’t even kill her and he didn’t speak to her parents. Lottie’s parents asked how he was. None of it makes sense. Nothing makes sense.

“She was almost home,” Minghao whispers. “She was two minutes away from winning. She just had to pull the knife out and she would have gone home. I took their daughter from them. She was supposed to go home.”

“She wasn’t supposed to do anything,” Junhui says, his tone dropping into something like conviction. He puts a hand under Minghao’s chin, pulling gently until Minghao is looking at him. “There’s no ‘supposed to’ in the Arena. You had a chance and you took it. You get to go home because of it.”

Home. “Have you talked to my mom?” Minghao asks. He can’t keep thinking about Lottie right now. He’s still going to, but he can at least change the subject. 

“I have, yeah,” Junhui says, a little lighter. Minghao lets it lift him too. “She and Mingyu both. They’ve been staying at my house since the reaping. They broke in, Minghao. Mingyu had to replace a window.”

Minghao’s laugh feels too harsh, but he tries. “I have a key in my room and he knows that.”

“He said something about you being mad if he went through your stuff when I talked to him the first night,” Junhui says. “He’s a brat. They’re both really excited to see you. They told me to tell you that they love you.”

“Mingyu said that?” Minghao asks.

Junhui’s smile is so bright. Minghao missed him so much. “Your mom said that for both of them. He tried to say something else and I’m pretty sure she hit him, so they both send their love, I guess.”

Minghao’s smile is a mirror. “Sounds about right. When do we get to go home? When’s the stupid interview?”

“The stupid interview should be tomorrow,” Junhui says with a laugh. “I’m not sure if they’ll push it up or keep it in the evening, but you’ve got the night off considering the whole stabbing thing.”

Minghao huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, the whole stabbing thing makes interviewing me a little hard. Do you think they’d let me go up to the apartment? This room sucks.”

Minghao has a sneaking suspicion that Jeonghan was waiting outside the door, because he pops in to answer immediately. “This room really does suck. You’re cleared to go upstairs whenever you want. Hello, my dear.”

“Hi,” Minghao says, the word stretching with his smile. It aches. He keeps it on anyway. 

“We’ve been waiting for you to wake up for hours,” Jeonghan teases. “Your hand was so sweaty.”

“Hey, I don’t think that’s my fault,” Minghao laughs.

“It’s not, but I love complaining,” Jeonghan shrugs. “Let’s go upstairs, boys.”

Jeonghan and Junhui both have to help Minghao out of bed. It’s not a great sign. Minghao tries not to let it get to him, but he’s not very good at that right now. His left side is worse and Junhui is bearing too much of Minghao’s weight. He’s really not very good at that right now.

They manage to avoid any reporters who may have heard that he’s awake by the grace of whatever God wants to take credit and Jeonghan has stepped back to let Junhui hold Minghao up by the time they get to 7’s apartment. It’s surprisingly loud, despite the lack of one person who’s meant to be here. Jihoon and Wonwoo are talking to Seokmin about something that Minghao can’t quite catch, but that’s alright. One thing at a time. Right now, he’s trying not to eat shit because he can’t support his own weight. He’s a little busy.

There’s another person that’s suspiciously gone. Ash is nowhere to be found and Minghao’s stomach sinks because he’s pretty sure he knows why she’s made herself scarce. There’s no telling when she’ll turn up when she gets upset like this, but Minghao hopes it’s sooner rather than later. Someone needs to let go of their guilt and it’s certainly not going to be him, so he’ll try to alleviate Ash’s as much as he can.

“Minghao!” Jihoon says, excited but hushed. Minghao appreciates him more and more by the minute. “It’s really good to see you.”

“Good to see you too,” Minghao says with a smile. “I guess we’d better get to know each other more if we’re going to keep meeting like this.”

There’s a moment of silence where it sinks in for everyone and Minghao doesn’t try to break it. He’s too tired.

“I feel like I already know everything about you,” Wonwoo says finally. “Jun hasn’t shut the fuck up about you for years, man. It was getting embarrassing for him.”

Junhui nearly yelps his affronted “hey!” as if what Wonwoo is saying is some kind of lie. Minghao has the distinct feeling that it’s not. 

“It wasn’t embarrassing,” Junhui huffs. “I just wanted to talk about my good friend Minghao.”

“Your very good friend,” Jihoon laughs, “who you should take to your room. He looks like he’s about to go down.”

“God, thank you,” Minghao groans. “Please let me lay down again.”

Junhui moves quickly, but he’s still cautious as he helps Minghao to his own bedroom. Minghao wonders what the sheets in the other bedroom feel like. He wouldn’t know. “Shit, sorry, I should have paid more attention. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Minghao assures. Junhui helps him adjust on the bed and Minghao finally feels like he’s not going to almost keel over again. “I was about to say something. I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Junhui gives him a dubious look. It’s fair—Minghao probably doesn’t look great. He’s planning to avoid any mirrors out of the hope that he can go on just not knowing. “You still need the pain meds, don’t you?”

“They said that the pain meds will put me to sleep,” Minghao half-protests. It’s all he can muster up.

“I’m going to get them,” Junhui says. He leans down to kiss Minghao’s forehead, soft and sweet. “I’ll be back up in a second. Please sleep if you need to.”

Minghao hums noncommittally and Junhui gives him another look before he leaves. There’s someone else opening the door quickly enough that Minghao wonders what Junhui could have forgotten, but Ash is slipping into the room and quietly shutting the door behind her. She stops and stands nervously near the door, hovering.

“Hey,” Minghao says, patting the bed next to him. “Come sit.”

“Are you sure?” Ash asks. Minghao nods and she hesitates before finally coming to sit next to him, taking his hand when he puts it out. “I’m so sorry, Minghao. I’m so sorry I did this to you.”

“Ash, you didn’t do anything to me,” Minghao says. He sits up more, satisfied that the pain doesn’t ripple through him as strongly. “None of this could possibly be your fault.”

“I kept her alive,” Ash says quietly. It’s pitiful—her voice is small like Minghao has only heard on the days she’s furthest into her memories. Minghao wonders how much this has brought up. He wonders how much they’ll need to sit with her. “I didn’t mean to do it for so long. I promise I stopped on the sixth day.”

“You wouldn’t have done anything wrong if you kept helping her,” Minghao insists. Ash starts to shake her head and Minghao squeezes her hand, cutting her off. “No, Ash, I’m serious. Lottie did what she had to do to survive and then she did what she had to do to win. She’s the one who stabbed me, not you.”

“I helped her,” Ash says. “I told her to learn how to use a knife, I sent her a spile when she couldn’t find water, I did that. I helped her and then she—”

“Ash,” Minghao says sharply. Sometimes it’s the only way to get her attention. Her eyes are too clear and it’s almost unnerving. “Ash, I’m not mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did everything right, actually. You took care of her so Jun didn’t have to and I know it must have been awful, but you did that for him.”

“I did it for you too,” Ash says quietly. “I’m really glad you came back, Minghao. For all of us.”

Minghao’s smile hurts. He wonders when it won’t. “I’m really glad I came back. For you too. Thank you for helping me. Thank you for helping him.”

“Yeah, well,” Ash says, running a hand through her hair. She’s brushed it recently. “You’re my boys. Couldn’t just let you down.”

“Never have,” Minghao says. “Are you okay?”

Ash’s smile looks like it hurts too. “Not really. Memories and all of that, you know how it goes. I’ll be better once we’re home.”

“It’ll be easier once we’re home,” Minghao offers. It’s the best he can do with how scrambled his brain feels.

“I’ll let you get some sleep,” Ash says, squeezing his hand. “Junhui will be back in a minute. He missed you, kid. He was a wreck. Hopefully both of you can sleep.”

“You too,” Minghao says. Ash nods and Minghao hopes she means it. She runs a soft hand through his hair before she leaves, shutting the door softly behind her.

Junhui is back soon after, a bright smile blooming on his face as soon as he sees Minghao again. It settles the burning in Minghao’s chest that feels a lot like a question he’s too afraid to ask. Maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe Junhui still wants him like this.

“I’m sorry to say that these will knock you out,” Junhui says, handing Minghao two pills and a bottle of water.

“No, you’re not,” Minghao says. He swallows the pills obediently at the look that Junhui gives him. “I heard you need to sleep too, Junnie.” 

Junhui’s smile turns a little rueful before he turns around, changing quickly and refusing to look at Minghao. “And who told you that?”

“Ash,” Minghao says. “She seems like she would know. Come lay down with me?”

“‘Course.” Junhui is soft when he lays down, softer still when he pulls Minghao to his chest, tucking a hand under Minghao’s shirt on his hip. It brushes against Minghao’s scar and he tries not to wince, but Junhui draws his hand back anyway.

“No, please—” Minghao doesn’t know how to explain that he needs it to feel real, that he needs Junhui to feel real alongside something that the Games gave him. “Please.”

“Okay, Hao,” Junhui says after a moment. He rucks Minghao’s shirt up again and places his hand gently on the scar. “I’m sorry.”

“About what?” Minghao asks. He wants to look up at Junhui, but the medicine is already setting in and Minghao can’t quite pick himself up.

“It’s—” Junhui sighs. “We’ll talk about it later. Go to sleep, little one. I love you.”

“Love you,” Minghao murmurs as Junhui kisses the top of his head. 

He doesn’t dream.

Junhui does. 

Minghao wakes up a few hours later to Junhui clawing at his arms and muttering something in his sleep, something that sounds a lot like Minghao’s name and some kind of “I’m sorry.” Minghao sits up quickly, grabbing Junhui’s hands and lacing their fingers together before he uses their joined hands to shake Junhui’s shoulder a little too harshly. He can never afford to be gentle when Junhui has nightmares.

“Jun, wake up,” Minghao says. It feels a little urgent. Junhui says Minghao’s name again and it’s urgent. “Junhui, Jun. Wake up, Junnie.”

Junhui wakes up with a harsh gasp, too sharp breaths wracking through him. There are tears in his eyes, but Minghao can’t see them anymore when Junhui finally focuses on him and pulls him in for a tight hug.

“Oh, baby,” Minghao whispers. He runs a hand through Junhui’s hair, letting him soak the t-shirt that Junhui must have gotten him into when he was in the medical wing. “I’m so sorry. You’re safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.”

Junhui cries harder and it clicks in Minghao’s brain. Junhui was watching him die again. Junhui saw him almost die and now he’s always going to see it. 

Minghao runs his hand up and down Junhui’s back, soothing, and he lets Junhui catch his breath before he speaks again. “Do you want to sit by the window with me?”

“Can we open it?” Junhui asks. His voice is small and hesitant like Minghao rarely hears it. Minghao nods and starts to pull Junhui out of bed and over to the window, unlocking it and swinging one of the panes open before he helps Junhui up into the sill. Minghao goes to sit across from him, but Junhui tugs on his hand until Minghao is leaning against him, his back to Junhui’s chest. Junhui’s hands linger under Minghao’s shirt, his arms wrapped around Minghao’s waist. He rests his forehead against Minghao’s shoulder and Minghao waits quietly, tapping a pattern into Junhui’s thigh.

“Do you remember Thistle?”

Minghao remembers Thistle. She was Junhui’s first kill. There was so much blood. Junhui still has nightmares about her. Minghao takes one of Junhui’s hands and holds on tightly.

“I do,” Minghao says quietly.

“It started the first night you went in.” Minghao has to struggle to understand what Junhui is saying—he’s muffling it against Minghao’s shoulder—but Minghao can hear the shame laced in it. “She was you. I was stabbing you. Every time I went to sleep, every time I closed my eyes, I saw it happen again. It felt like my mind was just taunting me, but then you— The exact same way. It was the exact same, Hao.”

Minghao’s stomach turns over and he swallows down the nausea that rises when he realizes what Junhui is saying. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you have to see that. I’m sorry that you had to watch.”

He’s sorry that Junhui had to watch any of it. Thistle, Minghao in his dreams, Minghao bleeding out in the Arena, Minghao not waking up for hours. Junhui never deserved this. He never deserved it happening again either.

“I thought you were—” Junhui takes a deep breath in time with the wind outside. Minghao shivers in the cold and Junhui tightens his arms around his waist. “I thought you were gone. I thought that was it.”

“I did too,” Minghao admits. “I thought I was gone too.”

He leans his head back against Junhui’s shoulder and Junhui puts a hand under Minghao’s chin, turning his face to the side and pressing a light kiss to his temple. Minghao’s smile is instinctual, an immediate reaction to how gentle Junhui is. It doesn’t hurt.

“Thank you for coming back to me,” Junhui whispers.

“Can we stay like this for a little bit?” Minghao asks.

Junhui hums and doesn’t say anything else.

The knock on the door in the morning is distinctly Seokmin’s. The fact that he doesn’t wait before opening the door is distinctly Seokmin.

“Good morning, children,” Seokmin singsongs. It’s too early for this. Junhui groans as some kind of response, but it only makes Seokmin laugh and Minghao buries his face further into Junhui’s shoulder.

“What time s’it?” Junhui asks.

“Ten!” Seokmin says, clapping his hands. “I held Jeonghan off as long as I could. The interview is in seven hours and he has to make all of us presentable beforehand. Much to do, much to do. Come eat first, please.”

Seokmin is gone as fast as he came, leaving Minghao trying to process too many words in his wake.

Minghao feels Junhui shake his head and laugh and there’s a smile on his face by the time Junhui moves them so he’s above Minghao. Junhui runs a hand through Minghao’s hair and the matching smile on his face is bright.

“Good morning,” Junhui says softly. “You look cute.”

“I feel like I look pretty rough, actually,” Minghao laughs.

“You could never,” Junhui teases. “You look happy though. Missed your little laugh.”

“Yeah, well, I’m with you,” Minghao says. He can feel his blush heating his cheeks. “I’ve always been happy with you.”

Junhui’s expression drops into what Minghao would almost call “wonder.” It doesn’t help his blush. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Minghao whispers. If this were the day before the Games, he would reach up and tangle a hand in Junhui’s hair, would pull him down into a kiss and feel their smiles pressed together and—

This isn’t the day before the Games. This is after, this is Minghao still scarred and wounded, this is Junhui who watched Minghao kill people with a straight face. Minghao doesn’t know if he’s allowed to do what he could before the Games, so he doesn’t. He smiles at Junhui and Junhui smiles back and that’s all there is.

“Children!” Seokmin calls from the dining room. “I meant it!”

“He’s always going to be like this, isn’t he?” Minghao asks. He’s quiet, as if Seokmin could hear him through the door. He probably could.

“Absolutely,” Junhui laughs. “He missed you. Let him have his fun.”

Junhui helps Minghao out of bed, grimacing at Minghao’s groan of pain. “Do you need more—”

“I’m alright, Jun,” Minghao cuts in. “Just stiff. Turns out you get used to sleeping on the ground and the way it really aligns your spine.”

The grimace doesn’t change, but Minghao knows Junhui is trying to will it to. There are too many reminders. Minghao doesn’t know if that will ever change—it hasn’t for Junhui. Minghao can’t imagine that he gets the privilege of being any different. He never has before.

“That’s a good quote for the interview,” Junhui offers. It’s half a joke, half a strategy. Minghao really can’t wait until they’re done with strategizing, though he knows it’s only a reprieve. At least they get six months before the Victory Tour.

“Very charming, yeah, Caesar will love it,” Minghao laughs.

Junhui tangles their fingers together and pulls Minghao into the dining room by the hand. “Have you thought of your answer to the oldest victor question?”

“It has to be better than Junhui’s,” Jeonghan comments mildly from where he’s sipping from a mug at the dining table. Minghao is about to respond, but he’s a little overwhelmed by Lilak’s high-pitched “Minghao!” and Aurelias’ hug. It’s not unpleasant. He might even go so far as to say that he missed them.

He might not. Lilak is already griping about his haircut and Jeonghan isn’t saying anything in his defense. Maybe he didn’t miss any of them.

“Let them sit down, please,” Jeonghan laughs. He slides a mug of coffee over to Minghao and pours a second one for Junhui, rolling his eyes when Seokmin gives him the “please let an attendant do that for you” look. “Big day for all of us, isn’t it? It’s my first time on stage.”

“I’m so jealous,” Aurelias huffs. “We have to stay in the audience with Jisoo.”

“Don’t you like Jisoo?” Minghao asks, teasing. Aurelias rolls his eyes dramatically and doesn’t grace Minghao with a response. Fair enough.

“Jeonghan has fun plans for your outfits,” Lilak says as they eat. “These might be my favorite outfits of the Games.”

“More than the gala?” Jeonghan asks. “You helped design those.”

“Oh, they were lovely,” Junhui tells Lilak, who seems almost bashful.

Lilak nods at Junhui, a blush high on her cheeks. “Thank you. And yes, Jeonghan, because these outfits are so striking. They’ll be so striking.”

The audience agrees. Minghao and Junhui stride onto the stage, hands laced between them, and the roaring of the crowd is loud enough to shock Minghao. It’s the loudest thing he’s heard since—

There’s a cannon firing in his brain and he barely manages not to flinch. He holds Junhui's hand tighter and tries not to think about it. He tries not to think about the fact that they’re both dressed for a funeral—swaths of deep black fabric swirling around them, long lines snaking up from the ground to the choker around Minghao’s neck. It’s really where they are, after all. A funeral for 23 people, for who Minghao was and who he could have been. Jeonghan and Seokmin walk behind them and they’re a procession. They’re walking him right to the pyre and he feels it burn when Caesar greets them happily.

“Minghao, Minghao, Minghao, am I happy to see you,” Caesar says with a grin. “And with Junhui too? How could we get so lucky?”

“I wouldn’t call it luck,” Minghao says. It’s not quite a joke, but the crowd laughs. He thinks that’s probably for the best.

“Of course not!” Caesar laughs. “You worked very hard, didn’t you? It means that you’re back here with us, our victor, and you’re back with our Jun. I see that you’re holding hands, so can I assume that you’ve worked everything out?”

Junhui nods, cutting in and giving Minghao a break from working very hard, didn’t he? Minghao is grateful.

“We did,” Junhui says, squeezing Minghao’s hand. “He’s pretty easy to love and I’m just happy to get to be with him.”

It’s honest, dripping affection. Caesar seems almost caught off guard by how genuine Junhui is and Minghao thinks it’s probably fair—Junhui isn’t really known for giving things away. 

“Congratulations to you both,” Caesar says kindly, like he really means it. Minghao wonders what he ever really means. “Minghao, I know you’re our victor, but I have to ask Jun: how did you feel while Minghao was in the Arena? I can imagine it was a little terrifying.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” Junhui says, half of a smile on his face. “I think I was more anxious than I was during my own Games. I was awake any time he was just so I could watch and keep an eye on him.”

“And what an excellent segue that is,” Caesar says. He claps his hands, riling the crowd up again. “Speaking of watching Minghao, we all know what we get to see before we really get into things.”

It’s all Caesar says before the room is darkening and every screen is showing Minghao’s face as he stands on the platform, the recap going back to the beginning of the Games. They really did catch his eye roll at the announcer saying “may the odds be ever in your favor,” but the crowd laughs and Minghao hopes it’s fine. He doesn’t have much space to think about it because he’s locked in on memories that are slotting together in his head right as Marcus steps off the platform again. Minghao didn’t see it the first time. He wishes he never had.

Junhui flinches and Minghao takes his hand in both of his own. He feels Junhui do the same, a comfort. They need it—Minghao already had to kill Caspian. He didn’t need to watch himself do it. 

Minghao looks away when Willow appears on the screen. He’s already a victor. He can look weak now. He can lean into Junhui, feel Seokmin’s hand on his shoulder, and not worry about the visuals. The Capitol didn’t when they left him scarred. He can repay the favor.

The Capitol needed a victor. They can’t ask anything of him beyond that.

Shoving his hands into a fire seems far more desperate on screen and Junhui’s hand moves to wrap around the bracelet that still lives around Minghao’s wrist. 

“You noticed that?” Minghao asks, his voice hushed. They shut off the microphones when the recap started—Caesar has already made a comment to Seokmin—and it means no one picks up Junhui’s soft response.

“I notice everything you do,” Junhui says. The black shirt makes his shrug look elegant in the dark. Minghao doesn’t know what to say to that. He brings Junhui’s hand up to his mouth and brushes a kiss across the backs of his fingers, not letting go. 

When Minghao looks up, Caesar is watching them closely. His smile is small, the most genuine thing that Minghao has ever seen on him. Minghao smiles back. Someone else dies in the background.

The mutts look worse in real life. Marina’s death looks worse on screen. Minghao hadn’t seen it happen, had only heard her screams and his screams and Veronica’s scream and he’s still screaming on screen and maybe he is in real life— The cannon fires and Marina’s eyes don’t close. Minghao wants to vomit again, wants to reenact the way he fell to his knees and asked Cassia why it wasn’t him that they took. It doesn’t seem like the microphones picked that up. He’s glad. He wouldn’t have wanted Junhui to hear that.

Minghao doesn’t know what to make of the deep nothingness that sets in when Darius dies. The nothingness sharpens when he kills Agnes, but it’s still nothing. He starts to cry in the highlight reel and it was nothing then too. It’s all nothing. It’s worth nothing. It’s worth all of him. It’s worth nothing. 

The last morning was idyllic. The weather was beautiful, the sun had just risen, and Minghao is sorting out rosemary and oleander on screen. Junhui’s berries colored the soup a rich purple, one that Cassia commented on happily before she drank poison. 

Cassia is the one that Minghao sees when he closes his eyes. Maybe it’s because he watched the light go out of hers. He called her “Cass” and he killed her anyway and she knew. She watched. He very carefully doesn’t look at Juniper in the audience. There are a lot of things he isn’t looking at.

It’s different, knowing Lottie was watching the whole time. The camera lingers on her in the treeline, lingers on the way she manages to creep up to the cornucopia, silent like Minghao never thought she could be. She creeps up on him and the first sound is the knife, the second is Minghao’s “oh,” and the third is one Minghao has never heard. The camera flips from Minghao to a hallway, to a door, and somewhere behind the door, Junhui is screaming. 

They move on too quickly and they linger too long. Real-life-Minghao is crying and on-screen-Minghao is telling Junhui goodbye and real-life-Junhui flinches and on-screen-Junhui is begging Minghao not to go. Minghao presses his free hand against his mouth, biting down and trying not to scream. The pain of his teeth sinking into fresh skin shocks him enough that the video of Junhui sprinting down the hallway with tears streaming down his face doesn’t make the nausea rise to the surface.

They turn the lights on too soon and Minghao is still crying. At least he wasn’t biting his own hand anymore, though they’ve already seen him break down. This is nothing new. They apparently televised it every time.

“Oh, Hao,” Junhui whispers. Their mics are on again. Junhui doesn’t seem to care, entirely too distracted with trying to wipe the tears off of Minghao’s face with the backs of his fingers, the softest touch.

“Minghao,” Caesar says gently. “Can I ask why you’re crying?”

“He begged,” Minghao chokes out. “He begged me not to go and I almost did.”

Junhui sucks in a breath next to him and it’s mirrored in the crowd, a low noise. 

“You almost did?” Caesar asks.

Minghao laughs, masking how bitter he actually feels. “I had a knife in my stomach. I was two minutes away from bleeding out. I think most people would think that they’re going at that point.”

“But you didn’t,” Caesar says, almost insisting. “You won, Minghao. You’re our victor because you didn’t give up.”

If it were coming from anyone else, from anywhere else, it would be comforting. As it is, Minghao wonders how hard the Capitol has tried to reframe his goodbye. He can imagine that they’d be going with a “tragic yet brave,” angle, as if Minghao said it to catch Lottie off guard and not because he was sure he was already dead. “Quitter” probably isn’t the best look for a victor. It’s much better if he never gave up. Minghao doesn’t care at this point. He’s so tired. They can have what they so clearly want. 

He pivots.

“I guess you’re right,” Minghao says after a moment. “It was just— Terrifying. I just wanted to go home. I was willing to pull a knife out of myself to do it.”

“That’s our boy,” Caesar says with a smile. Minghao smiles back. Caesar pivots. “Jun, you sounded devastated.”

“I was,” Junhui says. He has a hand resting on Minghao’s knee and he’s gripping a little too tightly. Minghao knows that he’s covering up how angry he is at what they showed and what they did—Minghao can see it crawl under his skin as he speaks. “He’d gotten so close. He was so close to coming home.”

“How did it feel?” Caesar asks. “When it seemed like he wasn’t going to come home?”

“I hope you never have to know,” Junhui says, measured. “I hope none of you ever have to know.”

Caesar pauses, letting it sink it. If Minghao’s tears weren’t enough, Junhui’s anger has given the Capitol the drama they wanted from the night. “And how does it feel now? Having him back?”

“Like I can breathe again.” Junhui’s voice has gone soft, almost sweet. He looks at Minghao and his smile is small, but it’s genuine. “Having him back is— Yeah.”

Minghao slides his hand to take Junhui’s again. “I’m happy to be going home.”

“Oh, but we already miss Jun throughout the year, and now we’ll have to miss you both!” Caesar jokes. Minghao smiles and reminds himself to pivot.

“We’ll be back,” Minghao offers. “I don’t think you’ll be able to separate us once a year, Caesar. You’ll see us both again.”

The crowd’s reaction tells Minghao that he’s just locked that down—he wasn’t entirely sure that they both could come back, but he shouldn’t have doubted. Minghao is a victor, yes, but to the Capitol, it’s less that he’s a victor and more that he and Junhui are both victors, that they’re the Capitol’s victors. Caesar says something about how joyous their reunion will be before asking Jeonghan about designing the outfits for this year and Seokmin about how much he did to gather sponsors and support, giving Junhui and Minghao a break. They stay sitting close, their hands clasped between them, and Minghao can tell that the interview is winding down. He’s grateful for the reprieve before he has to face all of the mentors in some symbolic and fucked up welcoming ceremony. He’ll be expected to meet everyone, to not hide behind Junhui and pretend he didn’t actually win the Games.

“I’m afraid we’re nearly out of time,” Caesar says regretfully, pulling Minghao’s attention back. Caesar must have long picked up that Minghao isn’t all there tonight. He never even asked about being the oldest victor. Minghao had an answer ready and everything. “We’ll have to say goodbye for now.”

There’s a chorus of protests from the crowd who, despite Minghao’s overwhelming lack of charm tonight, seem to still want more of the two of them. Romance sells. 

“I know, I know,” Caesar says. He reaches out a hand and Minghao takes it. “We’ll have Minghao’s Victory Tour to look forward to, don’t worry.”

“We won’t be gone long,” Minghao adds. It makes him want to start screaming and never stop, but most things do now.

“And aren’t we glad for it?” Caesar laughs. “Jun, I assume we’ll see you too?”

“Of course,” Junhui says with a smile. “It’s going to be very hard to get me away from his side.”

Honest, too honest, but it settles that on-fire thing in Minghao’s chest anyway.

“Another thing we’re glad for,” Caesar says. “All we need to say goodbye are our other victors, it seems!”

Minghao didn’t notice them move into place, but at the side of the stage, all of the mentors have gathered. He’s meant to join them—he’s a victor, after all. He’s earned his place there. The nausea is back, stirring up more when he has to walk in front of Junhui to join them, their hands no longer linked. Minghao is standing on his own now. He wonders if he can hide behind Wonwoo instead. 

He doesn’t get the chance. Calliope holds a hand out to him as he gets close and pulls him toward the Career mentors, who all give him smiles that almost feel genuine. Juniper looks away first. 

Calliope draws him closer, Junhui on his other side, and they wave to the crowd with smiles on their faces that feel like sins. They shouldn’t all be allowed to smile like this. They are anyway. The curtain closes in front of them and it feels like there’s a collective sigh of relief from the mentors when they close—everyone gets to go home now. Minghao has to stay another night for his last medical check, but the rest of their trains leave tonight.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Calliope says quietly. She hasn’t let go of his hand. Junhui pats him on the back and goes to join Jihoon and Wonwoo, letting Calliope pull Minghao further into the shadows of the curtains. “I know it’s not— Normal, maybe, but I wanted to thank you.”

Minghao opens his mouth, closes it, does it a few more times. “Why?”

“You were her friend,” Calliope says. She doesn’t say Marina’s name. Minghao doesn’t either and he feels the same tears gathering in his eyes as the day she died. “She didn’t want to be there and you were her friend and she— I could tell how much she cared about you. I can tell how much you care about her.”

“I’m sorry,” Minghao says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save her. I tried, I promise, I—”

Calliope cuts him off with a squeeze of his hand. “I know, Minghao. Thank you for trying.”

“I’m sorry,” Minghao whispers. There’s a hand on his lower back now, Junhui hovering at his side.

“You should get him out of here before someone else grabs him,” Calliope says to Junhui. It’s fair—Minghao is a little preoccupied with trying not to sob. “I saw both Neem and Tacita in the audience.”

“Off we go, in that case,” Junhui says with a small laugh. “See you in 4?”

“I’ll be there,” Calliope says. She squeezes Minghao’s hand one more time before she lets go. “I’ll see you both. Get home safe.”

“Wait, Calliope,” Minghao finally says. “Um, she said she has a little sister. Could you check on her?”

“Of course,” Calliope says softly. She nods and walks away before Minghao can say anything else and he sees her wipe at her face as she goes. Minghao aches.

Junhui presses a soft kiss to Minghao’s temple. “Let’s go back, get some rest before tomorrow.”

Minghao can only nod. He says his goodbyes to Jihoon and Wonwoo, though it will only be a few months before they see each other again, and then Junhui is ushering Minghao to the exit. It would all be fine if they didn’t get stopped by someone clearing their throat, but Minghao should have known. He wipes quickly at his eyes with the back of his hand before he turns to face Tacita.

“We’re not interested in an interview right now,” Junhui says firmly.

Tacita looks like she wants to roll her eyes. “Are you ever going to let him speak for himself, Jun?”

“I’m not interested in an interview right now,” Minghao says. He does roll his eyes. There aren’t any cameras around, it’s fine. “I’m tired, Tacita. Find me on the tour. Or don’t, actually.”

He turns around again and laces his fingers with Junhui’s, pulling maybe a little too quickly. Junhui nearly stumbles and Minghao slows down to catch him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao says quietly. “Just wanted to—”

“It’s alright,” Junhui says with a smile. “I’d run if you wanted to, but I’m pretty sure you’re not allowed to be running right now.”

“And thank God for that,” Minghao says. “I’m so tired of running. Done too much of it recently.”

It gets a huff of laughter out of Junhui, a welcome change from the previous unease at any mention of the Games. “Fair. We’ll go at a very reasonable speed. That was hot, by the way.”

“That’s what got you?” Minghao laughs. He lets Junhui pull him close when they’re back in the car and Minghao wraps an arm around Junhui’s waist. “Me bitching at a reporter?”

“I mean, most things you do get me,” Junhui says. “I just happen to hate her and you just happened to roll your eyes at her. I can’t be blamed.”

“No, I suppose not,” Minghao says. He thinks that what Junhui is saying means he might be allowed to, so he kisses Junhui’s cheek quickly, chaste, and tries not to think about how hard his heart is beating while he waits for Junhui’s reaction. 

Junhui looks surprised, his eyes widening, but Minghao can tell it’s not a bad thing. No, the only bad thing is that Junhui looks this happy that Minghao would kiss him on the cheek, like he wasn’t expecting it to ever happen. He leans his head on Minghao’s shoulder and Minghao chides himself when he realizes it’s the first time that Minghao has been the one to hold Junhui since the Games. He tries not to add it to the list of things he’s holding against himself, reminding himself that he can fix this, he can, and he will. He will.

When the car pulls into the garage underneath the Training Center, Minghao takes Junhui’s hand to lead him up to the apartment, laughing when Junhui clings to him in the elevator, wrapping his arms around Minghao’s shoulders from behind and pulling him to his chest. The walls of the elevator are mirrored and even with Minghao still red-eyed, it’s a striking picture. It’s one that Minghao never thought he would have. He takes Junhui’s hands where they rest above his heart and holds tightly, watching the smile grow on Junhui’s face when he realizes what Minghao is looking at. 

“You look gorgeous,” Junhui says softly. “Prettiest boy there.”

“Not quite,” Minghao says, just as soft. “Not with you there with me.”

“I love you,” Junhui says after a moment. Minghao doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before the elevator doors open and Junhui is nudging him into the apartment. He lets go of Minghao, but he doesn’t go far, sticking close while guiding Minghao to his bedroom.

As soon as Junhui closes the door behind him, Minghao takes a deep breath and braces himself for whatever kind of rejection may come before taking Junhui’s hand and pulling him closer, nearly chest to chest.

“Junhui,” Minghao says, nearly whispered. “Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Junhui says, nearly broken. “Please.”

Minghao pulls Junhui closer, their joined hands between them and his free hand at the back of Junhui’s neck. He can feel his own hands shake and the kiss is so tentative, some awful kind of anxiety running through him. It doesn’t linger—Junhui cradles Minghao’s face with his free hand and he’s not shaking. He’s not. He deepens the kiss and Minghao feels a sound get caught in his throat when he realizes that it’s desperation that’s driving Junhui to kiss him like this. He thinks he matches it, hopes he matches it, hopes that Junhui knows how badly he wanted this, how badly Minghao has needed him since he woke up, since he went into the Arena, far before then.

Minghao was 16 when he fell in love with Junhui, hopeless and aching. Minghao is 19 when he kisses Junhui, desperate and wanting, bruised and hurting. Junhui tastes like salt and maybe that’s just Minghao, but maybe they’re both crying and maybe they both needed this far before then. 

Junhui pulls back and rests his forehead on Minghao’s, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling quickly while he cries. “I missed you. I missed you so much, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and then you— And I—”

A sob cuts him off and Minghao moves them so Junhui is crying into Minghao’s shoulder and Minghao can run a hand through his hair, run a hand up his back until he’s settling his fingers into the notches in Junhui’s spine, holding as tightly as he can. 

“I know,” Minghao whispers, because he does. He heard Junhui’s scream, terrified and devastated, a  heart-ripped-out-of-your-chest kind of scream. No one screams like that unless they’re losing everything. “I know, my love.”

Junhui cries harder at the words and everything in Minghao hurts, radiating through him. He holds Junhui and lets him cry and he lets himself cry too. He had to come back. He had to. Junhui wouldn’t have made it without him. He only had to kill nine people to get here. They have to understand. They’ll never understand.

He wonders if there was ever blood in his lungs or if he’s feeling it for the first time, the way his chest lets everything leak out into him, blood and tears and anger anger anger and—

Junhui clings harder. His nails dig into Minghao’s back and Minghao doesn't realize how hard he’s been crying until Junhui pulls him to the ground and pulls him into his lap, wrapped in each other. Minghao doesn’t know if he gets to breathe without bleeding anymore. It doesn’t feel like he’ll ever be allowed. Not with all the blood in his lungs. Not with all the blood on his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Junhui whispers—repeats, maybe. Minghao’s brain feels like static. “I’m so sorry, I never wanted you to— I asked you to— I never wanted you to feel this. I’m so fucking sorry, Minghao.”

“It hurts,” Minghao finally gets out. “I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to hold it all.”

“I don’t know either,” Junhui says. It leaves them both in ruins. 

Minghao is in ruins.

Chapter Text

A man takes his sadness and throws it away

but then he’s still left with his

hands.

— Richard Siken, Boot Theory

Junhui doesn’t know how to help. He’s been exactly where Minghao is and he’s still—

It’s different. He asked Minghao to do all of this on purpose. Minghao went in knowing what to do to win. Junhui was still confused when he came out of the Arena. Minghao knows exactly what he’s done. He killed eight people and let another one die. He killed a girl he grew up with. He couldn’t save the one person he tried to. 

Junhui asked him to do that. Junhui asked him to do that and he can’t even help when Minghao has done all of this to be where they are: curled up in Junhui’s bed in the Capitol, unsure of what to say. Maybe that’s just Junhui.

“Juniper wouldn’t look at me,” Minghao whispers. It’s sharp in Junhui’s lungs. “I tried not to look at her, but she— She wouldn’t look at me at all.”

“She just needs time to mourn,” Junhui says. He runs a hand up and down Minghao’s back, fingers tracing idle patterns. “None of us are ever okay after the Games. She won’t hold it against you. Victors don’t— We don’t do that.”

Minghao doesn’t say anything. Junhui turns so he can press a kiss to Minghao’s hair, some kind of comfort. He wasn’t sure Minghao wanted it until now and the relief from Minghao kissing him is still washing over him, mixing with the guilt that pours off of Minghao in waves. Junhui isn’t sure how to get across that no, Junhui can’t tell him it’s not his fault, but it doesn’t mean he’s condemned. Minghao has never told him it wasn’t his fault because it is, it’s their fault, but Junhui has made it six years with this fault and he intends to make it as long as possible.

He tries to think of what Minghao has said to him before, whispered words in the dead of night that Junhui can give back to him for safekeeping. 

“Hao,” Junhui says. “You never wanted to.”

Junhui, you never wanted to do it, did you?

No.

Then why are you acting like you did?

“I did it all on purpose,” Minghao whispers. “I meant it.”

“Yeah, you did,” Junhui admits, “but that doesn’t mean you wanted to. You only did it because you had to. It was the only way to come home.”

You wanted to come home, didn’t you?

Yes.

Then what else were you supposed to do?

“No one made me come home,” Minghao says.

“But did you want to?” Junhui asks. Minghao says nothing, but he nods. “Then what else were you supposed to do?”

“Jun,” Minghao says after a moment. “Am I always going to feel this guilty?”

“Oh, honey,” Junhui says gently. “In my experience? Yeah, you are. It gets easier to handle though.”

“Thanks for being honest.” Minghao muffles it into Junhui’s shirt. “I think I just want to go to sleep right now.”

Junhui nods, figuring that Minghao can probably feel it. “Gotta be up early tomorrow. The train leaves at 10.”

“I’m pretty sure that the train leaves when we do,” Minghao says, looking up at Junhui. “We’ll see how long the doctors want to keep me.”

“Okay, well, I’ll be optimistic for the both of us,” Junhui teases. He runs a hand up Minghao’s side, tickling him just enough to not make him hit Junhui for it. There’s a fine line with him. This time, Junhui gets it right and Minghao giggles, happy and free. Junhui feels light alongside it. “Train leaves at 10. Then we can go get a cat.”

“Maybe we’ll take a day or two to settle in first,” Minghao says. “Are we even sure that Mingyu fixed your window?”

“Who knows?” Junhui laughs. “We have your house too. We can leave mine to the two of them and call it a fresh start.”

“Do you know how dusty all those places in the Victor’s Village have to be?” Minghao asks. “No, we’re definitely making that Mingyu’s problem. I know how to fix a window, it’s fine.”

“Ah, yes, my very handy man.” Junhui laughs harder than that warranted. It’s fine. Minghao laughed too. 

“Shut up,” Minghao says, shoving lightly at Junhui before laying his head back down on Junhui’s shoulder.  “Go to sleep. I love you.”

“Stop saying sweet things like I’ve offended you,” Junhui says. “I love you too, brat. Sleep well.”

Neither of them sleep well. Minghao’s blood is so red. It was all over Junhui’s hands. Minghao’s bracelet was covered in it.

The doctors clear Minghao with an almost suspicious speed, but Junhui supposes that if Minghao isn’t in pain, things are fine. It’s probably pretty hard to not know when your organs are re-punctured. It gets them on the train before 10, so Junhui is calling it a win.

They say goodbye to Jeonghan and Seokmin in the apartment before they leave, but it’s not for long. They’ll see them both in a few months for the Victory Tour. Junhui almost dreads seeing them again, but it’s not their fault. He still tears up when they say goodbye, even if their goodbyes are mixed with Jeonghan shoving a makeup bag in Junhui’s hands and Seokmin coaching them on what they have to do at the homecoming.

The train ride home is quiet—Ash went home last night, never one to linger in the Capitol longer than she has to. They’re quiet, bracing for what will greet them in a few hours: they’ll be coming home to a welcoming party that will go for days, some joyous combination of a boy they all barely know not dying and the rewards that the Capitol reaps on the district for raising a victor. It leaves a terrible taste in Junhui’s mouth.

“At least Jeonghan picked out our outfits,” Minghao offers as a consolation. They’re curled into the corner of one of the couches in the lounge car, Junhui’s back to Minghao’s chest and Minghao’s arms around his waist. Despite what they’re dreading, Junhui lets himself relax into Minghao, at least for a little bit. 

“In all fairness, you don’t really have your own clothes with you,” Junhui says. “I mean, I have your clothes, but they don’t know that.”

“I don’t think I’d want to be on national TV wearing the clothes you brought,” Minghao laughs. “You stole some of my most worn out things.”

“I was going for comfort.” Junhui can’t shrug in this position, but it’s in his tone of voice anyway. “I steal your clothes every year. I’m surprised you haven’t said anything about it before.”

Minghao kisses Junhui’s temple. “I was just going to let you have that for yourself.”

Junhui can’t be blamed for how stupid his smile must be. Minghao has always loved him like that: careful and quiet, gentle with Junhui’s heart like nothing else ever is. Junhui gave his heart to Minghao when they were so young. Minghao could have made a mess of it, could have been harsher, could have been angry when Junhui lashed out on accident or upset with Junhui’s learned habits, but he never was. Junhui doesn’t think he ever will be. Minghao tugs Junhui’s shirt up to lay a hand on his waist and Junhui knows he won’t be.

They’ve passed through District 1 and the trees are beginning to grow thicker as they go. They’re in 7. They’re so close to home.

This is where Junhui should ask if Minghao’s excited to be going home. If he were anyone else, if Minghao were anyone else, he would, but he already knows the answer. Minghao is dreading it. He tenses up when he looks out the window and Junhui understands. Home looks different now, they both know it does, but they don’t know how it’s different. It’s off-kilter, bent wrong, but they won’t know how wrong until they step onto a stage in the middle of town like they’re celebrities instead of two wounded boys who want nothing more than to actually go home.

Junhui remembers his own homecoming too sharply. He remembers crying on stage when he realized his parents weren’t at the front like they should have been. He remembers Ash ushering him off the stage and into the crowd on the way to the Victor’s Village, the way that his school friends wanted to hug him or wanted nothing to do with him. He’s never figured out which was better. Both felt like lead in his veins. 

Ash, where are we going?

We’re going home, Junnie. It’s alright, I’ll stay with you. We’ll figure it out.

Junhui didn’t bother asking about his parents. He was old enough to know that if his parents wanted him, they would have been there. They didn’t, so they weren’t. Junhui’s house in the Village sat vacant for a year before he moved into it—Ash wouldn’t let a 14-year-old live on his own.

Minghao will have a place to go, but he still won’t be going to any home he knows. Junhui doesn’t ask. It feels cruel.

“Mingyu and my mom will be there, right?” Minghao whispers. It’s been quiet for too long. Junhui has let him think for too long.

Junhui moves so he’s sitting up and looking at Minghao, their hands held between them. “They’ll be there. You didn’t see their interview, you haven’t talked to them, but they’ve been waiting for you. I know it.”

“But I—” Minghao cuts himself off. “I killed people.”

“You did,” Junhui says, “and they still want you back. I talked to them when you went to sleep that first night, when you’d already—” Junhui takes a deep breath and prepares for Minghao’s flinch. “When you’d already killed Caspian and Willow. Your mom still told me to bring you home.”

There are tears gathering in Minghao’s eyes and Junhui knows that he has to let Minghao cry, but that doesn’t mean that it’s easy to watch. “I’m scared. I’m so tired and I’m so scared of what they’re going to do and what 7 is going to do and I’m so tired. I don’t want to keep doing this.”

“You only need to for a little bit longer, I promise,” Junhui says. There’s nothing he can say to make the rest any better. “We’ll only stay for a little bit and then we can go back to one of our houses and hide for at least a day.”

“Can we make it two?” Minghao chokes out, a half-smile on his face like he’s joking. Junhui knows he’s not. “Maybe three.”

“We’ll send Mingyu out for food,” Junhui laughs. “We don’t need to deal with the market for a little bit.”

“No, we don’t,” Minghao says before he takes a deep breath and lets Junhui wipe the tears from under his eyes. “Okay. Just a little longer. I can do this.”

“It’s by far the easiest thing you’ve done in the last two weeks,” Junhui says. They both know he’s lying, but it’s good to have a little optimism at times like this. “We should put on the makeup Jeonghan gave us or Aurelias will eat us alive next time we see him.”

“My hands are a little shaky,” Minghao says sheepishly. “He’d probably prefer no makeup to shitty makeup.”

Junhui puts out a hand to pull him off the couch, grabbing the makeup bag they were given before guiding Minghao to the bathroom. “Let me help. I’ll make you all pretty, come on.”

Minghao sits quietly on the counter while Junhui does his makeup, listening to Junhui recount his mother and Mingyu’s interviews. Junhui tsks when Minghao smiles at what his mother said, but it’s half-hearted. Junhui isn’t going to turn down seeing Minghao smile right now.

“Mom is ruthless,” Minghao says, his smile still interrupting the careful application of his foundation. “Mingyu too.”

“They both won people over,” Junhui says. “Hansol said that your pool of money grew fast after that. It’s how I was able to send the berries. God knows they were far too expensive.”

“You should tell Mingyu that,” Minghao says, his voice gone soft as he talks about Mingyu. “He’d like to know that he helped.”

Junhui taps Minghao’s lip to get him to keep still instead of saying anything. Junhui isn’t going to tell Minghao about the conversation he had with Mingyu, the one that flayed him open and left him bare. It’s not his to tell. Junhui continues with his story, veering into different stories about Jihoon and Wonwoo during the Games, while he finishes Minghao’s makeup and starts on his own. Minghao watches him with careful eyes the entire time.

When they’re both done, Minghao draws Junhui closer to kiss him. Minghao whispers “thank you” in between kisses and if Junhui hadn’t already given Minghao everything he has, that would do it. Junhui slips a hand into Minghao’s hair at the back of his neck and smiles into the kiss at the small noise that Minghao makes.

“You look pretty,” Junhui says when he pulls back. “Honestly, who needs Aurelias? I nailed that.”

“It was sweet until you started congratulating yourself,” Minghao laughs. Junhui is about to say something, maybe defend himself, but a Capitol attendant knocks on the bathroom door, alerting them that they’ve pulled into the station.

“You ready?” Junhui asks Minghao, taking his hand while they leave the train and walk to the front door of the Justice Building.

“Not at all,” Minghao says. 

The door opens anyway.

Minghao’s hand tightens as quickly as the excitement of the crowd picks up—it’s too loud, it’s too bright, it’s too much. Junhui knows that Minghao is a breath away from panicking. They’re standing on the same stage that Minghao stood and shook Lottie’s hand on, the same stage that Junhui stood on when he came back to 7, and Minghao is smiling, but Junhui can tell that he’s terrified. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes and he’s gripping Junhui’s hand too tightly.

He knows there are cameras on him, but they don’t have microphones on for once, so Junhui tugs Minghao’s hand until he’s closer and Junhui can talk to him without being overheard.

“Breathe, little one,” Junhui says quietly. “Look around. Can you see Mingyu or your mom? Take a deep breath and look for me.”

Minghao takes a breath and he’s quiet for a moment while he searches. His shoulders drop the smallest amount when he finds them. Junhui looks over at them as Mingyu whistles and Minghao’s mom waves with her whole body.

“There you go,” Junhui says. “Keep breathing for me, okay? A few more seconds of smiling and then we can go to them.”

“Okay,” Minghao whispers. Junhui feels him stand up straighter, his smile plastered back on, and Junhui smiles and waves with him. They just need the visual, that’s all. He cuts his gaze to the side as one of the Capitol camera crew nods, gesturing that they can go.

Junhui doesn’t wait before he’s pulling Minghao off the stage and toward the other two at the edge of the crowd at the front, like they knew Minghao would need out quickly. They probably did. 

A yell of Minghao’s name is the only thing that warns them before Mingyu is pulling Minghao away from Junhui, hugging him so tightly that Junhui is worried that it hurts. Minghao is crying and Mingyu is crying and Minghao’s mom is pulling Junhui into a hug and maybe he’s crying too.

“Welcome home, Junnie,” she says softly. She’s so small, but Junhui feels smaller. “Thank you for coming home. Thank you for bringing him home.”

 “Thank you for letting us come home,” Junhui chokes out. “He was really nervous. He may still be.”

She gives him a rueful smile before she shoves Mingyu off of Minghao and brings Minghao into a hug. Mingyu takes the hint and throws an arm around Junhui’s shoulders.

“Hey, man,” Mingyu laughs, joy all over him. “I’m really fucking glad to see you.”

“I’m really glad to see you too, Gyu,” Junhui says, pulling Mingyu into a hug. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Mingyu asks.

“Everything.”

Mingyu doesn’t get a chance to ask questions before Minghao is coming back over, his mom off to the side with Ash. Minghao takes Junhui’s hand again, pulling him close. “How much longer do we need to be here?”

“Is there anyone else you want to see?” Junhui asks softly. Minghao shakes his head. “Then we can go. They got their footage and the rest of the district can celebrate without us.”

“We’ll stay, if you want,” Mingyu offers. “We can receive people or whatever. We got here right before you did, but I’m sure people would talk to your mom instead of you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Minghao argues.

“I want to,” Mingyu says. “We’re all moved out of Junhui’s, you can go rest there. We’ll come see you in an hour or two.”

“Okay,” Minghao says hesitantly. He waits for Mingyu to confirm with his mom to let Junhui guide him away from the crowd. 

It only takes Minghao a minute once they get into Junhui’s house to really panic. His back is against the front door and his breaths are heaving through his chest, tears streaming down his face, and Junhui pulls him into a hug so he can muffle his scream into Junhui’s shoulder. 

“I know, Minghao, I know,” Junhui says softly as he runs a hand through Minghao’s hair. Minghao’s voice is going to be rough after the screaming tears through him entirely. “I need you to breathe, little one. Try for me, please. Deep breaths.”

Minghao is trying, Junhui knows he is, but the panic is running him ragged and stealing any air he tries to get in. Junhui holds him tighter, trying to put enough pressure on him to bring him back down. 

“I want to go home,” Minghao sobs out. Junhui’s stomach lurches when he realizes that Minghao isn’t talking about the apothecary. “I want to go home.”

“I’m sorry,” Junhui says, trying not to let his voice break on it. “I’m so sorry, Hao. I love you so much and I’m so sorry.”

Minghao doesn’t say anything else. Junhui can’t say anything else. Minghao cries and Junhui cries and they’re a mess in Junhui’s hallway, a mess of tears and tangled bodies and jagged wounds where the knives keep twisting. Minghao didn’t want to die. He didn’t. He wants to go home. He can’t. Junhui would tear everything down if he could.

It’s where Mingyu finds them two hours later, after the sun has gone down and the party in the center of town must have started to disperse. Junhui is glad that they stayed close enough to the front door that he can unlock it for Mingyu without moving away from Minghao.

“Oh,” Mingyu says softly. He sits down next to them, shoulder to shoulder with Junhui so he can run a hand down Minghao’s back. Minghao hasn’t said anything in over an hour, but he gives Mingyu the ghost of a smile when he realizes that he’s there. “Hi.”

“Did we miss anything?” Junhui asks. 

Mingyu shrugs. “Not really. Our classmates wanted to know if the two of you were actually together and some of them were pretty upset when I said that you were.”

Junhui laughs, squeezing Minghao’s waist as an apology when it jostles him. “I overestimated the amount of people that knew that we were friends. I didn’t think that it would surprise most people.”

“Me neither,” Mingyu says. “You two have always been gross.”

“And here you are anyway,” Junhui says, pushing at Mingyu’s shoulder with his.

“Where’s Mom?” Minghao asks. There’s a little bit of panic laced into the question, but Minghao seems too worn out to act on it.

“She’s with Ash at your house across the road,” Mingyu says. “They’re cooking dinner. Well— Your mom is. Ash is drinking dinner.”

“Sounds about right,” Junhui says. “I’m glad they’re back with each other. I know they miss each other when Ash is gone.”

“Both of us weren’t very fun to be around while you guys were gone,” Mingyu says. “It turns out that two people who just miss their best friends are a little pathetic, but at least misery loves company.”

Mingyu doesn’t say that it was more than that, but he cuts a sideways look at Junhui that Minghao doesn’t seem to see. Junhui wonders if Mingyu will ever tell Minghao about how bad it was. He’s not sure that he wants Minghao to know, but he’s never pretended to understand Mingyu and Minghao’s friendship. Maybe Mingyu needs him to know. Maybe Minghao needs to know.

“I just came to check in before dinner,” Mingyu says. He’s still rubbing a hand up and down Minghao’s back and Junhui’s chest warms with it. “Mom sent me, but I want it on the record that I would have come on my own.”

It gets another half-smile out of Minghao. “I’ll make sure to write it down.”

“Thank you,” Mingyu says, satisfied. “Do you guys need help unpacking or anything? I already moved Minghao’s stuff over— Ow, don’t hit me, I know I went through your stuff, but you’re too strong now.”

“We appreciate it,” Junhui laughs, catching Minghao’s hand as he reaches out to hit Mingyu again.

“Ew, don’t do that,” Mingyu says. He makes a face of what Junhui could only call disgust. “Don’t do the ‘we’ thing. I hate that.”

“Sorry,” Junhui says with a shrug, but he’s really not. Mingyu knows he’s not and he shoves at him. “Hey, I just stopped him from hitting you, let’s play nice.”

“I’m right here,” Minghao says, rolling his eyes. It’s still fond and Junhui wonders how much all of them thought they would never have this again. Considering Mingyu is laying his head on Junhui’s shoulder and Minghao is smiling softly at them both, probably quite a bit. “We can go in a second. Just need a little bit longer.”

“Take all the time you need,” Mingyu says quietly. “What’s a little more waiting?”

Mingyu really did move all of Minghao’s things over and into Junhui’s bedroom, meaning they can finally change out of the same clothes that they’ve been cycling through for three weeks. Junhui immediately takes one of Minghao’s shirts and Minghao smiles, soft and sweet, before pulling him onto the bed so they’re both lying on their sides and facing each other.

“You look cute,” Minghao says. He picks Junhui’s hand up to play with his fingers, tapping a pattern while he speaks. “You’re going to stretch out all of my shirts though.”

“I’ll leave some alone,” Junhui laughs. He wonders if he’ll ever get used to the awe on Minghao’s face when he does, his eyes wide and tracking Junhui. “Hi.”

Minghao’s smile grows and he tangles their fingers together between them. “Hi, Junnie.”

“Thank you for coming home,” Junhui says quietly. Home, as in here with him. They could be anywhere and Junhui would still thank Minghao for coming home. “I know it’s not— I know it’s not what you thought it might be. Thank you for being here anyway.”

“I was always trying to,” Minghao says. “It’s not what I thought it would be, but nothing really is. Nothing besides you. I think that will always be the same.”

Junhui can’t help his smile. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It’s my best thing,” Minghao says simply. Junhui isn’t sure what he could say that could measure up to that, that isn’t just some incoherent mess of “I love you,” so he puts a hand on Minghao’s cheek and kisses him instead. He nips at Minghao’s lower lip when Minghao won’t stop smiling.

“I’m kind of trying to kiss you here,” Junhui teases, holding back his laugh. “Stop all that smiling.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Minghao laughs. “Try again now.”

Kissing Minghao feels new every time, like every kiss is their first even though he knows Minghao better than anyone else, like Minghao’s small gasp when Junhui pulls his mouth open is unexpected instead of burned into Junhui’s brain. Minghao moves and pulls Junhui on top of him, only giving him a moment to settle before Minghao threads a hand through Junhui’s hair and kisses him again, long and lingering. 

“I’m not sure how much I can, ah, move,” Minghao says when they break apart. “I’m still not entirely—”

“I know, baby,”  Junhui says. He cradles Minghao’s face with one hand, running his thumb along the blush that sits high on his cheeks. “We don’t have to do anything, you’re okay. I just want to— Just want to kiss you.”

“Please,” Minghao whispers. Junhui closes his eyes and lets the shiver run through him, smiling when he opens his eyes again and Minghao is looking at him with the same awe on his face. Junhui leans down to kiss him again, slipping a hand under his shirt to settle it on his waist and feel how warm he is. His hand brushes against the scar and he doesn’t pull away this time, just strokes his thumb over it, a reminder of everything Minghao has done to be here with him. 

Junhui doesn’t know that he’ll ever have enough in him to properly thank Minghao for it, so he hopes that the “I love you” that he presses against Minghao’s mouth will suffice for now. Minghao’s answering smile tells him that it just might.

“I didn’t think I would ever get this,” Minghao says softly. Junhui sits up to look at him and Minghao tangles his hands in the hem of Junhui’s shirt—his shirt—and his movements are a little nervous. “I didn’t think I would ever get this again.”

Junhui sucks in a sharp breath. He pulls Minghao up and into his lap, holding onto his waist. “Honestly? I didn’t either. I hoped, but—”

“Yeah,” Minghao says, dripping a latent kind of sadness, like they haven’t found out how badly it all hurts. They probably haven’t. The only thing that keeps Junhui from screaming is the boy in his lap, Junhui’s best thing. His best thing. Minghao kisses him and it doesn’t taste like salt, not like it has before, but it tastes like sorrow and longing and like despite that, Minghao is still here here here and home home home and maybe they’ll be okay.

They have to pick up the pieces.

Piece one: Minghao jolting awake in the middle of the night and screaming, the sound torn out of him, wretched and writhing. Junhui tries to calm him down, but Minghao is spiraling into his own tears. Junhui remembers what it’s like, what that first night back is like, and all he can do is wait. He does, sitting and holding onto Minghao’s hand, crushed in Minghao’s grip, until Minghao can catch his breath. Junhui is half-afraid that when Minghao starts coughing, there’s going to be red, but all he needs is water and for Junhui to hold him close when he’s done.

Piece two: Minghao burning his hand on the stove and feeling nothing, the scar tissue bearing the burden of the wound, and panicking when he realizes that his hand is blistered-red again. Junhui runs Minghao’s hand under the tap and they manage to stave off the worst of the burn, the rest taken care of by the aloe that Junhui picks up from the apothecary, but he still catches Minghao staring at his hand like it’s not his own.

Piece three: Junhui’s own, shattered and bruised, and the tears he lets slip when he realizes how tired Minghao is from trying to adjust back to the 24-hour clock. Minghao whispers something about having tried not to get used to it, how he didn’t want to miss any hours with Junhui, and Junhui forces Minghao to take a nap before he goes to cry in the living room. Mingyu finds him there and doesn’t say anything, just pulls Junhui into a hug that feels a lot like a lost-at-sea kind of solidarity. 

Piece four: Lottie’s parents are at the market. Minghao almost runs into them straight on, not quite paying attention to where he was going, and they flinch when they realize who he is. Minghao’s whispered “sorry” tries to make up for something that he’ll never be able to make up for.

There are so many things they’ll never be able to make up for.

They spend their days in the apothecary like they always did. It brightens Minghao, paints a smile on his face that looks like it’s supposed to be there. They’re about to close down for the day, the foot traffic never lightening up even when people see Junhui and Minghao through the window, when the bell over the door chimes in time with the sun slipping away for the night.

“Darcy, hi,” Minghao says to the girl who comes up to the counter. He sounds a little breathless and Junhui tries not to make his double-take too obvious.

“Hi, Minghao,” the girl—Darcy, apparently—says with a wry smile. “My mom sent me to pick up an order she placed with your mom. Should be a draught for migraines.”

“Ah, yeah, we have it ready,” Minghao says. His hands are buzzing nervously under the counter and Junhui pats him on the shoulder and goes to find the order in the basket they keep near the small register. There are only two orders left for the day and one of them is a bag of herbs, so Junhui can assume that the vial belongs to Darcy’s mother. He brings it back to Minghao to check and he nods before Junhui hands it off to Darcy. 

“How, um, have you been?” Minghao asks as he records the pick up. Darcy hands the small pile of coins to Junhui and he counts them out carefully. He’s not sure Minghao could right now.

“We don’t have to do that,” Darcy says kindly. “It’s okay, Minghao. Like, it’s not, but I know you didn’t— Yeah. We’re okay, but we don’t need to pretend like we were ever really friends.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Minghao sighs. “I’m sorry. Please tell your mom that it’s refundable if it doesn’t work. I hope she feels better.”

Darcy nods. “Thanks. I’ll see you around, Minghao.”

She’s out the door as quick as she came and Minghao’s shoulders slump as the door shuts behind her.

“Wanna tell me what that was?” Junhui asks, taking Minghao’s hand. He’s not really sure what he thinks it was, but he doesn’t like how defeated Minghao looks either way.

“Darcy is Lottie’s best friend,” Minghao says quietly. His hand tightens around Junhui’s when he says it and Junhui thinks he can taste the bitterness in Minghao’s voice. “She’s right, we weren’t friends, but we were all in the same year. I don’t think I remember a time where they weren’t attached at the hip.”

Now that Junhui thinks about it, he recognizes Darcy from the reaping. When Lottie stepped forward, she pushed someone back behind her. She didn’t let Darcy volunteer for her. Junhui thinks of Mingyu, thinks of himself, thinks of Darcy, and wonders if all of them felt the same way that day. He wonders if he would be as upright as Darcy is if the roles were reversed.

He wouldn’t be. Minghao knew it too. “Tell him that it’s going to be okay.” Minghao didn’t mean that Junhui would be okay. No, he didn’t mean that at all.

“I’m sorry, Hao,” Junhui says. He pulls Minghao close, letting him bury his face in Junhui’s shoulder to try to block everything out. 

“She’s never going to forgive me,” Minghao muffles into Junhui’s shirt. “None of them are ever going to forgive me.”

“No, little one, they’re not,” Junhui says, an apology in his voice. “You’re going to have to learn to be okay with that.”

“Are you?” Minghao asks. He looks back up at Junhui and his voice is almost pleading.

Junhui stops to think about it before he automatically gives an answer that he’s not sure he believes anymore. “I think I am,” he says slowly. “Watching you in the Arena helped me realize how awful things are in there. If you, the best person I know, could be forced to do all of that, what chance did I have? I didn’t have another option. You didn’t have another option, Minghao. Not really. Not if you wanted to survive.”

“But no one made us choose that,” Minghao says almost desperately. Junhui knows him. He’s looking for a reason to punish himself. The Games gave him a lot of options to choose from, but this is one that Junhui can try to relieve Minghao of.

“No, but were you willing to do what Marcus did?” Junhui asks. “Those were the two options. You either gave up or you fought. Of all of the tributes to ever enter the Arena, think about how many chose to fight. What makes you special?”

Minghao flinches and Junhui knows he’s being a little too harsh, but this is how they’ve always talked about the Games. Minghao was never all that gentle with Junhui when he decided to spiral into his own guilt either. 

Junhui sighs, stroking a hand over Minghao’s cheek and feeling Minghao lean into it. “Everyone has people who will never forgive them for something and everyone thinks it’s the worst thing in the world. You can feel guilty for what we’ve done, but you don’t need to take this on too. Darcy said that you two are okay and she wouldn’t have said it unless she meant it. She wouldn’t have just said it for your benefit. Believe her. This is something that you can let go of.”

“Okay,” Minghao whispers. His eyes are closed while he processes and when he opens them, tears slip down his cheeks. Junhui wants to take this weight from him more than anything, but that’s not how the world works. Minghao would have taken Junhui’s pain a long time ago if it was.

“And we were having such a good day,” Junhui jokes, trying to pull a smile out of Minghao. It works, even if it’s small. “There you are. Pretty boy.”

“I think we should close the shop,” Minghao says, his smile growing just a little. “Let’s go home, Jun.”

“Home it is,” Junhui laughs.

“I think I hate the green more than I hate the beige,” Minghao huffs. There’s paint on his cheek. Junhui loves him. “The kitchen looks worse somehow.”

“I really don’t think it does, but we can just paint over it once it’s dry if you still hate it,” Junhui says amicably. He really has no opinion on it all, but he has a bit of an idea. “We could try painting the table or something. It might bring it all together.”

“Are we really putting paint over real wood?” Minghao asks, his eyebrows raised. 

“Does it actually matter that much?” Junhui laughs. “I really don’t think it does. Let’s just paint the table, baby.”

They do, even as Minghao mutters little complaints over painting real wood like he’s an interior designer instead of a 19-year-old boy with a paintbrush. He huffs again when he realizes that Junhui was right, it does bring everything together.

“I can’t believe that it brings everything together,” Minghao says, bumping Junhui’s shoulder with his. “I hate when you’re right.”

Junhui takes Minghao’s paintbrush, sets both of theirs down on the small bucket of paint, and pulls Minghao close. They can clean up later. “You know what, brat?”

“What, Junnie?” Minghao asks, breathy and pitched lower than normal. Junhui fights back a shiver. 

Junhui doesn’t actually have a follow-up, so he leans down and kisses Minghao instead. Minghao threads his hands through Junhui’s hair and deepens the kiss quickly, curling the heat in Junhui’s stomach through his chest, down his spine. Minghao still has paint on his cheek and Junhui accidentally smears it with his thumb when he cups Minghao’s face with a hand. Junhui smiles into the kiss and Minghao mirrors him, pulling apart enough for Minghao to wipe at his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Did I get it?” Minghao asks. 

“Definitely not,” Junhui laughs. “C’mon, come to the bathroom with me. I’ll get it off.”

Minghao follows without complaint, letting Junhui lead him to the bathroom by the hand like he hasn’t been living here for two months, like he hasn’t been here since Junhui moved in at 15. Still, he sits patiently on the bathroom counter and stays still while Junhui carefully wipes the paint off his face, careful not to rub as hard as Minghao almost certainly would. When it’s off, he kisses Minghao again slowly, giving Minghao the leverage to lead the kiss this time. Minghao takes it gladly, his fingers digging into Junhui’s shoulder as he pulls him closer. 

“Thank you, baby,” Minghao says quietly, kissing the corner of Junhui’s mouth and moving up his jaw, nipping gently. Junhui isn’t able to swallow down the sound he makes and Minghao smiles against his neck. A menace.

It hasn’t taken Junhui long to figure out what Minghao likes, that he likes to feel Junhui’s palms against his hips, that he wants to be able to hear Junhui, that he’s always going to laugh when Junhui picks him up, happy and high-pitched, and kiss him that much harder for it. Junhui carries him to their bed and it’s not quite what he thought their painting day would look like, but he can’t say he’s opposed when Minghao pulls off his shirt and tugs at Junhui’s, not when he gets to look at Minghao’s smile like this.

He runs a hand up Minghao’s side, up his chest, cradling his face gently when he kisses him again, laughing when Minghao flips them so he’s on top, Junhui caught below him. 

“What’s up, beautiful?” Junhui asks. 

“Just wanted to look at you,” Minghao says quietly “So pretty, Junnie. You’re so pretty.”

Junhui wonders if it will always be like this, if it will always be this tender and soft, if it will always be Minghao kissing him hard enough to pour everything in him into it and Junhui above him, taking him apart slowly, carefully, like Minghao is his most precious thing. He is, so Junhui imagines that yeah, it might be like this every time, and he’d be grateful for it for the rest of his life. Minghao makes a noise, a moan that pitches into a whine when Junhui bites a mark into his hip, and Junhui is already grateful for it.

He’s grateful for it as he runs his thumb across the scar on Minghao’s stomach. He’s always careful to avoid it, to not draw attention to it, but there’s something echoing in him today, a memory that filters in through the curtains of when today was just a dream, that makes him run his fingers across it, feeling the jagged edges of it, still raised. Minghao is watching him carefully. 

“Thank you for coming back to me,” Junhui says quietly. “I’m not— I couldn’t have made it without you.”

“I know,” Minghao says. He pulls Junhui back up to meet him, but Junhui keeps that hand at his waist, close enough to the scar to keep the memory at the front of his mind. “I know because I wouldn’t have been able to either. It’s why I— It’s why I said what I did. When it happened. That it would be okay. I meant that it would be okay if you couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Minghao,” Junhui starts, but Minghao shakes his head.

“I know what happens to victors who don’t have anything tethering them,” Minghao says pointedly. He’s referring to Ash, he’s referring to Junhui’s old mentor and the fact that there are only three occupied houses in the Village, he’s referring to Junhui’s screams played on national television. “I know, Junhui. I couldn’t tell you sorry, but I could at least tell you that it would be okay.”

It feels like Minghao has wrenched Junhui’s heart out of his chest and laid it bare in front of them, leaving his ribs cracked open. Junhui pulls the pieces of himself together enough to kiss Minghao, to press his “thank you” and his “I love you” into Minghao’s skin, his own mantra. He whispers “thank you for being mine” and he’s not sure that Minghao heard him until Minghao whispers “yours” and the pieces snap back into place. 

All Junhui has ever wanted to do is atone. He wants atonement, acceptance, for this grief that weighs so heavily to be abated at least for a moment. Minghao says “yours” again and Junhui lets it pour over him and their kiss tastes like salt again. They taste like salt again.

It washes Junhui clean.

It makes sense that they don’t really get a cat. They got the stray calico into the house after two weeks of feeding her, but a month later and no matter how many nights Shrimp has slept at the foot of their bed, she still wanders all over the Village during the day. Ash made them put a cat door in. Shrimp isn’t just theirs, but Minghao seems pleased, so Junhui is fine with it.

Shrimp is curled up in his lap at the house that technically belongs to Minghao and functionally belongs to Mingyu and Minghao’s mom. Minghao gives them both a fond look when he passes through the living room on the way to help Mingyu in the kitchen. Junhui picks Shrimp up, flipping her onto her back to carry her like she’s a baby, and follows him.

“I just think it needs more cumin,” Minghao says as Junhui walks in. He smiles at Junhui before turning back to Mingyu to argue.

“And I just think that you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mingyu shoots back. “Let me cook, Minghao.”

“Fine,” Minghao huffs, but his smile gives him away. Mingyu isn’t much better.

Shrimp gets up to go and Junhui follows, leaving Mingyu and Minghao bickering behind him. They get all the way to Ash’s house before Junhui realizes that he left her key at the house, but he knocks just in case she happens to be up and around.

She must not be. Junhui turns to go back and get the key just to check on her, but Minghao comes up behind him with the key in his hand. 

“I had an idea where Shrimp was going and figured you followed,” Minghao explains at Junhui’s confused look. “I came over yesterday and Ash isn’t doing too well. Thought we should go ahead and check in again.”

Minghao unlocks Ash’s front door and Junhui closes it softly behind him while Minghao calls out for Ash. There’s a faint answer coming from her kitchen and they find her at her kitchen table, Shrimp and a mug full of what looks like whiskey in front of her.

“Hi, boys,” Ash says, impressively not slurring. “Here to make sure I’m upright?”

“As always,” Minghao says. He sits next to Ash and takes her hand and Junhui sits on his other side, leaning his head on Minghao’s shoulder and looking at Ash. “Victory Tour still?”

“You know me,” Ash shrugs. There’s a wry grin on her face. “Can’t take the reminders.”

“You don’t have to go,” Junhui offers. “I can handle it.”

“I’m a mentor,” Ash says. “They’ll want both mentors there.”

Minghao is quiet for a minute and Junhui has an idea of what he’s thinking. He pats Minghao’s thigh to give him the go ahead. 

“What if you weren’t anymore?” Minghao asks slowly. “What if Jun and I were both mentors instead?”

“Minghao,” Ash says, almost chastising. “You know I won’t ask you to do that. I can handle myself.”

“You don’t have to be a mentor though,” Junhui says. “We know you can handle yourself, but you don’t have to handle this. They’re already going to bring me back with Minghao every year. Only one of us has to deal with it.”

“Junnie,” Ash sighs. “I know you want to take care of me, but—”

“There’s not a ‘but’ there, Ash,” Junhui insists. “You took care of me. Let me take care of you. Please, Ash.”

“They won’t let you,” Ash tries.

Minghao shakes his head. “I already called Seokmin. He cleared it. Apparently they love the visual of the ‘lethal lovers’ as mentors.”

“I really hate that name,” Junhui groans. “‘Lovers’ is such a weird way to describe us.”

“I still think ‘poisonous partners’ has merit,” Minghao shrugs. 

It pulls a smile out of Ash. “You’re both ridiculous. Are you sure about this?”

“Entirely,” Junhui says. “We already decided that Minghao is taking the girls so I can keep my old bedroom in the apartment.”

“Like you’re both not going to sleep there,” Ash says with a laugh. It’s bright, like a weight’s been lifted off of her. Junhui can only imagine what it feels like, but this is a burden he’s familiar with. It’s not too much to bear—not with Minghao, not for Ash. “Okay. Fine. Are you sure you don’t want me to come on the Tour?”

“I don’t even want to go,” Minghao says, “and I’m the victor they’re talking about. Of course I wouldn’t make you go.”

Ash looks at Junhui, but there’s no real conviction behind it. Junhui has been mentoring on his own for years now and they both know it. “Seriously, Ash. Stay home.”

“Mom will be grateful,” Minghao points out. “Especially now that Jun and I will both have to go every year, she’ll need you home.”

“Don’t use your mother to guilt trip me,” Ash chides, but they all know it’s working. Ash and Minghao’s mom have been friends for as long as Junhui and Minghao have been. It always works on her. “Fine. You’re both irritating, by the way. Get out of my house. Leave your cat.”

It makes Minghao laugh, something sudden and happy. It’s Junhui’s favorite sound. 

“As long as she comes back,” Minghao says, but Shrimp is already curled in Ash’s lap and there’s nothing either of them could do about it even if they wanted to. They’re going to have to leave the cat.

“I can’t believe Shrimp isn’t coming with us,” Minghao huffs on their way out. “We’re supposed to be a united front as a family.” 

That thing in Junhui’s chest sparks bright at the words. Minghao’s smile is just as bright and Junhui laces their fingers together so he can brush a kiss across the back of Minghao’s hand. 

“She’ll come back,” Junhui says softly as Minghao unlocks their front door. Minghao hums and leads Junhui inside.

The Victory Tour always starts in District 12. 

Technically, it kicks off in the victor’s home district, but at this point in the year, it’s just another excuse for 7 to have a day off work. Everyone is over Minghao at this point and Junhui is grateful—they’ve stopped getting so many stares when they go to the market. Small mercies. 7 puts on enough of a show and the camera crew get some great shots of Ash seeing them off, and the train takes them across the country entirely and straight to 12 on their way through the districts.

Minghao has to give a speech every time. Seokmin, Jeonghan, and Junhui help him write them in advance and he’s stayed with them the last three districts, but his voice wavers in District 9 and Junhui knows that he’s about to veer off script. Jihoon puts a hand on Junhui’s shoulder when he tenses.

“Um, Marcus was—” Minghao cuts off and clears his throat. “Marcus was my friend. He was caring, he was funny, and he was soft when the rest of us were trying not to be. He stayed soft. It was the strongest thing he could have done. Wren was right there with him anywhere he went. She was the same and she was a fighter too. She was smart, but she was humble enough to know when she didn’t know things. She asked me about survival skills on our third day of training and she picked things up so quickly. Your district raised really, really good kids. I’m so sorry that you lost them.”

Marcus’ mother is crying again. Wren’s father wipes at his eyes and Junhui lets out a sigh of relief when he sees that there’s no anger in them. Both Marcus and Wren died in ways they never deserved. Junhui hopes their families know that. He hopes Wren’s family saw how hard she fought and he hopes that Marcus’ family knows how brave he was to hold out the way that he did. Minghao comes off the stage and sobs into Junhui’s shoulder and none of them know anything, do they? Junhui can still hope. He’s trying to.

Minghao barely makes it through District 8. On the train, Junhui asks him what he knew about Willow and Minghao falters. His face is entirely blank when he says “nothing.” Junhui doesn’t get Minghao back until they’re pulling into the station in District 6.

“Can you do this?” Junhui asks Minghao, gripping tightly at his hand before they get off the train.

“What other choice do I have?” Minghao asks. “I killed Sofia. I almost killed Dakota. I can at least face their district. I can at least face their families.”

The nightmares don’t stop. In Junhui’s worst nightmare about Thistle yet, he’s 14 again and he’s giving his Victory Tour speech in District Five. He’s halfway through the best apology that a 14-year-old can give when Thistle appears next to her family. She’s so pale. There’s a knife in her hand. Her blood was all over the grass. She stares at Junhui and Junhui stares back and—

“Jun!” Minghao calls. Junhui wakes up with a gasp, his chest heaving, and he falls into Minghao like his strings were cut. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.”

“She was right there,” Junhui sobs. “She was just watching me and—”

He cuts himself off. And what? His nightmares are never going to kill him. That would be too kind. And nothing. It was just a dream.

“I’m sorry,” Minghao whispers, a little miserable. There are tears tracking down his face and Junhui wonders if it was Copper this time. District 5 haunts them both. They’re twin ghosts until they get to District 4.

Calliope hugs them both as a greeting when they get into the Justice Building in 4. “Boys, it’s so good to see you.”

“You too,” Minghao says softly. It’s almost tender. Junhui wonders how much he sees Marina in Calliope. He wonders how much of her Calliope sees in him. “How are they?”

“Better,” Calliope says. “They’re better. Her little sister is doing really well in school and she’s back to playing with her friends. It’s only been six months, but we all have to move on at some point.”

It’s a little pointed, like Calliope is reminding Minghao that they have to move on. Junhui doesn’t know that Minghao will ever move on from Marina, but it’s a nice thought. 

“They want to meet you,” Calliope continues. Minghao looks shocked, which Junhui thinks is fair—that’s a first. Junhui didn’t really have a friend in the Arena to know, sure, but it’s not common for the families to want anything to do with the victors. Then again, Marina and Minghao weren’t exactly common. Tributes aren’t supposed to care about each other. They’re certainly not supposed to try to save each other.

“Oh,” Minghao says. “Um, sure, whatever they want. When?”

“After the speech, which I thought you might want to talk about,” Calliope says. She puts a hand between Minghao’s shoulder blades, guiding him away, but she throws a smile over her shoulder at Junhui like she’s apologizing for taking him. Junhui’s fingers itch to reach out, pull him back, but he knows Calliope is best for this and he knows that Marina’s family won’t want him there. It’s fair. Junhui hates it.

“She really likes him,” Blithe, the other mentor from 4, says. Junhui kind of forgot about him. “She’s been excited for you both to get here. Novembers will be fun now.”

“They weren’t to begin with?” Junhui jokes. It lands a little flat, but Blithe still laughs. He’s too kind.

Minghao’s hands shake when he’s on stage, shake more when he looks over to Marina’s family.

“I cared about Marina,” Minghao says, his voice still steady despite his shaking. “I got the privilege of her caring about me. I’ll never be able to thank her for it, so I’ll thank all of you. I’m so sorry that she’s not here, but thank you for giving me the chance to know her. She’ll always be a part of me. Thank you.”

Junhui knows that he’ll have more to say to her family, but her mother had a small smile on her face from that alone. Junhui may be sitting alone on the train and trying not to scream for a little bit, but Minghao needs this. Junhui’s foot taps anxiously on the floor while he waits, trying to predict whatever state Minghao is about to be in and how Junhui could possibly help.

Minghao comes back with a smile on his face and it’s the one reaction Junhui didn’t prepare for.

“Her sister and her mom hugged me,” Minghao says quietly, his eyes bright. “I got to hug them. Marina was always clinging on to me and her sister and her mom are the same.”

“Understandable,” Junhui says, pulling Minghao down onto one of the couches with him. “You’re very nice to cling to.”

“Sap,” Minghao laughs. It’s not the first time that Junhui has heard him laugh while they’ve been on the Tour, but it’s the happiest he’s sounded. “I don’t know. I don’t feel okay, but I feel… lighter, I guess. Just a little.”

“We’ll take it,” Junhui says. He kisses Minghao’s shoulder before settling them both. “On to 3?”

“On to 3,” Minghao says. He turns around so he can kiss Junhui, though his smile breaks it up. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Junhui asks with a small laugh.

“Being here,” Minghao whispers. He kisses Junhui again, slower this time, more purposeful. “Thank you for always being here.”

They’re in and out of the last three districts quickly, much to Wonwoo’s chagrin, but the Capitol is getting antsy at this point. They want their victors back.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you both again,” Caesar says warmly as Minghao and Junhui sit down across from him. The crowd cheers and Junhui holds his smile. He’s tired, but it’s not as hard as he thought it might be. Minghao looks like he feels the same. “Tell me, how has the Victory Tour been?”

“It’s been a whirlwind,” Minghao says, his charm turned on. He reminds Junhui of the night before the Games, bright and coy, and Junhui is surprised that it doesn’t hurt. “It’s been fun to see all of the other districts and all of the other victors, but none of them are familiar like the Capitol is.”

It’s Minghao’s nod to all of the concessions they’ve been given—being a victor means playing nice with the Capitol. They all walk the fine line between their own person and the victors the Capitol wants every time they’re in front of a camera. Minghao is walking it with grace.

“A home away from home, would you say?” Caesar asks, teasing.

“More like a second home,” Junhui chimes in. Though he’s a little more stilted about it, he’s trying to walk the line too. “I’ve grown up here, really, and the Capitol is forever the place that really brought Minghao to me. Yeah, it’s more like a second home.”

The crowd cheers and Caesar smiles and they’re doing it. The last thing Junhui ever wants to do here is cause any trouble—he and Minghao have talked about it late at night when they’re at their most vulnerable, the way that any step out of line means a watchful eye that neither of them can stomach. If the Capitol wants them to be the lethal lovers, then that’s what they’ll be. It keeps the Capitol away from them the rest of the time, so Junhui is happy to do it.

The interview almost passes easily, a substanceless event until the end. There’s always something.

“So, what can we expect from you now?” Caesar asks. “Will we see both of you again?”

“We’ve been given very gracious permission to both be mentors for 7,” Minghao explains. “I’m really grateful for it and I think we’ll make a great team.”

Caesar claps happily. “Ah, so we get you every year now! What joy.”

Junhui blinks, trying to process. We get you every year now. 

They already had Junhui every year, but the Capitol is the one thing that Junhui always thought he could protect Minghao from. He tried for years, only talking to Minghao once in the dead of night while he was here, just to keep him close while still keeping him away.

They get him every year now.

What joy.

Shrimp is curled up at their feet as soon as they’re in bed at home again, purring like she actually missed them and didn’t just spend three weeks getting spoiled by Ash. Junhui will take it.

“I’m still thinking about what Caesar said,” Minghao says. It’s a little muffled into Junhui’s shoulder, but Junhui isn’t about to move them around. He tightens his arm around Minghao’s waist instead. “I hate it.”

“Welcome to the world of being a victor,” Junhui sighs. “They get us every year. Honestly, they probably have us all the time. It’s just how it is—victors are the public front for the Capitol and we just happen to be the face of them right now. Someone else will come along and steal our thunder, don’t worry.”

“No one ever took yours though,” Minghao points out.

“I mean, you did,” Junhui laughs. “Someone else will take it from us soon and we can sink into the background a bit. Now that the Victory Tour is over, it’s really only once a year.”

Minghao huffs and it makes Junhui laugh more. “Fine. I just hate it.”

“Ditto, baby,” Junhui says, a grin on his face. “It’s alright though. We’re in it together.”

“We’ll make it,” Minghao says, finally looking up. “I think we’ll make it.”

Chapter Text

In this space right here

that we have made for each other,

you can say anything

and I will not abandon you.

Unwrap the worst things you have done.

Watch me hold them up to the light and not even flinch.

— Trista Mateer

“You know, I don’t think they’re going to let your kids into the Careers now,” Wonwoo says. All four of them are gathered around a table, drinks in hand, and Minghao thinks that “Cold War cocktail hour” really was the best way to describe the mentor meetings every night. The tension in here feels like pulling teeth.

“Either of us?” Junhui laughs.

“Definitely not,” Jihoon says. “I’m more likely to get one in. At least my kids have never broken the one loyalty rule of the Careers.”

Minghao doesn’t flinch and he thinks it’s very impressive. Junhui still cuts a glance at him. He shrugs, both at Jihoon and at Junhui. “Then your kids should be smarter.”

“Hey now, you’re not stuck with the boys like us,” Wonwoo says, bumping Minghao’s shoulder. “You don’t know how hard it is because you’re the best off. The girls are so reasonable to work with.”

“It is much easier than with the boys,” Minghao says. “There’s something wonderful about people who actually tell you how they’re feeling.”

“Would you like to hear all about how I’m feeling?” Wonwoo asks with a grin. “Bad, thanks for asking. I can’t believe I got another kid just like Caspian. I can’t believe there are two of you from 7 now and I’m still losing. I need you both to suck more.”

“Maybe you should suck less,” Junhui says. “Jihoon is the real one to worry about anyway.”

“Alex has merit,” Jihoon says evenly. “In fact, I think that the District 5 mentor is walking over here for exactly that reason.”

Jihoon disappears to go make an alliance, Minghao assumes, and there’s a small buzz of panic at the base of his skull when he realizes that he has no idea how to do that. He has no idea how to do any of this. He has—

“Hao,” Junhui says quietly. “You’re alright. Do you want to go back upstairs? Hazel and Hunter aren’t going to get any alliances tonight, we can go.”

“That would be good,” Minghao says, turning into Junhui. Wonwoo walks away wordlessly and Minghao is grateful. “Can we go up to the roof?”

“Yeah, of course,” Junhui says. His smile is small, but it’s fond. “We can sneak up there now. We should take the kids tomorrow night though.”

Minghao nods, because yeah, the kids would appreciate it, even if it’s just for a breath of fresh air after the training scores come out. Neither of them are likely to do very well. They’ll need a break. “They’re probably asleep already, we can go grab some things.”

Junhui pulls Minghao to the elevator by the hand, both of them nodding over toward Calliope and the others. Junhui was right about them not holding grudges, but Minghao certainly isn’t getting anyone into the Careers for a bit. He needs a little bit of time to pass for that one.

They’re able to get in and out of the apartment, blankets and tea in hand, without rousing either the kids or Seokmin, so Minghao is calling it a success.

“You know, it’s weird that we have to work around someone being in the room next to us,” Junhui says once they’ve settled near the garden. “I forgot how much you have to sneak around.”

“It’s fun to be a little illicit,” Minghao laughs. He kisses Junhui quickly before he settles back with his head on Junhui’s shoulder. “We never got to do the teenagers-sneaking-around thing. We went and got our own house instead.”

Junhui sets his tea down so he can pull Minghao closer, kissing the top of his head softly. “And I’m glad for it. Your mom scares me. I don’t think I would have been able to do any sneaking around with her there.”

“On second thought, maybe you’re right,” Minghao says with a laugh. “We can still play pretend for a bit though.”

“It’s a good way to cope, I’ll give you that,” Junhui says. He pauses, letting the city noises settle around them, before he speaks again. “How are you, little one? The first time back is hard.”

“The first time back is hard,” Minghao echoes. “I keep remembering everything, especially when Hazel is telling me about the training room or something like that. It was terrifying. It’s still terrifying, I think. I see it all over Hazel, but I think I’m terrified too. It feels like they’re about to drag me back in instead.”

“They’re not,” Junhui says quickly. “They’re not. They’re not going to do that.”

Minghao wonders how much Junhui is reminding himself too. 

“I know,” Minghao sighs. “I’m just— Scared. I think I’m still scared.”

“Yeah,” Junhui whispers. “I think I am too. I think I’m always going to be scared.”

Minghao is never sure whose nightmares are louder. He’s never sure which Games they live in and which one they’re running from. Junhui gasps awake, or maybe Minghao does, or maybe they both do, and there isn’t blood all over Minghao’s hands. There isn’t.

“Can we open the window?” Junhui asks quietly.

Minghao nods and pulls Junhui out of bed, helping him up into the windowsill before he follows. Junhui pulls him close, his back to Junhui’s chest, and Minghao opens one of the panes to let the air in.

“I love you,” Junhui whispers. “Thank you for coming home.”

Inhale. 

Exhale.

A chill seeps in through the window. Junhui’s arms tighten around his waist.

“I love you too.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.