Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was his name.

Jihoon doesn’t cry, doesn’t scowl. That’s his name that the Capitol Woman is calling. The peacekeepers are stalking forward to claim him.

And that’s okay.

There’s a cheer from the crowd (or is it a jeer?) as Jihoon is marched to the stage. He walks on his own power, back straight and gaze unfeeling. He is one of many. The list of victors from his district is a long one. He has a chance.

(He doesn’t think he wants the chance.)

He doesn’t know who his district partner is – doesn’t care – as they make the short train ride to the Capitol. The bright lights and clean streets don’t capture his attention. They almost sicken him, but he’s a Career. He’s the Capitol’s pet and he doesn’t know any different.

The urge to fight sings in his blood. It pumps through his veins and dictates every action.

Sometimes… sometimes he wonders. He wonders what it would be like if his hands knew how to make instead of destroy. If only his hands could bring joy instead of terror. But… sometimes. Only sometimes.

The rest of it passes like a dream (or a nightmare) until the next thing he knows, he’s being fitted for the opening ceremony. He’s garbed in clothing much fancier than anything he has ever owned, hair dyed – dyed! – a vibrant blonde. One look in the mirror and he looks soft, yet cold at the same time. He looks like a china doll. (China dolls break, don’t they know that?)

The only thing he’s missing is the collar.

His district partner keeps a careful distance from him. Jihoon doesn’t blame her; objectively speaking, he wants nothing to do with her either. There are other tributes – those from District Ten and District Twelve, the poor sods – who make friends and Jihoon can’t help but scorn them. They’re only making it harder on themselves.

He turns away from them, only to crash into another body. As he loses his balances, he thinks, a stunt like that will get me killed.

His body doesn’t meet the floor. Instead, he’s caught by strong arms. He glares up at the idiot who bumped into him (he’s really more angry at himself), but he’s thrown by smiling brown eyes.

“Sorry about that,” a cheerful voice apologises. “It’s hard to see when there are leaves blocking my way.”

And there are. There’s a wreath of leaves weaved into hair that’s highlighted blonde. There are a few stray branches hanging into those happy brown eyes, no doubt impairing his sight.

It’s cute.

It’s hard to keep the scowl on his face, although Jihoon manages it easily enough. “You need to watch where you’re going,” he grumbles, unable to call up the anger that’s always simmering underneath his skin.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll try.” The taller boy – and he’s so tall that Jihoon has to tilt his head up – grins. “Hey, you’re from District Two, right? Lee Jihoon!”

Jihoon jerks; he hadn’t expected someone to remember him. He’s not even sure his own mentor knows his name – the old drunkard only ever calls Jihoon ‘boy’ and his district partner ‘girl’. Why does this boy remember his name (and why does it matter)?

“Yes…” Jihoon answers cautiously. Always cautiously, because this is the Hunger Games and people die when they’re not cautious.

The boy’s grin impossibly widens. It’s blinding, like the sun and reminds Jihoon of its warmth. “Cool. I’m Seungcheol, from – ”

“District Seven.” Of course it’s District Seven. No other designer would be stupid enough to put their tribute in something resembling a tree unless it was District Seven.

The grin changes. It dims, softens, turns into something friends share. No, Jihoon wants to shout. There are no friends here, he wants to scream, but this stupid boy – Seungcheol from District Seven – wouldn’t get it. Jihoon doesn’t know him, but he knows that Seungcheol wouldn’t get it.

Seungcheol seems like the kind of boy everyone would love, back home. He’s smiley and soft and probably has an entire army of friends back where he comes from.

Seungcheol is the kind of boy who dies in the first three minutes.

Seungcheol laughs, a low yet booming sound. “It’s kind of obvious,” he realises. “Trees and stuff.”

“You look fucking stupid,” Jihoon comments, the words out of his mouth before he can stop it. He fights back a wince; now this sunny boy was going to hate him and he should want that, but he doesn’t.

He’d expected a punch, but rather than assaulted by a fist, he’s assaulted by booming laughter instead. Jihoon stares dumbly at the District Seven tribute as he attempts to hack up a lung in his amusement. The laughter washes over Jihoon like a warm bath, settling against his skin pleasantly.

He scowls to fight the feeling. How stupidly poetic.

“You’re funny,” Seungcheol states.

Jihoon scowls even harder. “I’m deadly.” And he is. His hands know how to work a bow and arrow just as well as how to play a guitar. Even better, in fact, because he never had to sneak away for archery practice.

But Seungcheol… he just grins and pats Jihoon's newly blonde head. “I believe you,” Seungcheol chuckles. “But you’re also very, very cute, Jihoon-ssi.”

Seungcheol leaves then, someone (probably his mentor) barking his name. Seungcheol just leaves Jihoon with ruffled hair, a red face and something warm settling in his heart.

Minutes later, the District Two mentor (a sleepy-eyed, sharp-smiled fellow by the name of Yoon Jeonghan) if calling Jihoon. The carriages are rolling out soon and he steps up next to his district partner. He supposes she looks pretty – hair spilling around her face in curls, her bare shoulders shimmering with glitter that matches her dress. It leaves her back exposed and spills over her legs in a soft, almost translucent wave.

Jeonghan taps Jihoon's cheek, causing the younger to turn. The mentor pulls the side of Jihoon's lip. “Smile for the audience,” he orders softly. It’s all an act to get more supporters is the unspoken advice. Jihoon doesn’t want to smile for the vultures cheering outside. He wants to take all his skills and unleash it on them.

Jeonghan’s eyes are a deep brown, ringed with long eyelashes that makes him look pretty. There are wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and Jihoon thinks there’s something infinitely sad in someone so young. Yoon Jeonghan had been the victor three Games ago. Jihoon wonders which is worse: sending children to their deaths or having them return barely human.

Jihoon's lips curl into a smile as the gates open (and if the smile is bitter, the crowds don’t see it that way, because Lee Jihoon is from District Two, Lee Jihoon is a tribute and Lee Jihoon is the Capitol’s pet). He raises a hand and waves, trying his best to turn himself into someone so likeable, sponsors will absolutely flock to him.

As they make their round of the City Circle, Jihoon catches a glimpse of District Seven’s chariot. Both tributes look equally stupid, dressed in garments that reflect what their district in known for (lumber). Seungcheol's smile is as bright as it had been in the remake centre and just as cheerful. Genuine, too and Jihoon can’t understand how Seungcheol can smile like that. He envies him.

Somehow, Seungcheol catches Jihoon's eye before he can look away. That stupid grin widens somehow and despite the ridiculous outfit, Seungcheol looks good.

Jihoon thinks back to their first meeting fondly. So fondly, in fact, that he wishes he’d killed Seungcheol the first time he had the chance.

Chapter Text

“Show your best down there,” Jeonghan advises. Jihoon looks up from his breakfast, the food decadent and nothing he isn’t used to (he’s well aware that other tributes never get food this nice).

“Of course,” Jihoon replies, spearing a cube of pineapple with his fork.

His mentor sighs. “That includes behaviour.”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who tried to claw someone’s eyes out.”

His district partner had made a wonderful ruckus last night, when she had attacked the District Five female tribute. He doesn’t know what it was about, nor does he care, but he has to admit it was entertaining to watch. He highly doubts she earned herself sponsors with that stunt. Or maybe she had. Who knows, really?

Jeonghan’s too-old eyes watch him carefully, but for what, he doesn’t know. Jihoon doesn’t want to look at that unsettling gaze, so he shifts his attention to the window. He can see the Capitol sprawled out before him. The buildings are tall and the streets are clean. It looks nothing like the other districts that he’s seen through a television screen.

He wonders what District Seven looks like.

Jeonghan shifts, cutlery clinking against the china plate. Jihoon stiffens when Jeonghan softly adds, “Don’t make friends either.”

Jihoon's not guilty. He doesn’t know how to make friends, so why should he start here? The retort is on his tongue, so acidic it burns, but he stops himself. Jeonghan has sent children to their deaths; District Two hasn’t had a victor since Jeonghan himself.

“I won’t,” Jihoon answers stiffly. His mentor just stares – as if he can read Jihoon's mind, as if he can know his intentions.

But Jihoon doesn’t have any intentions. He came here to win, because he has the chance. Nothing will stand in his way.

Nothing… except this idiot.

“What are you doing.” Jihoon's voice is as flat as his gaze, but Seungcheol is not deterred. Maybe the taller fell out of a tree one time too many.

“Well, friends teach each other things, right?” Seungcheol's grin is trying to make up for the lack of sun down here. Jihoon's torn between punching it off the taller’s face and patting him on the head. He might settle for punching; it’s a lot easier than getting Seungcheol low enough for Jihoon to pat him.

He can feel the incredulous stares of the other Careers burning into the back of his head. Somewhere to his right, he can feel Jeonghan's judgement as well.

Jihoon frowns. He doesn’t like the weight of expectation, but he’s the District Two tribute. They expect so much from him. (But what if there’s nothing to expect?) “I don’t need help.”

And yet, Seungcheol still. Won’t. Leave. What the fuck. “I’m really bad with this archery shit,” Seungcheol continues, almost as if he doesn’t hear Jihoon. The District Seven tribute picks up a bow and twangs the string, causing the shorter to wince.

“Don’t – don’t do that,” he chides, plucking the bow out of Seungcheol's hands protectively. Their fingers brush and that – it feels weird. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

Seungcheol actually pouts. Like he’s five. Jihoon's not sure he can handle this. “Come on, teach me,” he whines. No, really, an actual fucking whine.

Jihoon's pretty sure Seungcheol is older than him, but he’s also pretty sure Seungcheol isn’t right in the head. He feels a hysterical laugh bubbling up his throat. They’re here, in the Capitol, getting ready to fight to the death, and Seungcheol is fucking whining.

“Why?”

Seungcheol seem thrown at Jihoon's sudden question, but he supposes it’s valid. Jihoon's done nothing to show he’s willing to form an alliance with the District Seven tribute (to say nothing of friendship). Seungcheol doesn’t look like he could hurt a fly, despite his stature and Jihoon… Jihoon would put an arrow through Seungcheol's heart without blinking.

“Why?” Seungcheol repeats hesitantly. His grin seems a little bit more forced this time and Jihoon hates it. He doesn’t know why, but it makes his stomach churn. “I don’t know, I think you’re least likely to laugh at me if I mess up. And…” His gaze wanders away as his voice trails. The grin falters before coming back in full force. “I bet you can’t use an axe better then I can.”

He’s lying. Jihoon knows he’s lying, but he doesn’t have any proof. There’s something in Seungcheol's gaze, in the set of his shoulders… the shorter has no idea what that means.

Jihoon looks up at Seungcheol's grin and finds it hard to say no (it’s the first time he’s ever found it hard to refuse someone, but he doesn’t hope it’ll be the last – not if it’s Seungcheol). “Fine,” he concedes, making a face. “But hurry up. I don’t want to spend too much time here.”

Seungcheol is a… competent student. He doesn’t have the necessary focus to hit the bullseye every single time, but he has enough to at least hit the target. Back home, he’d known trainees who could barely pull the drawstring. (Then again, those trainees had been four and they had seemed so small holding those bows; they weren’t allowed smaller bows because the Games didn’t have those.)

Jihoon readjusts Seungcheol's elbow. The latter’s breath stutters, but Jihoon can’t find a reason why. “Focus,” Jihoon mutters sternly as Seungcheol's gaze flickers towards him.

The arrow flies, thudding into the target noiselessly. It’s a little off-centre, but it’s good for a beginner. Jihoon's mouth twists (how easy it would be, for Seungcheol to do the same to him in a few days – ) as Seungcheol lowers the bow.

“Not bad,” he compliments and he has to turn away from Seungcheol's cocky grin.

“I’m pretty great,” Seungcheol brags, only to get whacked by Jihoon's bow. “Ow!”

“Don’t be cocky.” It’s a line he’s heard so many times, not that he’s ever been proud of what he can do with a bow and arrow – and there are so many uses. You could shoot an arrow into someone’s heart, stab them, strangle them with the bow, kill them with a solid whack to the back of the head…

“Jihoon.”

“What?” the District Two tribute snaps. He glares up at Seungcheol, as if he hadn’t seen the training he had gone through behind his eyelids (they’re crying, they’re killing, they’re dead inside).

Then, he punches him. No, it’s not a real punch. All Seungcheol does is brush his knuckles against Jihoon's chin, but his reaction is automatic. Jihoon grabs Seungcheol's hand, nearly twisting his arm before realising what he’s doing. He freezes, large hands caught in his as he stares into Seungcheol's surprised eyes.

“What was that for?” Jihoon demands, releasing Seungcheol's hand. He can feel the Head Trainer’s eyes on him; he doesn’t doubt that Junhui is used to violence, but Jeonghan's warning about good behaviour rings through his head.

Seungcheol – innocent, clueless Seungcheol – just smiles like nothing is wrong. “You seemed distracted, Jihoon-ssi.”

Distracted was an understatement. Don’t be stupid, he snarls at himself. You can’t afford to be distracted. He’s slipping up, off his game. If Jeonghan could see him now, he doesn’t doubt he’d get a smack to the back of his head… with a club. He can almost hear it now – I’m not putting in effort to save a boy that doesn’t want to be saved. How many times had he heard that while in training?

“I’m never distracted,” Jihoon answers nonetheless. It’s a bold-faced lie, but it’s not the only one he’s told and it won’t be the last. A determined, dangerous tribute. The sponsors will like that.

Seungcheol grins, just a tiny bit uncomfortable. “Of course. Do they teach you that?”

Jihoon has no idea what he’d answer, because at that moment, the District One tribute calls his name.

“Jihoon-ah,” Minhyun calls with a charming smile. “How about a spar?”

It’s an open invitation: join our alliance. He can see both tributes from District One and the female tribute from District Four. She’s got shifty eyes and a firm hand. She’ll do, he supposes.

Best behaviour. It’s encouraged, almost expected, for him to join them. They would be an alliance of the strongest tributes.

A gentle touch to his elbow has him nearly lashing out before he remembers Seungcheol is still next to him. He barely reacts with a twitch, turning slightly to look at the taller boy. (He’s just a boy, only a boy and so is Jihoon. Why are they the ones at war?)

Seungcheol clears his throat. “I was, uh, going to head over to rope-making.” There’s a hint of hopefulness in his voice. How pathetic.

“You go do that.” And there’s this… stinging in his chest as he walks away from Seungcheol, towards the Careers, where he belongs.