Chapter Text
You had been so stupid.
Three years ago, you made a huge mistake. Dissent isn’t taken lightly in the Capitol; not even teenagers escape the consequences. You didn’t think you were doing anything wrong, just wandering into parts of the city you weren’t familiar with. But apparently, you went somewhere forbidden, and that was enough to be considered a crime. Even though it was an accident. The Peacekeepers found you, and they didn’t care when you explained that you were just bored and exploring. You pleaded with them, but they called you a spy and refused to believe anything else.
The last words you ever spoke were, “No, please,” right before they injected you with something that knocked you out almost immediately.
And then you woke up, unable to speak.
You had to get used to it. There was no other choice. With your tongue removed and your family taken from you, you were left to wake up night after night in cold sweats, trembling from the terrors that haunt your dreams.
During the day, you kept busy. It was the only way to survive. When it’s not Hunger Games season, you serve in the President’s Mansion like countless other Avoxes. But during the Games, you’re assigned to the District 7 team.
That’s when you met her—Johanna. You’d seen her before, of course. Her games were impossible to forget. But you didn’t meet her until the year after, when she returned as a mentor.
Almost a year ago.
Her tributes had just died hours earlier, and she had stormed off to her room. You were sent to turn down her bed. When you opened the door, chaos greeted you. Pillows ripped apart, fluff everywhere, shredded fabric, and broken glass from anything that could break.
She spun toward you as soon as you stepped in, and you couldn’t hide the shock, or the fear, on your face.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
You gestured to yourself, then made a sweeping motion to show you were there to clean. Slowly, you walked toward her. She flinched as you got closer. Gently, you guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. She stared at you, confused, as you started cleaning the room.
Once most of the mess was cleared, you needed to get fresh linens. Before leaving, you tapped her knee lightly, hoping she’d understand you’d be back. Minutes later, you returned with new bedding and pillows.
She hadn’t moved. Just stared blankly at her lap, her anger gone, replaced by tears glistening in the low light. You set the items down and walked around the bed, stopping in front of her.
You don’t know what possessed you, but it felt right. You cupped her face gently and wiped away her tears. Then you leaned your forehead against hers. You stayed there for a while, just breathing the same air, sharing the same silence.
Eventually, you pulled back and helped her to her feet. You moved her to the side and made her bed. When everything was in place, you turned to her, gave a respectful nod, and left the room.
Once the door closed behind you, your breath caught in your chest. That was so embarrassing. What were you thinking? Why did you do something so weird? She must think you’re some kind of freak.
You hoped she’d forget. That there would be minimal interaction for the rest of the Games.
But of course, nothing goes your way.
The next night, you’re called to clean a spill. Guess whose room? Johanna’s. She had spilled water on the carpet and insisted it be dried. As you finished and turned to leave, she grabbed your wrist. You were pulled close, so close that your foreheads touched again. This time, her hands cupped your face.
You froze, but you didn’t move away.
And then it became a pattern.
Every few days, she’d find a reason to call you to her room. A spill, a mess, a request. Every time, it ended the same—with the two of you standing close, quiet, breathing each other in. Sometimes it was just a touch of your foreheads. Other times, she held your hands. You began to crave those visits. You started sleeping better. Fewer nightmares. A little peace.
Then she left.
With no way to say goodbye. You just watched her and the rest of the District 7 team disappear into a Capitol car, and suddenly, everything felt heavier again.
The next year dragged. The nightmares were worse than ever. You missed her more than you’d admit, even to yourself.
And now, today, she’s back.
You can’t lie. There’s excitement building in your chest.
When she arrives after the tribute parade, flanked by her two new tributes, your eyes meet. Only for a moment. Then they sit, and you move through your duties. As you pour wine, a hand brushes your side, subtle, careful. But unmistakably hers.
Tingles rush through you. You almost lose composure, but you hold your face steady for the rest of the dinner.
Later that night, you move from room to room, turning down beds like you were supposed to do. Last on the list: the District 7 female mentor’s room.
You open the door. She’s sitting on the bed, eyes immediately coming to watch you. Her eyes meet yours, and you quickly look away, trying to appear composed, like your heart isn’t racing.
You almost finish when you hear it.
“Stay, please.”
Just a whisper. But it echoes in the quiet.
You stop. You turn.
She pats the bed. “Sit.”
So you do.
“What’s your name?” she asks softly. “I’ve been thinking about you all year, but I didn’t know what to call you.”
You think for a moment. Then you take her hand and write, slowly, one letter at a time.
“Y/N?” she says.
You nod.
“Y/N, thank you.”
You squeeze her hand and smile, hoping she understands. Hoping she can feel everything you want to say; the gratitude, the longing, the memories that kept you going all year. But you can’t say it. And it hurts that you can’t.
Frustrated, you gently pull away, give a small nod, and leave the room.
The following weeks are agony.
Every time you see her, she watches you, not with anger, but with something you can’t quite name. It twists your insides. You regret how you left that night, how distant you’ve been. You even avoid going to her room, always finding someone else to take your place.
Until there’s no one else.
You’re the only one available when a request comes from her room.
So, you take a deep breath, knock lightly, and step inside.
She’s at the window. Then she turns, and when she sees you, she exhales, like she’s been holding her breath this whole time.
“Y/N,” she whispers.
She walks straight to you and pulls you into her arms. The embrace is firm and grounding. You melt into it. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay in that warmth forever.
As she slowly pulls back, her hands move to your face. She looks into your eyes, and suddenly you understand every look she’s given you. Because you feel it too. That need. That quiet ache. That terrifying, beautiful desire to be known.
Her thumb traces your bottom lip.
“Can I kiss you?” she asks.
You nod, unable to form any other response.
The kiss is short. But perfect.
She pulls back just a little and whispers, “Stay tonight, please. I’ll make it an order if that helps. I’ll take responsibility. I don’t care what it takes, just don’t go.”
And you stay.
The night is quiet. You lie together on her bed, facing each other. She tells you about her life, her nightmares, and how hard it’s been to be away from you. How much she wishes she could take you with her. But she can’t.
Eventually, she falls asleep. You stay, watching her breathe, committing every detail of her face to memory.
But dawn is coming.
And you have duties to return to.
So you slip away, quietly, carefully, leaving her behind once again.