Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ladies and gentlemen, Michael Wheeler from District 6!

The voice was huge, reverberating in my veins with that unpleasant Capitol clarity, punching me in the stomach with the syllabic familiarity of my own name. It didn’t sound like mine, not here, not in that voice.

I willed my feet to move, stepping onto the gleaming stage, glassy and polished within an inch of its life, trying not to look too much at the dim reflection in it. Lights from every angle burned down on me and suddenly I could hardly see, just a bright haze speckled with fiercely coloured wigs and other ridiculous things people put on their heads here. I tried to not look too startled or shake or do something else embarrassing like trip over my own feet.

“Michael! Welcome, welcome!” Caesar Flickerman’s hand was outstretched, cuffed by the sleeve of a shiny suit I couldn’t quite tell the colour of, it kept shifting from an offensive purple to an even worse orange. Don't look at the suit, Mike, don't be weird. I slotted my hand into his, trying to appear somewhat sure of myself, just the right amount of relaxed and simultaneously humble or gracious. His hands were soft. Not in a nice way. More in an uncanny way, in a not-human way. Like he’d been laminated.

“So, Michael, what’s been the highlight of your time in the Capitol, tell me?” He continues, smiling like he’d never frowned in his life. His teeth were abnormally white and square and I had to stop myself from thinking too much about how very creepy it was that people file their real teeth down to look like that.

“Uh-” I said. And then my brain promptly tripped over itself.

I had no idea where I was going. Which was not new, exactly, but a particularly unfortunate moment for that to happen.

Think, Mike. I just needed to say something neutral. Something cool. Something that wouldn't make me want to rip my ears off if I ever had to watch this back. Something that has nothing to do with teeth.

“The, um… the tech stuff.” I blurted. “Like, all the Capitol’s weird… fancy systems and screens and—uh—there’s this archive thing they let us use for a bit? It’s digital. Obviously. I mean… of course it is, it’s the Capitol.” Shut up, Mike. “Just, uh… the amount of data they’ve got stored is kind of insane. Like, I pulled up a schematic for this 200-year-old generator and it still ran. Like, ran in the file. It was animated. That was… cool.” Yeah, very cool. Very neutral. I’d delivered a twenty-page essay when I could have said ‘computers.’

Caesar’s eyes lit up. “Aha! a tinkerer, are we?” Then he turned to address the audience, “Watch out, folks — we’ve got a future engineer on our hands. Might rewire the arena before the Games even start!” A murmur of Capitol laughter rippled through the audience, all glitter and echo. Not at me I hoped.
Once they settled, he leaned closer to me, dropping his voice a little. “Tell me, Michael — if you could build one thing to help you out there, what would it be? And don’t say a toaster — unless it shoots fire.”

I waited for the laughter to die down before I answered.

“Uh—well, I mean, okay, not like a weapon or anything, because obviously that’s cheating, and they’d definitely, like, zap me for that.” Zap me? What am I, six? “But—uh—I dunno, maybe some kind of… mapping drone? Or like—okay this is stupid—but when I was younger I tried to build this radio from scrap that could bounce signals through power lines. It never worked, obviously. I electrocuted myself a little.” I electrocuted myself a little? Perfect. Sponsors love a kid who’s dense enough to fry himself for a glorified walkie-talkie. “But something like that, maybe. A way to listen. Hear what’s coming before it gets to me.” I tried shrugging off my rambling. Nonchalant. Totally cool. “Or, you know… a toaster. That shoots fire. Way more useful.” That got a laugh.

“Oho!” Caesar threw his head back, his teeth flashing too bright. “You hear that, folks? Fire-breathing toasters and power-line espionage!” He turned theatrically to the crowd. “Remind me not to let this one near my kitchen appliances!”

He leaned in again, conspiratorially, with a sparkle in his eye. “But honestly, Mike—may I call you Mike?—I think that’s fascinating. You’ve got a mind for innovation, don’t you? You want to listen, not just fight. That’s clever. That’s survival.” He gave a slight pause, letting the moment stretch a little.

I didn’t know if maybe I was meant to say something. Agree? Say something funny?

Then he softened his tone just enough to sound sincere. “Let’s hope that brain of yours serves you well in the arena." And then, he grinned. “Though if you do survive using a toaster, I must get the recipe.”
Great. So now I’m the toaster kid from District Six.

I laughed because I was supposed to. Because if I let what I really felt play on my face I’d be white as a sheet with my mouth hanging open.

“So!” Caesar clapped his hands once, sharply. The lights somehow got even brighter. “You’ve got the brains, Mike. Let’s talk heart. Tell us; what are you fighting for in there?”

Heart. Heart? Here? My stomach tied itself into a knot. I didn’t even know if I was going to bother fighting, or if I was gonna walk off the podium early and let them blow me to bits. Quicker that way.

What was heart-felt enough? Saying my family’s predictable. Saying myself would be selfish. Really, I just didn’t want to die in there, in pain and alone and part of a tv show.

“Uh,” I stalled, still whirring like some piece-of-shit computer as I went through all the potential answers I could give that had the highest probability of improving the statistical chance of sponsors later down the line. Or just something that wouldn’t make me cringe inwardly. “I dunno,” I started, already regretting opening my mouth, “maybe just not to be, like… cannon fodder with a nameplate, y’know? Like, I don’t want to be that kid they flash on screen for ten seconds before the cannon fires and they cut to someone more interesting. I guess I just… I dunno. I’d like to do something before I go. Something that matters. Not big, not—like, heroic or whatever, I’m not saying that. I mean that would be cool too but um. Just… good. Something kind. Or smart. Or, I dunno, something that makes someone go, ‘hey, that kid wasn’t nothing.’”

I scratched the back of my neck. “That sounds dumb. I guess I’m still figuring it out. What I’d fight for. I’d… I’d like to figure that out. Before I…can’t.”

Caesar tilted his head at me, his smile softening—not the stage smile, not the one that felt like it was welded on, but something gentler. Practiced still, sure, but... less sharp. “Now that,” he said, his voice dropping just a little, like he was letting me and the audience in on a secret, “is a real answer.”

He turned slightly to address the crowd, as always, arms spread. “Not cannon fodder, folks—Michael Wheeler wants to make his mark. To do something that matters.” A few polite claps. Some even real. “I think we can all understand that. He’s still figuring it out, and aren’t we all?”

The crowd chuckled, a soft ripple of Capitol-approved sentimentality, and Caesar leaned in again, stage-whispering, “Well, Mike… for what it’s worth, I think you’re off to a good start.”

And then the audience was clapping again, and the lights shifted and something about the stage signalled my turn was over and my legs started moving before my brain caught up.

I think—I think I meant it.

Even if I didn’t really know what “something that matters” looked like yet.

Half the tributes were yet to face the lights, still lined up like livestock queued for slaughter, eyes locked on the screen above their heads, studying. Crystal clear, Caesar welcomed the girl from District Seven onto the stage. She had hair like fire, face like stone, dressed in earthy-greens and fabric like warped bark— a clear, if lazy, nod to her district. Lumber.

I watched the tributes follow, one after another. A few disappeared into the blur—forgettable. Nervous. Some were kids who looked too young to hold a knife, let alone throw one. But a few stuck. The early districts, as expected. One through four. The Careers.

One consisted of a bigger boy, eighteen and angry. Billy, I think his name was. He sat cocky, legs spread like he owned the place, casually running his hands through his curly, not-quite-blonde not-quite-brown hair, slow and deliberate like he was waiting for the cameras to capture it. He looked almost bored already, as if the idea of murder weighed nothing. He was well built too, and looked like a killer. I could quite easily imagine him knocking someone’s brains out with his bare hands. Mine, probably.

The girl from One, Heather, I think, was tall. Pretty in a practiced way. She had an ease in the Capitol spotlight like she had done it a thousand times, but somewhere, under the batting eye-lashes, I saw a flash of fear. I wondered if the glisten on her skin was more than just glitter, if any of it was the sheen of nervous sweat.
Two was just as intimidating. The boy was sturdier but not much older than me. Jason. I saw something like naive arrogance bubble under the charisma. He seemed sure. So sure I almost felt bad, knowing it wouldn’t last. Angela, the girl, was bright blonde and dressed in soft pinks, glimmering in that surreal Capitol way, but despite the frothiness of her colouring, she looked mean. Really mean. The way her lips pursed and the smug grins she kept flashing rubbed me the wrong way, like she was hiding a knife in her teeth.

Three was smart. Closer to home. This curly haired kid called Dustin got the same ‘tinkerer’ comments I did, but with none of the verbal diarrhea of my interview. He was paired with this other girl who made sure the Capitol didn’t count her out based on her smaller stature. She seemed just as intelligent, if not more.
District four was made up of two older kids. The boy, Steve, looked like he could handle himself. Like he could fight. Not in the same gloating and arrogant way as One, but with steadiness. He seemed almost approachable. His district partner was called Robin, if memory serves, who was quicker to show nerves. I could tell because her brain whirred and stumbled like mine did when she talked, rambling everytime she was given room to, her mouth moving just that bit quicker than her mind.

I watched them all. Faces melding together by the end, all the same glow of Capitol spotlight.

The same thoughts kept looping.

These were the faces of soon to be killers.

Of soon to be killed.

If I wanted to live, I would have to kill these people.

And if I didn’t, it would be one of their faces I would see last.

Not a friend, not family, just whoever got there first.

This wasn’t some unfortunate incident I could joke about later. This wasn’t just one of those hey look how much of an idiot I am stories I pulled out to get a laugh. If I fucked this up, that was it. This was real. And this stupid interview is what they would play alongside my death while they feigned mourning. While the canon boomed. This was just a prologue to my death.

As I dragged myself to bed, I tried not to think about how many other sacrifices had laid upon the plush velvet covers and wondered why they were only offered such comforts as death loomed, like dogs before the needle came. How many others woke up sweating through the sheets, helplessly clutching at the fabric hoping for the familiarity of home only to meet the foreign sensation of luxury, knowing it was only a reminder it wouldn’t last much longer. I tried not to think about how we all slept in the same sheets, felt the same velvet, just washed and dried until it didn’t remember tears.

I didn’t rest. Not really. The passing, thin wisps of sleep were racked with flashing blood and noise and not knowing where it came from. The hours I laid pale and quiet in the dark were spent cradling my own body, knowing it wouldn’t be mine much longer, knowing I couldn’t outrun a career on these tired legs, knowing that my heart, beating in my muffled ears, would stop.

I tried to plan. I tried to run math in my head.

I’d take note of where the careers started, grab a backpack and bolt. I’d stay alert. I need to sleep. I need to stay alert.
I’d bolt and I’d find shelter and I’d wait.

Or I’ll step off the podium before they could make a show of it.

Chapter Text

The launch room was hollow, grey. The automated voice rang along the walls.

Ten seconds remaining.

The glass elevator was just a metre from me, open, waiting. I took a deep breath, the air only barely reaching my lungs, last night’s nightmares still gnawing at my ribs. Stepping toward the tube, I hesitated before I let the glass envelop me, knowing that once it did, it was over. Any chance of it being a dream, any chance of forgetting what was coming, dashed. I willed my stomach to not chuck itself out of my mouth with tight, strained swallows.

Then it started moving under my feet and suddenly, I was gut-punched with a pang of grief, missing the hollow room as I left it behind, the air closing in and dark consuming me whole in the ascent. Upward. Upward for what felt like forever and a second all in one.

I winced, seared by the fast, oppressive light falling in from above my head, grabbing at me, almost hungry.

Whipping my head around, I took in the arena. It was huge. A mountain coated thick with spring-green grass, spun gold in the sun and rich with speckled patches of wildflowers like stars sat just ahead, cleft in the middle, a waterfall spilling silver from the mouth of the valley into a twinkling blue river. Behind me, was a crescent moon of tall evergreen woodland reaching with cradling arms around the edges of the arena, raised up on steep slopes of stone. The rock glistened almost lilac in the light and breathed with a carpet with moss and vines. Pretty. Pretending it wasn’t built for blood.

15, 14, 13, 12…

I could step off early. Right then and there. I could do it. Just walk out on my own terms.

11, 10, 9…

I could step off. Avoid the scramble. Avoid the blood. Quick. Clean. Well, maybe not clean but-

8,7…

Canon fodder with a nameplate.

I looked up from my own feet.

The Careers’ podiums were a fair distance from mine, enough to give me room to grab a backpack and head for the treeline before getting my head bit off. I eyed up the pack I was going for. Medium-sized, green, close. Just had to get there first. Just had to not fall flat on my face.

6, 5, 4…

Just had to run.

3, 2…

I could probably do it.

1.

I launched forward. 

The immediate roar of stomping and chaos and canon dissolved to static behind the rush of blood in my ears. Eyes blurry, hands shaking, the gulf between me and the backpack stretching. The ground rushed beneath me in green fuzz. There was no time to look at what was coming, at what that thud was, at whose bloody cry that was. 

Finally, my grip found and closed around the strap of the pack before I could even process that I was close enough. I yanked it up off the floor and spun fast on my heels back to the treeline. 

My foot just missed the sprawled arm of a young girl knocked to the floor, thrown wide like she tried to break her fall. I swivelled my head back at her. Lifeless. I kept running, my face still twisted over my shoulder, unable to rip my eyes off her bloodied, hacked shoulder, split open and spilling a staining red over the lush bed of daisies. Something dropped in my stomach, heavy.

I didn’t see the boy until I was crashing into him.

The hard, dull thud of our bodies colliding reverberated through me as we both wobbled back a little. I thought I was dead. I thought he’d rip me open.

He didn’t.

“Sorry.” He yelped, startled. He instinctively raised his hand half-way as if he meant to steady me before quickly drawing it back, whipping past and disappearing into the trees. 

Sorry?

He stopped to say sorry?

My legs kept moving but my eyes followed him, my mind still hanging on his voice.

Eventually, once the sound of screaming and cannon fire faded into the trees, my legs gave out beneath me. I dropped hard onto the forest floor, breath catching in sharp, uneven gasps like I was forgetting how lungs worked. My hands fumbled with the backpack, fingers twitching like static.

Cool. Can’t even open a zipper. That bodes well.

I couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t stop seeing the blood behind my eyelids. I couldn’t stop hearing ‘sorry’.

Once I finally pulled it open, I rummaged through its contents. 

A canteen of water. Without the water. Of course. A folded up sheet of plastic material. A tin of dried fruit. One miscellaneous bar wrapped in an obscure silver crinkly paper, maybe food. And–

“Shit” I hissed, yanking my hand back. A sharp sting flared in my finger. I’d sliced it on something buried at the bottom. I instinctively sucked at the blood before reaching back more carefully. I pulled out a little blade, barely even a knife. It glinted at me.

I tried to steady my breathing. In. Out.

Light only just reached the wood, growing particularly dense here, only lit by a few fragments of sunlight slipping through the canopy in thin threads. I ran my hand into the grass, cool and damp, trying to forget the heat and hurry of the bloodbath. I soaked my skin in the dew like I actually believed it could purify the sweat dripping from my palms and now, just a little blood. Like it was strong enough to undo what had already happened.

Somewhere further off, higher and deeper, a bird whistled.

Just one. Clear and thin, like it didn’t know it was in the middle of a war.

It felt like an apology. It felt like hope. Felt out of place, all too gentle, and it was that tune that made me want to cry more than anything else. 

I lifted myself slowly, my knees a little stiff, and started walking. The bird kept singing. I didn’t look for it—just let the sound pull me forward. A reminder that not everything here was made to kill. Or maybe just proof that something small and beautiful could survive anyway.

Okay. I wasn’t dead. Yet.

I had a pack. I had legs. I had an almost-knife I was afraid to touch. This was fine. Totally fine.

I decided it was best to head as far away from the cornucopia as possible. The arena was obviously widest at its edge and I hoped that the further I walked, the slimmer the chance was of stumbling into someone else’s camp or…corpse. 

Hanging above me, the sunlight softened the edges of the green canopy with an ethereal glow, emerald and gold gleaming in kaleidoscopic strokes. I tried not to look. Kept my gaze on the shadows pooling between the pine trees, packed dense and dark. I dodged where yellow veils of light fluttered into the clearings from above, desperate not to be exposed, even for a moment, even if I knew I was alone, like the light itself would see or sting.

Just then I heard a warbled murmuring a little way away, accompanied by the footsteps crunching on dry leaves.

Two voices. Male. Getting closer.

Instinctively, I dropped fast. Breath pinched in my throat, I folded into the shadowed underbrush, scoring my skin, spiny like barbed wire. Slowly, the vague mumbling parted from the low babbling of the woods, more distinct in their closeness.

“...fucking joke.” One of the voices trailed in, with the lazy confidence of someone who knew he was bigger than most people around him.

“I know.” the other laughed. “If I was gonna act wet like that I would have jumped off the pedestal before the countdown.”

Something bitter settled in my mouth. My jaw clenched as I tried to swallow it back but my throat was stiff, closing in.

The crisp sound of heavy footfall against the forest floor sharpened as the boys trudged even closer to where I curled in on myself, hand over my mouth trying to contain the sound of my thin and rattled breath.

“God. D’you see that kid from nine?” The boy said, practically above me now. My blood thundered under my skin.

“The hummer?” 

“Yeah. I went to the same station as him in training, he practically backed into a corner and ran away. Fairy like that can’t actually expect to live for more than a day.” They had passed me but I couldn’t help but wince at the words spat out of their mouth.

“Bet. Bet he’s gone by morning.” Their voices started to filter back into the hush of wind, trailing away, but I stayed very still. I waited too long, just sat in the damp roots like I was waiting to rot. I couldn’t bring myself to my feet. My limbs were locked. I hadn’t yet processed how close I had just come to being ripped open, but that wasn’t the reason for the heavy numbness that had settled under my skin. No. What fixed me in that very uncomfortable, not-so-graceful position was what he had said. Stuff I knew by heart.

I didn’t even know who they were talking about. I mean, they were probably right. Poor kid probably wouldn’t last much longer. No one gentle ever wins the games.

I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, eyes blurrily staring at where the guys had just passed through.

God, how many times had I heard that label back home?

And now here, spoken as if it were a death sentence.

How easily could that be me? 

And how easily could it be me they ‘bet’ on next? Because they would. Probably already were. Eventually they would see. Eventually they would look and see how I was too skinny or too awkward or too weak and they’d think; That one. That one won’t last.

I mean, they would probably be right.

I squeezed my eyes shut and let my eyes focus again before finally pushing myself up off the ground. My hands found and readjusted my pack as if it was the sensation of twisted straps digging into my shoulders that was making me so uncomfortable.

Breath still a little uneven, I took in my surroundings to restore my sense of direction and trudged forward like I had before, all the while editing my posture and reworking my resting face to something a little less restful, trying to look composed for the cameras; The same cameras I was suddenly very aware had broadcasted my brief episode just moments ago.

By the time that the sun had fallen just ahead of me, readying to settle, I had managed to walk far. Far away from the start.

There was a slope. A steep incline of mud, moss and stone. It peaked into the sky just an edge higher than the trees. Up there, I would be able to see how far I was. How safe I was.

I clambered up, having hoped for quick and painless but I ended up staggering up the final climbs before I could heroically double over at the summit, my lungs burning. Panting and aching, I looked up. 

The arena was gauzy with distance, lit with the low rays of early evening that had begun to burn grass into gold. I straightened up a little until I could peer over the hazy, stretching green of the treetops. I was far. Very far. I’d venture that I was probably right near the edge now, directly opposite that cracked mountain I’d spotted at the cornucopia. 

I tried to picture it in my head. Like a map. Me as a little dot at the edge of a very deadly circle.

I skirted back down the hill once the fear of being too visible caught up with me, dust kicking up at my shoes and swirling warm, ochre yellow in puffs of sunlit smog.

I should probably hide.

The trees were tall. Pretty good amount of coverage, too. Lots of leaves. Thick branches. Etcetera. I picked one that looked climbable—not too smooth, not too brittle, minimal suspicious vines—and started up. It was harder than I wanted it to be. My muscles were screaming, “You are not a monkey, Mike, get down.” But I made it.

I wedged myself into a decent fork between two broad limbs. The bark pressed against my spine in a way that was going to be very annoying come morning, assuming I made it that far. I adjusted, once, twice, before finally accepting the “comfortable as a pile of rocks” situation for what it was.

Why didn’t I learn how to do literally any of this? 

I know the exact chain of electromagnetic frequencies needed to transmit a distress call across a hundred kilometres but I can’t even hold a knife right. I don't know how to kill someone. I don't even know if I could. If I could want to.

I had never felt stupider. Or smaller. And I’ve felt small. My whole life. Being a scrawny AV nerd in a class full of boys who are much louder and bigger and meaner and better at gym than you does that. 

God they're probably watching too. My whole school, my whole district. Watching me trip over tree roots and flinch when a squirrel moves too fast. Watching me fumble around like I thought science was actually going to save me. Like knowledge was actually useful. Or could make me useful.

What am I gonna do? Build a radio out of moss and wishful thinking?

I pressed the heel of my hand into my eye until I saw stars.

I’m going to die in here. Not even in like, a cool, heroic way. Just…stupidly. Meaninglessly. Because I spent my whole life preparing for the wrong kind of war.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long after my eyes fluttered open from a sleep I hadn’t known I’d slipped into. 

The morning was still fresh. Breaths of cold night air lingered in shady pockets, the sun yet to reach through the canopies and warm it. Waking birds had only just begun to trill out through the quiet. That's when I heard it. A thin, broken warble. Low, a little ahead.

It wasn’t hard to spot. It was yellow-breasted, glowing in the unripe, gold rays beginning to slither between the trees. The bird was still, crumpled on the dusty forest floor like the wind had been knocked clean from its little lungs.

I wandered over, slow. I didn’t want to scare it.

The little yellow bird looked like it had fallen wrong, neck bent at an angle that looked impossible to survive, still trying to move its head back to where it used to be, flinching, blinking and breathing all too much and then all too little like it was caught between fighting and giving up.

I crouched beside it, hunger roaring in my stomach, but I didn’t reach for it like food. I scooped it into my palm, trying to be gentle with my clumsy hands, careful to not press down on the broken shape of it. I could cup it in just one hand, stroking over its feathers with just my shaking thumb. I don’t know why I picked it up. Maybe because just because it didn’t make me afraid. Maybe because I wanted something to need me.

I should have left it, I should have kept moving but I didn’t.

I wondered how you go about feeding birds, especially birds that can't move their necks anymore. I wondered how he was even still alive, all twisty like that, just barely. 

I didn’t think it could survive. I just didn’t want it to die alone.

I broke off part of a half-crushed berry from my pocket with my free hand and held it to its beak. It didn’t eat it. It just looked at me — right into my eyes for so long it was almost like he was trying to memorise my face. I hope he wasn't afraid. I hope that, though he couldn’t bring himself to eat and though I could never mend his little neck, holding him was enough, that feeding him peace and quiet while it ended was enough.

For a moment, I almost forgot where I was, so focused on a mangled lark that the games slipped clear from my mind.

Eventually he passed away in my hands and I placed him gently at the base of a tree, in a nest of grass and sprouting flowers, and rose back up to my feet. I shouldn’t have held it for so long really. I should have kept moving. It would be very embarrassing to get jumped because I was too busy cradling something soft and hopeless.

I went back to looking for a stream, trying to tune my ears to the sound of babbling water.

I trudged on, growing more irritable by the second; jaw tight, muttering curses, kicking at roots and rolling my eyes as my headache gnawed behind my eyes, spurred by dehydration and prolonged scowling.

Eventually, I saw a patch where the thicket got greener and thicker. I welcomed the music of gushing water over rocks, eagerly half-jogging over toward the sound. 

But just then, I heard movement, a crack of twigs, rustling through leaves.

I armed myself quickly. I turned fast. I almost lost my balance. Blade in hand, breath caught in my throat.

There was a gasp before he crashed to the floor.

His frame didn’t scream “killer,” but it didn’t scream “easy target” either. I saw the way his shoulders tensed when he hit the ground, caught in a stumble, palms scraping against dry leaves. Not armed. Not yet. Maybe not at all.

I didn’t move. Neither did he. He looked too worn to.

We just stared.

My mind started doing that thing it did under pressure—running useless math. How fast could I get to him? Would he fight back? Could I kill someone who looked like that? Scared, I mean. Tired.

His pants were drenched up to his knees, his hands were coated in thick mud that had dried on his skin. His chest was rising too fast, eyes locked on my blade. Green. I noticed that before I meant to. Like a warm hazel green. His hair fell unevenly over his face from the fall, a little tangled by the bracken and wet at the ends too. Something jolted low in my stomach. Fear. Well, I thought so, it was sharp and gutting but it wasn’t cold like fear.

He scrambled up, knees unsteady, backing away like an animal that already knew it was cornered. And still—I didn’t move. I just stood there, blade out like I even knew how to use it.

Could I? Would I?

He wasn’t trying to fight. He wasn’t trying to do anything. Just backing away, slow and terrified and silent. I probably could. I probably could kill him.

And then I dropped it.

The knife hit the ground between us with a soft thud. Stupid. Stupid, reckless thing to do. But I couldn’t stand how it felt in my hand, like a threat I didn’t mean.

His eyes darted to it, then back to me.

"I’m not gonna hurt you," I said, I decided.

He still didn’t speak.

"I swear. I—" I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly aware of the height difference, how that might feel from where he stood. "I don’t want to do this alone. Maybe you don’t either?"

A long pause. Then, finally, he nodded—tiny, cautious.

"We could be a team," I said. My voice cracked a little, but I didn’t care. "Friends."

And then, quieter, because saying it out loud felt stupid and huge:
"Do you want to be friends?"

He blinked at me. And I could tell he wasn’t expecting that. Not here, not in the arena. But then he nodded again. Firmer this time.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Friends."

We stepped closer at the same time.

“Cool” I breathed.

“Cool.”

"Mike," I offered, like names still mattered.

"Will," he said. His voice was quiet..

Will. He was the district nine boy. The one who I caught looking at me in training while he practiced tying knots. I remember him being good at that. The one that stayed by himself. The one who got shy and overcome by stage-fright in the Capitol interview even though he seemed likable enough. The one that whipped past me at the blood-bath and stopped just to say sorry. That was him, that was Will. Of course he had a name like that. 

He looked at me for a second too long, then away like he was afraid eye contact might get him killed.

I picked the blade up off the floor, intentionally slow enough to not be scary.

I heard him slowly steadying his breathing, the gentle sound mixing with the sound of the stream through the bracken.

Once I was crouched down at the bank, filling the canteen from my pack, he still hadn’t spoken. I caught him just in my peripherals. He only looked at my face through the reflections caught and warped in the ripples, like he was checking I wasn’t hiding fangs or something through the safety and softness of the water, of not really looking. As if I couldn’t see him if he didn’t look directly.

“You know,” I started, looking at him through the water, “If you were planning to drown me, this would be a pretty cinematic way to do it.” I turned over my shoulder to look at him properly, hoping for just a polite laugh or even a slightly amused exhale.

 He looked mortified. Like I’d wholeheartedly accused him of a crime. Of actual premeditated murder.

I realised that he might have actually been thinking about it. Not because he wanted to actually kill me, but because he was scared I would believe he would. That explains why he wouldn’t get any closer than two meters, like a promise he wouldn’t hurt me.

“I was kidding.” I said quickly, raising both hands in surrender. “You know. Ha ha.”

He decided on a polite, small smile eventually. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Tough crowd…” I murmured back into the stream. He still didn’t smile, still watching me through the water.

“Sorry,” he said.

I looked over at him again. 

His gaze dropped to his shoes and he looked like he wanted to burrow himself into the ground. He actually just apologised for not laughing at a bad joke. Like feeding my ego was more important than how scared he was of me.

“No- No.” I started, weirdly soft, “I mean, it wasn’t funny.” 

His eyes met mine, nervous still but a little warmer than before.

“I’ll try harder next time.” I said as I got up from the floor, dusting the forest guck of my knees with my free hand. Stepping into that two meter bubble he had been keeping, I smiled, dipping my head to meet his eyes. “Sound good?” 

“Okay.” His gaze flitted from the ground to the vague vicinity of my eyes as he leaned back a little, like I got too close. But his eyes were a little lighter than before, smile a little more real.

“Okay. Cool.” I screwed the cap tighter on the canteen, glancing down at my hands and taking a step back from him, closer to the water. “So, I’m thinking we stay near the water and set up some kinda shelter.” I gestured vaguely upstream.

He nodded faintly. Opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

My eyebrows twitched together. “What?”

“No, nothing.”

I squinted at him. “Nope. You were gonna say something that wasn’t ‘sorry’ just then. What is it?”

“Um,” He hesitated, glancing at the trees and back at me. ”I just…I was thinking,” The words were quiet. “It might be safer to go that way, further from the stream. Other people will come here. To the water.”

Um yeah, because people generally die without water? Which might make it a good idea to stay close? I heard myself think, but he was right. Obviously. Of course he was right and I didn’t think of that. Too focused on water access and not the part where people would kill us for it. I started scrambling for a counter, something that sounded smarter. Sharper. Something to reclaim an ounce of footing and smooth over his pointing out of the strategic holes in my logic.

I hate that I didn’t think of that first.

So, I heard myself go, “Yeah, there’s a reason for that.” And it came out much flatter than I meant it to.

“Yeah, no, I mean…Yeah, sorry.” He mumbled, already beginning to retreat into himself.

Shit.

“Wait, no–” I sighed, tensing my hands around the lid as I screwed it on even tighter. “That wasn’t– sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just– Not great at sounding like a human person, apparently.”

He didn’t say anything.

I forced myself to take a breath, digging deep into the bottom of my lungs for the strength to swallow my pride. It's not a competition. He’s helping you not die, mouthbreather.

“Seriously,” I say, softer. “You’re right. Yeah, we’ll do it your way.”

Will glanced up at that, surprised like he didn’t expect me to change my mind. Or care.

I looked away fast, pretending to check the seal on the canteen. Again. As if I hadn’t already screwed it so tight that now I wasn't even sure if it would ever open again. “I mean, I was going to say that anyway.” I add, because apparently I can’t accept being wrong without putting on some performative and painfully transparent bravado. “You just beat me to it.”

He didn’t call me out. Just gave me an almost amused smile and said “Oh okay, cool.”

There was a beat of silence spent looking at each other. I wasn’t so good at reading him at the start, but I think it wasn’t just me. I think both of us were trying to solve the other, not sure if it even mattered. 

I walked past him, careful not to brush his shoulders in case he apologised for existing too close. “C’mon then.” I said, and he followed.

While Will didn’t give up the tense radius of space he held me at, what was once two electric meters of fear-charged air began to close to just one. That being said, my attempts at conversation remained pretty fruitless. Whenever I tried to get him to talk, with a dumb joke or hypothetical question, he either nodded, smiled politely or resorted to his four favourite words; “Yeah” “Okay” “Cool” and, tragically, “Sorry”. He mumbled apologies for everything. For getting distracted looking at birds or not quite following my rambling. For stepping on a twig too loud. Once, I think, just for breathing near me. Sometimes I had no idea why.

He hummed sometimes. Quiet. It came out a little jolty as we walked, as he took the occasional heavier step, but it was nice. I think he almost didn’t notice he was doing it. Like a familiar comfort. 

Suddenly my mind whirred, rewinding, back to hiding in that bramble, hiding from two boys spitting at softness.

‘The hummer?’

I didn’t say anything about it. I thought he might stop if I did.

Will’s eyes were trained on his own feet, hair falling over his eyes, lashes brushing against his cheeks when he blinked, soft, slow and tired.

“Have you bumped into anyone else yet?” I asked. He tilted his head up to me.

“No,” He said, light in a way that felt forced. “You?”

“Uhh” Yeah maybe don’t tell him about that one, Mike. Don’t think he needs to know the whole arena is betting against him. “Nah” But it came out a little squeezed, like a question. Like a lie. I watched his face read mine. Yeah he definitely knew. And he was definitely thinking it was because the truth was much worse than it actually was. Probably thinking I lied because I’ve killed someone and didn’t want him to know he was next. “Okay well I haven’t like- physically bumped into anyone. Um but I have had to hide from the career guys ‘cause they almost saw me and definitely would have obliterated me.”

His eyes flashed every so slightly wider as I relayed what had happened, really listening. “That’s…scary.” he breathed, looking back at his boots. Something in his face eased knowing that I actively hid from violence rather than incited it. Plus, the next thing he apologised for was accidently brushing my shoulder, only meaning he was allowing the distance to shrink between us. Win.

Eventually, the ground stopped sloping upward. The area was close enough to the stream to assure we would find it again, but far enough to avoid being hacked open by similarly dehydrated teenagers. The cover was decent, the trees huddled thickly together with light only spilling through in thin strokes and small patches, almost strangled by the shade before they could reach the ground. If I had mapped it right in my head, we were still along the edge too.

“Around here’s probably good.” I said, not long before quickly catching myself. Too decisive? What if he felt like I was taking over? God, what if he shrunk back into himself again? I tacked on quickly, in a softer tone this time that my voice wasn’t hugely accustomed to, “What do you think?”

Will paused, thumbs hooked under the straps of his backpack. Nodded. “I like it.” he said. “Its…nice”

Nice? In the middle of the literal Hunger Games? I blinked at him as he wandered past me, gaze drifting upward through the trees and birdsong, into the sky filtering through the hanging net of soft, gleaming green, the branches and leaves entangled across the forest’s ceiling in safe knots.

I watched him, standing in a dusty spotlight bleeding through the canopy, lingering for maybe a second too long.

“Cool.” I said, too loudly and probably a little too late. “Yeah. Good trees. Big fan.” He turned back at me, puzzled but polite.

I pretended to adjust my backpack. Nailed it. Social interaction: A+

“Okay, so I’m looking for something natural,” I continued, “Like a rock overhang, hollow tree, angry bear we can politely evict? Something like that.”

He huffed a light laugh. Not quite a real laugh, but almost. Progress?

We weren’t walking long before I caught a glimpse of something then. Not far away.

Some abnormal shadow, big and mangled. The longer I squinted at it, the more it started to make sense.

A fallen tree had taken the top layer of the forest ground with it, upturning and bearing its web of roots to the sky, curving over like a crooked rib cage. It had left a cavity of copper soil, hopefully deep enough for the both of us. It looked pretty sheltered on all sides; long grass, ferns and trees guarding it like a castle. Once it got dark? Yeah, that pit of shadow would be pretty hidden. Safe, almost.

I stopped Will with a brief hand on his arm. “There, look. That could work.” I nodded toward the uprooted tree. “Wanna check it out?”

His gaze followed where I had pointed him before he gave me a second of eye contact and a smile.“Yeah, okay.”

Moss wreathed the edges of the shallow pit and as I knelt to peer in, a little of the earth crumbled at my feet, cascading down the side and rolling into the bottom. I swept a hand over the slightly damp floor of the hollow, dusting most of the loose stones, gravel and dirt into one corner while my eyes adjusted to see into the darker shadows at the far end. We could both fit in there, for sure. Not a lot of legroom, unless we took turns having knees, and there wasn’t much space for recreational activities such as standing, breathing or, I don’t know, cartwheeling, but still, it was shelter.

He was hovering nearby, also trying to look inside but maybe not quite sure what he should be looking for and not quite sure how close he could get to me.

I looked over my shoulder at him and he blinked back like he was afraid I expected him to say something. I picked up a stick and pointed inside.

“Okay so obviously it's quite tight quarters,” I began, “But uh minimalistic and tiny living is very in. Plus, you have to consider the location; secluded, very exclusive. Premium forest views. Excellent um– airflow. And if you consider the market right now? Honestly, a steal.”

He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if I was joking or having a stroke.

I continued anyway, “And the rent’s very reasonable. Just the low, low cost of…well, our sanity.”

Slowly, his eyes grew lighter and his lips curved, small and warm. “Sold.” He said, crouching closer and leaning slightly into the hollow to get a better look. The fact that he had actually just gone along with my bit made me stop, mentally pat myself on the back, and grin, all too proud of myself.

I stood back up and scanned the roots stretched across the mouth of the alcove, some only dangling from the top. I figured if we weaved more branches and moss and shit between the roots, we’d be able to keep ourselves secret for the night, blend in a little more. “I think if we wedge some sticks in the gaps, cover them with leaves, we’ll be okay,” I said, already tugging at a nearby branch. “Hey, you wanna check if there’s anything mossy we can use? Like, for filling gaps?”

He nodded, “Yeah.”

He wandered away. I kept craning my neck to check he wasn’t about to be impaled or something by a tribute, or mown down by a ‘natural’ disaster. Fortunately, a minute later, Will returned with an armful of dried grass, a couple patches of moss, and a face like he wasn’t sure it’s good enough.

“That’s perfect,” I say, tossing a stick into place. “Hand me that one?”

He passed it to me without a word.

Eventually, we’d crammed the walls with enough foliage that light could barely seep in. Just soft greenish cracks between the branches, the kind you could squint through but only if you really wanted to. But I didn’t. I liked it like this. Dim, close and quiet. If I looked at the walls instead of the entrance, I could almost forget the arena was out there. Which was stupid. It still was. But I could pretend.

We sat in there for a little while before Will said anything. He was probably weighing each syllable in his head before he spoke like he had seemed to all day.

“…Could make it look nicer,” he said, barely above a mumble.

I paused, brushing some dirt off my hands. “Nicer?”

He picked at the edge of a leaf, avoiding my eyes. “Just. Less like a hole.”

“You wanna redecorate? I was kidding about the whole real estate thi–”

“No—I just—so it’s not…” His voice trailed off and he turned slightly away, shoulders tight. “Never mind, sorry.”

I frowned. “Hey. I didn’t mean it like that.” He didn’t answer. I shifted closer. 

Half of me felt like it was a colossal waste of time but the other half would have willingly handcrafted a welcome mat out of reeds. I could have gone either way. I mean, it would be a waste of time, logically. We should be making snares or weapons or something to help us not die. But…at the same time, living in a dark, damp-smelling hole wasn’t the greatest morale booster, and I figured having the best mud fort in the arena would be pretty cool. Plus, his face was doing that thing where he looks at the ground like he wishes he was six feet under it and I was growing to hate that.

“I’m not making fun of you,” I added. “You’re right, Will. It does look like a hole. A really depressing hole.”

Still nothing. Just a small shrug.

I tilted my head, “You want it cozier?”

He nodded, once.

“Well, we can’t have you suffering in silence,” I said lightly, bumping his shoulder with mine. “Leaves? More moss? Want me to hang a chandelier?”

That gets Will to glance at me. His mouth twitches, then smooths out again.

“…Just a few more leaves.”

“Right. Minimalist.”

He smiled at his hands, fidgeting with the cuffs of his pants.. “You… don’t think it’s stupid?”

“No,” I say, honestly. “I think it’s smart.” 

Once the sun had begun to fall in the sky, bleeding through the forest, the hollow was padded with dry moss around the edges and where we planned to sleep, soft and earthy. Will had even set up a stone nightstand. Well, I mean, it was a rock. But, y’know, a nice rock with all our stuff organised on it.

“Happy?” I said, as if that wasn’t a ridiculous question to ask in the Hunger Games.

“Yeah, it's cool.” He seemed genuinely very proud of his work in this very sweet, glowy way that he was trying to contain.

“Very cool. Ten out of ten fort.”

“Fort?” 

“Yeah? C’mon, that is a fort!” I broke a hand from where it had been buried in my arms, crossed over my chest, and waved toward the shelter, “A castle, even.” He actually laughed. This warm noise that misted, curling like smoke, white and weightless in the gold sun-flooded air. “Hey, what's your last name?”

He looked at me, quizzical like I was going to use it for evil.

“Byers.” Soft, but still like a question.

“Castle Byers sounds pretty good, what do you think?” I said, offhand, and slipped in through the entrance. I saw him pause outside before he followed, carefully crouching through. “You wanna sleep on that side?” I offered casually, as if I hadn’t already made sure that was the optimal spot– most securely covered, minimal draught, slightly more person-shaped. 

With his gaze hovering on me tentatively, I could tell he had planned to take the inferior side and maybe had intentionally put more effort into softening the other, content to not reap the benefits. He looked at the makeshift moss bed on the cozier side, then at me, and then gave up the internal protest. “Yeah, sure.” He shifted past me as I pulled my knees in to make room. 

Once he was settled as much as you could be in a borderline claustrophobic, glorified mud hut, Will’s eyes flickered between the me and the floor, this somewhat wide, uncertain look on his face that I read as a I-don’t-really-know-what-to-say-now-or-if-I-should-say-anything-at-all face.

I cleared my throat.“Wanna take turns keeping watch while the other sleeps? Like, I can take the first shift and wake you up halfway through the night or something, if you want.” My suggestion brought out this soft, uneasy reaction. It wasn't doubt but it wasn't agreement either. I watched it closely, like I was trying to wrap my head around something I didn’t quite get but knew was gonna come up on a test. He didn’t say much, so you had to catch the in-between bits. I wasn’t great at it yet, but I was trying.

“Are you sure? I just– I don’t mind if you wanna go first.”

“Nah, I’m good.” I said, waving him off even though, now that I was thinking about it, my eyelids felt so heavy that every blink was tempting me to leave my eyes shut and pass out upright right then and there.

“Okay.” He said slowly, and began curling in on himself like the ground might shift under him if he moved too fast, tucking into the corner and making sure he didn't disturb anything or take up too much room as he did. Then, he lifted his head a little. “Thanks…but, wake me up soon. Please.”

I nodded. “Sure.”

I sat there for a moment, watching the shape he made in the dark, listening to the wind scratch softly at the leaf-packed walls and soon, the even sound of his breath as he slept while the tension drained out of his shoulders. Still, I wasn't sure whether he trusted me or if he had just passed some threshold of exhaustion and no longer had the strength to be suspicious.

Lent back against the moss shrouded wall, I stared through the gap of the entrance, trees blurring together in the dark murkiness of nightfall. I was absentmindedly peeling bark off a stick in strips, leaving it bare and almost smooth in my hands, when I figured it was probably time me and Will switched over. The time was…approximately middle-ish, and I was about to start ripping my eyelashes out just to have something to do that wasn’t giving in to sleep.

I said I would wake him. I said we would switch. That was the deal. That was fair.

I looked up at the sky again. Still dark. Definitely middle-ish. No reason not to nudge him awake.

My hand hovered near his shoulder.

I could wake him. He wouldn't be mad. He’d probably feel better if I did. Something about shared labour building trust.

Still I didn’t touch him.

He looked wrecked; and it seemed like all he did when he was awake was worry I was going to suddenly turn a knife on him. Here, he was curled up and relaxed and not thinking. Besides, I figured he’d be more useful tomorrow if he got a couple more hours of sleep. That was strategic. Logical. We were less likely to die if one of us had full brain function.

I could go a couple more hours.

So I drew my hand back, resumed spinning a stick between my twitching fingers. Half-alert, half-dazed. Half watching the shadows between the trees, and half watching a stranger sleep.

Chapter Text

I’d been up all night.

The morning had begun to roll over the green in slanting rays before Will stirred from where he was still curled in on himself next to me. He blinked himself upright slowly, narrow eyes adjusting to the morning light and his hair sticking out weird on one side. He squinted at me, then at the sky through the opening of the shelter.

“...Wait.” He tried, but his voice came out all quiet and sleepy.

“Morning.” I rasped, voice dry.

“You didn’t–?” He froze. “You didn’t wake me.”

“I was gonna.”

He looked horrified.

“I–I told you to–” He pushed himself upright, guilt written all over him. “I said we should switch. We were supposed to. You were supposed to–” He cut himself off with a sigh. “Mike, you didn’t sleep at all?”

I shrugged, still trying to see through the heavy haze stinging behind my eyes. “Didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You should have.” He said, quietly sad.

“Yeah, probably.” I stared down at my hands, curled together to try to steady the annoying shaking that kicked in a couple of hours ago. 

A moment of silence stretched before I looked back over at him. Yep. Still looking at me. Still folded inward like he was ashamed of having a functioning circadian rhythm.

“You should’ve kicked me or something.” He said finally.

“You looked comfortable.” I didn’t really understand why he was upset. I had thought I was doing him a favour. Now we were both in a bad mood.

“That’s not–” He faltered. “That’s not the point.”

“You were tired.” I said simply. “I’ve pulled all-nighters before. A lot. It’s fine.” My tone slipped on the last syllables, sharper than I meant. 

He ducked his head a little, his gaze trailing along the floor between us until he was looking at me through his lashes with this embarrassed, tentatively soft look on his face. I knew what was coming.

“I’m sorry.” 

Yep. There it was.

“Will, you were literally unconscious, it's not your fault.”

“You should have woken me.”

“Okay!” I said, just a little too loud, maybe too mean. The kind of ‘okay’ that meant not okay at all.

Shit.

Maybe I‘d been stupid to think he’d wake up and by some miracle, trust me. Or say thank you. Or smile. Something. Something that said we were friends. So he could stop being scared of me. 

Instead, I got him feeling guilty while I managed to make it worse. Like I’d done this for leverage.

I dragged my hands over my face, squeezing my eyes shut as an exhausted sigh escaped through my nose. This was so not what I wanted.

“...I’m not fragile.” 

My hands dropped.

God. No. How did we get there?

“I–I know. I don't think you are. I was just–ugh.” I had leapt to say something without much of a plan. Okay. Pivot. A joke. “I just figured a full night’s sleep might chill you out. Evidently not.”

His brow furrowed, but not in that angry, offended way—more like he was trying not to let the smile reach his mouth. The corner of it tugged up anyway.

“You don’t think I’m chill?”

I blinked at him. Slowly. Then, smiling in disbelief, gave him the most incredulous, ‘are-you-kidding?’ look I could manage through the fog of exhaustion.

“Do I think you’re chill?” I repeated. “You jumped when you stepped on a twig yesterday.”

“That snap was loud,” he muttered, completely sincere, but he was starting to go pink in the ears.

“And then you apologized. To me or the twig? I don't know.”

He let out a breath that might have been a laugh and tipped his head down, but I caught the way his mouth pulled sideways—trying not to smile. Still folded up a little too tight, still hidden behind his hair, but something shifted, just slightly.

“Okay. Maybe I’m not completely chill.”

“Yeah, not quite.” I snorted, resting my head back against the wall. 

That got him to actually laugh. It was quiet, a little stifled, but warm. And for just a second, his posture shifted like something inside him let go, like the tension thinned. And even though my head felt like it was full of static, I couldn't help my face cracking into this dumb grin I was too tired to hide.

He hadn’t moved from where he sat, crossed legged in the corner, but somehow, he felt closer. 

Once he hummed his final laugh, silence settled between us while a small smile lingered on his lips, his eyes on the floor, the quiet long enough to make me shuffle awkwardly and rummage for something to say before it got longer.

I cleared my throat. “Hungry?” I said, the most socially proficient transition that I could come up with while I operated on complete exhaustion and a stomach so empty it had begun clawing at my ribs.

He looked up, all sleepy and still kind of soft from that laugh, and shrugged. “I mean, I’ve barely eaten in the last two days.”

“Right. So…yes? You're not just fasting?” I said, hoping I sounded lighter than I felt.

“Not trying to, no.” He gave me a smile.

“Cool.” I pushed myself up as much as I could inside our cramped shelter and tapped my hands against my legs. “Let's go find something to eat before something finds us.”

As we sat outside, my eyes were still adjusting after eight hours of staring at a dark stick wall. Will rummaged through the pack resting on his knee, his hair falling over his face, glowing a soft but burning amber in the rising sunlight that filtered through the grey morning fog. I watched him as he rationed out the food with careful hands, humming quietly as he did, but I didn’t actually register the food until he held out my half.

I almost said “We shouldn't eat this much until we find another food source.” but I caught myself once I saw what he kept for himself. It was noticeably less than mine. Even though he promised to split it evenly. He didn’t look at me; and I realised this was him trying to make up for what he saw as being selfish last night. He did feel indebted to me. And it was my fault.

I didn’t say anything in case he thought I was mad. In case he apologised. In case he tried to make up for it another way. I let him have this one and hoped that it would be enough for him to bridge the gulf he seemed to feel between us. Plus, I was starving.

He then pulled the canteen from the bag and unscrewed the cap with a slow, absentminded, steady twist. His eyes lingered on the sunrise pouring in. The metal made a soft scrape as it came loose. He tilted the canteen and brought it to his mouth, lips parting slightly and the morning rays catching the curve of his jaw. 

“Wait–!” I said, almost too late and definitely too panicked than I meant. He froze and lowered the metal from where it had brushed his lips. “Stop, don’t. It's gross. It's uh– not purified yet. Forgot. I meant to say that before.” I reached over and took the canteen from his hands and frowned at the water like it had hypnotised me. I had meant to say that before. I had literally watched him the whole time and somehow it didn’t register until the last second. God, I must be tired.

I rattled on something about how boiling water gets rid of pathogens while I knelt over a bundle of sticks, trying to start a fire with two twigs, the theory of friction, and none of the practice.

Stupid twigs.

“Come on, you piece of shit.” I muttered, shoulders tight as I ground one stick against the other. “This is the first thing humans ever figured out. Cavemen did this. Cavemen didn’t even have physics.” 

I was doing it right. I had seen this exact image in a textbook which is why I figured I wouldn’t prioritise this in training. Two sticks make friction happen which makes fire. Easy. It is supposed to make fire. So why had it been twenty long, embarrassing minutes of me spinning a twig between my palms? So long and embarrassing that Will had found something more useful to do than watching me cuss out bark.

He had taken the blade from my pack and started shaving the end of a larger stick into a spear head. He looked like he was finding much more success in his pursuits considering he wasn’t mumbling increasingly ridiculous insults under his breath. I think it was when I said ‘asshole tree shit’ that he chimed in.

“I think you’re doing it wrong.” He said.

I looked up, mid glare, hands raw.

He had apparently been watching me as my ears smoked more than the sticks ever seemed to. Even though that was their fucking job.

“I mean,” he added quickly, shuffling up closer to me until he settled with our knees brushing. “Not wrong, just– try angling it a little more. Here.” He reached over slowly and moved my hands in his before then shifting the base stick for me, holding it in place. “You keep doing the spinning part.”

“Oh right, because I'm so good at it.” I grumbled, but he was smiling back. I almost thought he might have been letting me do the fire-starting bit so I wouldn’t feel as useless. I didn’t say anything else. Just began turning the stick again.

Smoke began curling up from the smoldering divot. On the fourth try, a tiny, vivid crackle of orange leapt out. We both gasped like we’d witnessed a miracle, hunched together, heads almost touching, watching closely as it sprung into the firewood. For a split second, I thought we might have done it, but the spark failed to catch, fizzling out before it became anything real.

At the exact same time, in perfect unison, we both let out a groan of defeat, looked at each other, and began laughing. Full-bodied and warm.

“Tragic.” I said with the last breath of the laugh.

“So close.” He replied, mock-heart-broken, shaking his head before he looked back up to meet my gaze, his eyes glinting, still soft with laughter.

I was grinning, another sarcastic comment forming at the edges of my mouth, him smiling back, waiting for it, when the boom of a canon split through their air.

I felt the cold echo of it in my bones.

Will flinched, his breath hitching. 

My head snapped to the trees and we fell apart from each other like shrapnel, the smiles having slid right off our faces. 

Somewhere, someone was dead.

When I looked back at Will, he was pale, sitting back on his heels. Something under his skin had closed off, blank and distant behind his eyes as if the sound of the canon had been his.

“One down…I guess.” I tried to reel him back but he didn’t answer, his gaze lingered hazily through the trees.

When the silence held, I nodded once to myself, like that was fine, and my hands found the sticks again–cold now– and alone, I tried to spark a flame. It was all off without him, but eventually, a faint, lone flicker blushed against the bark’s rough edges, crackling and murmuring and warping the wind.

I sat back on my heels.

That was good. It should’ve felt good but it wasn’t the victory I had imagined before the canon. 

I looked over at Will, hoping for something nice, not like a gold sticker or anything, just an acknowledgement that I’d done it. His eyes flicked up to mine for a second, he pulled a small smile. 

“Okay, fire’s done. Next is boiling the water.” I said as I stood up, each hand wrapped around a canteen full of cloudy stream water. I could tell he was hesitating again, like he wanted to say something but was still weighing the risk of being annoying.

I glanced at him briefly and then back at the water in my hands. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…” He toyed with a twig in my peripherals. “I was thinking maybe we could, like, set something up to boil the water? I saw someone in training make a little rack or—”

But I’d already committed. Somewhere around “thinking maybe,” I’d decided eh, fuck it, and tossed both canteens sideways into the middle of the fire.

We both froze.

The canteens hissed as the heat hit them. The metal darkened almost instantly, flames curling around the bottoms.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

Then we both looked at the canteens.

Then back at each other.

“…Cool,” he said finally. “Bold. No hesitation. Just—straight in there.”

“I mean,” I said, suddenly aware of how insanely stupid that might’ve been, “it’s still metal. They’re not gonna melt.”

“You think.”

“They shouldn’t melt. They shouldn’t.” I amended, trying not to sound defensive.

“Okay. So we’re on a ‘shouldn’t’ basis with survival now?”

“Well you didn’t stop me!”

“You were mid-throw!”

I huffed. “Anyway, this is fine. Totally fine. You just need to let it hit a rolling boil for, like, one full minute. Two if you want to be extra safe. That’s long enough to kill most pathogens.”

He blinked at me.

I waved vaguely at the fire. “Just wait till it looks angry.”

He made a noise that was somewhere between a nervous laugh and a sigh and sat back, still watching the fire like he expected the canteens to explode.

It was nice. Him actually talking. Progress. Even if I had just dramatically thrown our only water supply into an open flame like a lunatic.

We sat back and watched the canteens sizzle in silence, the occasional pop from inside them making us both flinch like they were about to detonate.

Eventually, steam started hissing out from the lids in little bursts, and the metal had turned this scorched, blackened color like they’d been through a hell. My bad.

“…That looks angry,” he said.

I squinted at them. “Rolling boil. That’s good. That’s what we want.”

“Are they supposed to…spit like that?”

“Totally,” I lied.

Another loud psshhht of steam shot out, and we both instinctively ducked. The front of one canteen lifted slightly as the pressure shifted inside.

“They’re definitely angry,” he muttered.

“Okay, okay,” I said, grabbing a stick and trying to nudge one toward the edge of the fire. “We should probably get them out now before they explode.”

He snorted and grabbed another stick to help, and for a few seconds it was just the two of us, laughing and fumbling with awkward chopstick tactics trying to roll the canteens free from the flames.

One of them toppled too fast and dumped a whole stream of boiling water straight into the ashes.

“Shit—ow—okay, okay, not like that—”

“Is it—oh no is that all of it?!”

“No no, it’s fine, it’s fine, there’s still like half—ow, that’s hot—obviously it’s hot, what am I saying—”

We were both kind of laughing now, in that slightly breathless, too-tired way that felt like a release. Just sitting there, faces flushed from the heat and the hilarity, soot on our hands, and two traumatized metal canteens steaming between us.

He let out a quiet breath. “This is…like the camping trip from hell.”

I grinned as he laughed again, quieter this time, but it lingered. And it felt warm in a way the fire couldn’t quite reach.

We had been stewing in the veil of mist for a while, waiting for the water to settle while the sun drew itself higher in the sky. I experimentally tapped a knuckle against the side of the metal. Faintly warm. No signs of violent spitting. Will watched me do it, waiting for the long awaited green light so he could drink. 

I grabbed the less-maimed one, and for some reason, some deeply questionable, subconscious reason, I tossed it into the air. I immediately regretted it. It slipped, spun, nearly broke my nose on the way down, but somehow I managed to catch it like I meant to. A little clumsy, a little miraculous. I played it off. Totally cool.

I held it out to Will like none of that had just happened.

He blinked at me. Then at the canteen. Then back at me. His face was polite, mostly blank, but in the same way you might look at a cat bringing you a dead bird.

After a beat, he took it.

“…Thanks,” he said, slowly, like the word had to pass through a few mental checkpoints before getting clearance.

I nodded, like yeah. That’s right. I can catch things.

From the half-empty, mostly black canteen that saw the worst of our idiocy, I took my first sip. 

Warm. 

I think “Eughk” was the exact noise that came out of my throat as I grimaced at the dark well of the canteen. “Mmm. Delicious.” I said flatly, disgust still painted on my face as I braved another swig of what tasted like a mixture of burnt metal and swampy bathwater. I caught him wince too– same reaction, half the drama.

“Alright. Back to the stream?” I said, already packing up my bag and swinging it over my shoulder. I stumbled, just a little, and had to blink hard once I was upright as my sluggish blood still struggled to reach my brain and my vision began blurring into a tangle of shingling colours behind my eyelids like mosaic.

He nodded up at me, screwing the lid onto his canteen. While he was still zipping his pack shut, my mouth kept running like I was still trying to convince him it was a good idea. Maybe I was just trying to keep my brain from shutting down out of exhaustion.

“We should scope out if there are people about. Like you said, people will linger near the stream and we should uh- know about it. Plus we could have a better look for food on the way down. Berries and…stuff. Bring the spear-ish stick thing you were making,” I said as if it wasn't already in his hands, “In case we get lucky with fish. Or very unlucky with people.” 

As I said it, I watched him adjust his grip on it as if unsure whether it was a walking stick or a weapon in his palms. 

“Mainly, though,” I continued, “We’re low on water thanks to someone” I raised my eyebrows pointedly at him, bumping his shoulder, before melting into a grin. 

His brows did this thing that made me believe he might tease back, a smile tempting his mouth like it was still testing it was safe. 

“You totally bumped me. That's on you, dude.” I added with surrendering hands.

His mouth opened in that silent little shape like I did not, but he didn’t argue. Just gave me a dismissive, almost amused shake of the head. 

The further we walked, the thinner the fog got and it got easier to see what we were looking for. The dew hung around on the arching limbs of bracken, coating my hands in silk when we scooped berries from the spiny bushes. Probably edible. We hoped. Will seemed convinced they were.

He kept glancing at me sideways when I would savor a particularly long blink or try to suppress a yawn. I only caught it out of my peripherals but I knew if I actually looked in his eyes all I would find was mutual guilt. It was easier to feign ignorance.

The walk was mostly silence that only the steady crunching of the forest floor beneath our feet defied. That was until I couldn’t stand not talking anymore.

“Kinda weird, huh?” I started, not really looking at him. “Last time we were there I was fully considering stabbing you. Such growth. What a memory.” I joked, all mock-dramatic.

He laughed. A real laugh, short and soft, like it startled him too.

But then, with a slow turn of his head, he looked at me again.

Longer.

Quieter. Like something colder had crept up on him.

The ghost of his laugh lingered on his lips but became rigid, his eyes widening a little, suddenly wary that it might have been a disguised threat.

I snorted. “Dude. Joking.”

That got a faint, sort of sheepish smile and he nodded like, Ha ha, okay. But seriously am I safe?

Just then, the brush stirred ahead of us with a murmur and a snap.

I froze. Will had to grab my wrist and yank me down.

Crawling behind the bowing shape of some undergrowth, as quietly as I could with clumsy limbs, I focused on the faint chatter. We were closer to the stream than I’d thought, than I’d noticed. The rushing of the brook lapped against the sound of other tributes, obscuring most of their words. I think my heart was drumming louder than they were talking, jolting every time I thought I heard them come our way. 

Will’s head was ducked, staring through the gaps in the bramble. Breath catching every so often, his chest rose and fell heavy and fast like the air couldn’t reach his lungs fast enough. It sounded quiet and stuttered, his lips pressed together like he was trying to stop himself from gasping, trying to swallow it.

I couldn’t tell you how long we hid. It's hard to tell in the Games.

Eventually, we couldn’t hear them anymore, which probably meant they couldn’t hear us and we could communicate in more than just nods and glances. 

It was only then that I realised his hand was still stubbornly wrapped around my wrist. As soon as he saw me look down at his fingers on my skin, he ripped them away, like he too hadn’t noticed under the shroud of adrenaline.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

“No. No, I mean-” I tilted my head, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You saved me. I don’t know why I didn’t duck sooner.”

“You’re tired, Mike.” He murmured, low and gentle.

“Right. That.” I buried my face in my hand as if I could wipe the building ache clean from my head. I blinked, sighed, rose to my feet, blinked again and adjusted the straps of my backpack. 

“What are you doing?” Will asked, still crouched on the floor.

I paused, confused. “Going to the stream?”

“Are you crazy?” He looked around, wide-eyed, and got up too, walking over to me. “Those tributes were just walking to the stream and I think they might still be there. I don’t wanna take any chances, especially with you like this.”

“Like what?”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “I think someone could find, chase and kill you in the time it's taking you to blink right now. We should go back.” 

Okay. Probably true. 

“Will, it's fine. I’m fine.” I protested, vaguely waving a dismissive hand. “They might not be, we should have a look. We came all this way.”

“We got food on the way here. That's enough. Let's go back, okay?” Eyes lingering on me, he took a single step in the direction we came.

I knew he was right, I just felt like I would be holding us back if we left for camp now and, exhausted, I felt reckless enough to prove I was still capable, even if we both knew I wasn’t.

“Please?” He said carefully.

I caved. Or gave up pretending I wanted something else.

***

Once we got back to camp, it was swaddled in mist like it had been this morning, but it had gotten thicker. And only here.

I locked dead still, eyes scanning it like it was a trap about to spring.

“That’s not—” I squinted into it. “That’s not right. That’s—wait, that’s not natural. It’s the middle of the day.”

He blinked at it too. “It’s probably just—”

“No. No, think about it. We haven’t had rain. The sun’s been out since dawn. There’s no lake nearby big enough to cause—this has to be artificial. Fog machines. Gas dispersal. Psychological warfare. It’s Capitol interference.”

“…Or,” he said slowly, “maybe it’s just warm and damp and your brain is melting.”

I ignored that. “They’re watching us. They want us to go in there. It’s a test. No. A trap.”

He stepped in front of me, tugging my sleeve gently but firmly. “It’s mist.”

“It’s suspicious.”

“You haven’t slept in like thirty hours.”

“It can't just be mist,” I muttered. “Not here.”

Will was quiet for a second, then said carefully, “Do you wanna sit down?”

I shot him a look. “I’m not crazy.”

“I didn’t say you were. I said, ‘Do you wanna sit down?’”

“No. I want to stay alert in case the Capitol unleashes a bio-engineered horror monster under the cover of atmospheric world building.”

“…Right,” he said, and tugged his sleeves over his hands while trying not to smile. “Of course.”

I started pacing, restless. My body was exhausted but my brain was doing backflips. What’s the mist hiding? Cameras? Drones? Is it laced with chemicals? What’s the dew point of a setup like this—

He sat down, watching me not-so-subtly melt down.

Eventually, he said, “You know, I think it’s nice.”

“That’s what it wants you to think. I should stay awake.”

He raised his eyebrows. “All day?”

I nodded firmly, even though my hands were shaking and I was seeing double at this point. “At least.”

He didn’t argue. Just let out a tiny sigh.

“Alright,” he says. “Then I’ll stay with you.”

I glanced at him, his face soft in the haze. His knees pulled up to his chest. Watching the mist like he believed me, even if I wasn’t sure that he actually did.

We settled in. He sat on the log. I stand. Pace. Scan the trees. Pace again, my eyes completely unable to stay still and my brain too.

“Just sit,” he said for the fifth time, motioning to the log.

“I have to monitor the mist.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, in case it does a trick?”

“Yes.”

“Right,” 

I started circling the edge of the clearing. Checking for movement. Listening for drones. Recalculating how long it would take to boil water in the mist if it is, in fact, chemically manipulated.

When I made my third lap, his hands were attending to some string he had unravelled from his pack, maybe trying to remember how to make a snare. Something more interesting than me slowly losing my mind.

“Hey,” he said as I passed again. “What would mist interference do, exactly?”

“Anything. Obstruction. Sleep gas. Bacterial spores. Could be a setup for temperature extremes. Or just visual discomfort.”

“Visual discomfort?” He echoed

“Yeah.”

He was quiet. Then, small, like had thought it immediately but wasn’t sure he should say it:

“Wouldn’t that also describe you right now? Visual discomfort?”

I glared at him. “I’m protecting us.”

He bit his lip, trying to hide a smile. “Okay.”

I wasn’t planning to stop. I wasn’t planning anything, actually, because I was so tired it felt like my brain was two steps behind my body, but then I saw it.

A crack in the dirt.

Thin, like a hairline fracture, maybe an inch wide. But it branched, just slightly, like lightning had struck the forest floor and left a scar. And the mist was leaking out of it.

Just that split.

I crouched down and stared at it.

It could’ve been natural. Sure. Could’ve been anything. But my brain was already turning it over. Mist didn’t rise like that unless there was a change in temperature — unless it was colder underneath than it was up here, which didn’t make sense at all. There was no water visible, no sign of rain or runoff. The crack wasn’t deep. Weird.

Too weird.

What if it's a vent? A Capitol control hatch. Or a hidden tunnel. Or a mutt nest. What if there are cameras down there. What if we’re standing right above a trap.

I shifted onto one knee and leaned closer.

The mist curled out, cold, like breath from lungs. Like it was alive.

“What are you doing?”

I startled hard enough to nearly fall into the thing. He’d come over without me noticing, looking at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, still staring at the ground. “Just—this crack. I think it's where the mist is coming from. And it’s the only one doing it. That’s weird, right?”

“I mean… I guess it is kinda strange,” he offered, voice careful. “It’s only right there?”

“Yes. Nowhere else.”

“That’s… not what mist usually does?”

“No. Not at all.”

He nodded slowly like he wanted to believe me. Or at least wanted me to know he was trying. He sat down next to me and started fiddling with a wrinkle in the fabric of his pants.

“You ever notice how light bends in mist?” Will said, his voice low and almost wondering, like the question wasn’t meant to be answered, just let loose into the air.

“Yeah, it’s refraction,” I said, maybe too quickly. “Water in the air warps light. Like, it slows it down just enough to bend the angle of incidence.” I hated how eager that sounded, like I was trying to prove something. I was just trying to be accurate. Maybe also trying to sound smart. “That’s why rainbows happen. Sort of.”

Will smiled. Not at me, exactly. More to himself, like he’d already known I was going to say that. Like it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to explain away something he’d felt.

“Yeah, maybe,” he murmured, gently. Then he turned and looked up at me, eyes glinting, catching the light the mist hadn’t swallowed. “Or maybe, it’s magic.” He half whispered, like he was a cheesy magician about to throw a smoke bomb and disappear.

I scoffed under my breath. It was kinda stupid but it was exactly the kind of thing I would’ve believed, once. Before I started needing proof for everything. Before everything needed explaining. 

He looked away again after that, just quiet. And I didn’t say anything else either, mostly because I couldn’t explain why that hit me funny.

Magic. Right.

Still, I kept thinking about it. 

“Sounds made up,” I muttered eventually, just to say something.

Will didn’t look at me, just smirked a little. “Yeah? All the best things are.”

“That’s not how reality works.” I shook my head, and teased without any real venom, “I think you’re just gullible.”

“Oh?” he said, straight-faced. “That’s such a coincidence, ‘cause I literally just saw the word gullible written right over there on that tree.” He pointed off into the fog.

I turned, instinctively, before realizing. “You—” I groaned, sighing at my own idiocy. I couldn't believe that actually just worked on me. But also, I couldn’t believe he was teasing. Like joking at my expense and not ducking away out of fear from me.

“So, what could be causing it?” he asked, when the laughter died down. “Like, besides—y’know. Normal mist stuff.”

I felt something stupidly fond. Shook it off. “It has to be the Gamemakers. Maybe a vent. Or a release valve for pressure underground. Or maybe there’s artificial cooling beneath the arena in specific spots for maintenance tunnels. Or it’s the start of something — like, maybe we’re right over where they’ll send mutts from, or smoke, or—”

“You think they’d give us a mist warning?”

“I think they’d do anything.”

“Okay. So what do we do? Should we move camp?” He asked.

“Maybe. Yes. No. No, I'll watch it a bit longer.”

“Any longer and you’ll collapse. Mike, you need to sleep.”

My ears heard the words but my mouth didn’t manage any of my own before he spoke again.

“I’ll take first watch?”

My head snapped up.

“No—no, it’s fine, I’ve got it. I’ll wake you up this time, promise.”

He gave me a look. The kind where his face was mostly still, but his eyebrows didn’t buy a single word of it.

“You’re blinking like it hurts,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m watching first.”

It wasn’t a demand. Just spoken like he’d already decided, and he was giving me the dignity of thinking it was still up for discussion.

I opened my mouth to argue again, but couldn’t.

Quietly, he said, “I’ll keep an eye on the mist. Okay? Just for a little while. You can wake up and check it again in a few hours. But you need to sleep.”

I looked at him. Really looked at the tightness in his shoulders, the way he was trying to hold something in, the way he kept glancing at the mist like maybe I was right and something was wrong. Still he wanted me to rest. Needed me to.

That little crack in the ground kept whispering Capitol, trap, vent, danger, and my brain wanted to listen, wanted to watch it all night just in case, but he was already walking to the shelter, holding the makeshift door up, waiting patiently for me to come in. 

“I’ll wake you if anything happens,” he said, without looking back.

I nodded slowly. “Okay.”

He gave me a tired half-smile as I settled in. I was out as soon as I hit the floor.

Chapter Text

“Mike?”

The voice slipped into sleep like a thread, tugging me loose from my slumber. I blinked, blurry-eyed, to the soft shape of Will crouched beside me. His hand was warm on my shoulder, a little unsteady, like he didn’t want to shake me too hard.

I groaned softly, the kind that comes when sleep hasn’t helped, when you feel more drained for having stopped moving. He shook me again, just a little firmer than before.

“Hey. Hey, it’s been a few hours. Your turn.”

Swathed in the shadow, he was backlit by only the dim glints of the cool blue light of midnight. I couldn’t quite see his eyes, just the silhouette of his eyelashes. “Yeah,” I mumbled, already scrambling upright. “Okay. Thanks.”

He gave me a quiet nod, clearly half-asleep himself already, and scooted over into the corner before curling in on himself.

I turned toward the opening of the alcove, still fixated by the mist, silvered by moonlight, curling ghostlike around the ground a few meters off like it had waited for me to stop watching so it could make its move.

I left Will’s side just briefly, crawling out of the shelter to go check it out. The crack wasn’t far enough away that I couldn’t still keep watch of the shelter. 

I moved slowly toward it, eyes sharp. The mist was pooling thicker now in the groove, leaking up out of it evermore.

And the split…the split was bigger.

It wasn’t just me being paranoid. It wasn’t just tired-eye tricks. I remembered the shape of it, the width. I’d stared at it earlier like an obsessive freak. It had grown.

Enough that I could probably fit my whole hand in it.

So, naturally, that’s what I did.

No hesitation. No gloves. Just straight in there like some fog-crazed idiot.

It was cold inside. Not just cool—cold, like sticking your hand into a freezer vent. And wet. But not with water.

When I pulled my hand back out, it was covered in black sludge. Not thick enough to be mud, not grainy like soil. Just slick and oozing, and faintly iridescent in the moonlight, like it had some weird chemical sheen to it.

I stared at it.

Oh fuck.

Definitely not soil. Definitely not natural. Definitely not anything I wanted on my body or near anyone else’s.

I looked back at our glorified pit of a home.

I wiped my hand on a nearby rock. It didn’t come off completely.

Okay.

Okay. So we were leaving tomorrow. No question. This place was compromised. There was mist gunk. There was a living crack. I didn’t know what it was yet, but it was something, and it wasn’t gonna be fun when it fully opened and a hand reached out of it or something and grabbed my ankle.

When I came back into the shelter, he was still asleep. His face was mostly hidden in the crook of his arm, hair falling over his forehead, one hand tucked against his chest. Soft. Tired. Completely unaware of the slimy, Capitol-engineered hellmouth I had just fished around in like that was totally normal behavior.

I kept picturing it stretching wider while we slept. Kept picturing something under the ground, just a little too deep to hear, curling up like a snake preparing to lunge.

I waited until the sky started going from black to gray, sat with my knees up, occasionally rocking back and forth, restless, like I belonged in a straight-jacket. I kept helplessly making short hourly trips to the growing crack to check it hadn’t developed any new biochemical weapons. I knew how this worked. First you dismiss it. Then you let your guard down. Then you wake up with your face eaten off.

He stirred before the sun was fully up, blinking blearily at me, and I turned to him with what I hoped was a completely normal, unbothered expression.

“Morning,” I said.

He rubbed his eyes. “Did you sleep okay? I didn’t ask before.”

“Huh? Yeah,” I said, too fast. “Definitely. I mean—doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

He gave me a look. One of those I know you’re lying but I haven’t decided if I’m calling you out yet looks. 

“Okay, so,” I said, way too casual, before bracing my knees. “We should move camp today.”

“Why? The mist?” The asked, voice still low and gentle from sleep.

“I mean. I checked it and the crack is definitely wider. Objectively. Still growing, I think. And, um.” I cleared my throat. “There was, like. Some kind of black… sludge inside it.”

He was silent for a second. Then said, “Sludge?”

“Not dirt. It was cold and weird and it’s not normal geological behavior, I’ll tell you that much. And maybe I stuck my hand in it, and maybe it came out with gunky stuff on it, and maybe that’s why we should go. Just in case.”

“You stuck your hand in it?”

“I had to investigate!”

“You could’ve—what if it was acid?”

“Then I’d know.” I said, as if that made it better.

Another pause. I risked a glance at him.

He wasn’t laughing, exactly. But his mouth was doing that little twitch I was learning it did when he was trying not to.

“What?” I asked defensively. “This is serious!”

“I know,” he said quickly. “Sorry. I do believe you.”

“You do?”

He gave a tiny shrug. “You’re smart. If you say something’s wrong, it probably–”

Just then, a low, rumbling crack sounded.

We both jolted. Will’s breath caught in a gasp.

We turned slowly to each other, eyes wide.

The split.

I scrambled up and out of the hole. My eyes were still adjusting from the darkness of the shelter but, under the blanket of fallen littered leaves, thin patches of crisp, spindling grass and the dappled shadows, I could just about make out the crack in the forest floor. I wouldn’t have been able to see it from over here yesterday.

I threw my backpack over my shoulders and crept across the forest clearing to the split.

The jagged crack, about six foot long now, seemed to gape open in the centre, hungry. And now, something I couldn’t quite explain quietly spewed from its mouth along with the mist. Slow, grey, drifting. Spores? Or ash? flying like twisting burnt paper, falling upwards into the air, backwards, back over themselves, upside-down.

“Mike, I don’t know about this.” Will didn’t move from where he stood. His voice was tight. “Maybe we should just leave. We don’t even know what that is.”

“Exactly,” I called back, eyes still locked on the crack. “Which means we need to figure it out before it kills us.”

I stopped at the edge. The split pulsed faintly—like something was breathing beneath the ground.

“Mike, please.” Will’s voice caught, closer to pleading now.

I looked over my shoulder. He was standing a few feet back, arms wrapped across his chest like he was trying to hold himself together. His weight shifted uncomfortably, foot to foot.

“You might literally be about to get eaten by the mouth of hell or something,” he said, worry strung tight in his voice

I snorted. “Yeah, well, better to know what it wants.”

Bending down, I grabbed a stick off the ground. It was wet, coated in that gross sludgey stuff, black and foul.

“Eugh, gross.” I grimaced, wiping it from my fingers onto my pants. As I did, I heard Will’s footsteps crunching over the leaves until he closed the distance between us.

“Careful, please.” He said, soft but firm. I gazed up at him and nodded, the corner of my mouth lifting slightly before I turned back to the crack.

Wrapping my sleeve over my palm to avoid the gunk on the stick, I prodded at the split in the ground. The stick disappeared slightly as it met the walls of the mouth, deeper in, past the layer of hard ground, like it was made out of something wet and fleshy. Or rather, I heard it was. I shivered at the slick, squelching sound.

“That’s not dirt.” I muttered, face twisting with disgust.

From crouching on my ankles, I dropped fully to my knees to get closer. The light didn’t reach the bottom. It looked like it just kept going—deep and dark.

I leaned in further, bracing my free hand to the opposite side of the crack, preparing to look deeper in. Will’s hand caught my shoulder.

“Mike. Seriously.”

“I’m not gonna fall in, Will.” I rolled my eyes. “Relax.”

He just gave me a look.

Okay, yeah, maybe I was the type of idiot to fall headfirst into an alien death hole, but realistically he didn’t know that yet.

Still, I inched forward again, leaning precariously.

“Mike—” Will warned again, exasperated.

“Just hold me,” I murmured, distracted, eyes locked on the dark. I squinted against the spore-filled air streaming from the crack, its breath cold and unnatural against my face. There was a beat of silence behind me—hesitation, maybe. Or maybe Will weighing whether this was how we were going to die.

“Just hold on to me so I don’t fall.”

He didn’t say anything. Just moved.

Realising he couldn’t stop me, he spotted me. His hand found its place on my shoulder, the other one curling around the strap of my backpack. Steady, kinda stronger than I expected.

I probably should have been afraid, but I wasn’t.

Well, not any more than usual in the arena.

As I leaned in, the cold hit me fully. A strange kind of chill. Permeating. It ran over my whole body once it met my face. I winced against it. The spores swirled around like ink in water. And then—something caught my eye.

A shape.

Familiar.

I dipped my head further, tilting slightly to the side. Shadows started to make sense.

“Wait, Will?”

“Mmh?”

“I think that’s an upside-down tree.”

“What?”

“Holy shit. Its like- like a mirror.”

“Wh-”

“No, seriously. That’s that tree,” I pointed without looking, “but upside-down. What kind of Capitol magic is—fuck, it’s cold—give me a sec.” I pushed myself upright, gasping as warm, normal air filled my lungs again. My breath had gotten tight without me noticing.

“It’s like... a reflection of the arena,” I said, panting lightly. “But inverted. A whole version underneath us. I wonder if you could get in there…”

“We’re not going in there, Mike.” He said flat and immediate. Not yelling, not really even angry, just stern. A little fond actually. I just smiled at him.

“Do you wanna see?” I asked, still grinning at the discovery as if it wasn’t extremely unsettling.

He was quiet for a long minute, looking like he wanted to say no.

“Dude, c’mon,” I coaxed gently “You should see.”

He exhaled through his nose, reluctant. “Okay, fine. But promise you won’t let go.”

“Duh.”

He leant down on his knees over the gape like I had, propping himself up with his hands on opposite sides of the split. One of my hands settled on his shoulder, the other gripping his backpack tight. I waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

Then I heard him gasp.

“Oh my god. It is like a mirror.” He breathed with quiet awe. A beat passed before he had had enough. “We should stay away from it,” he said, pushing himself up and dusting his hands off on his knees. eyes tracking it with a small frown. “If it gives out…”

“Yeah,” I agreed automatically, but I wasn’t moving away with him. I crouched lower, squinting into it, following the length of it, the carved fracture drawing deeper into the forrest. “It keeps going.”

He didn’t say anything to that. Not right away. I could feel him lingering just behind me, probably waiting for me to stand up and back off like a normal person would.

But instead, I walked along the line, eyeing the way the fracture crawled with determination. Sure, it wavered, like it was drawn with a shaky hand, but it never strayed from its direction. Straight.

“Are you—?” he started.

“Just wanna see where it leads,” I said. “If this is part of something bigger, it might tell us more. Like if there’s gonna be a collapse. Or something worse.”

He followed without arguing.

We’d been following the fracture for a while, long enough that it had started to fade, barely looking like a split at all. Just a faint fissure in the dry dirt. You had to know it was there to follow it.

But I did know. And I was pretty sure no one else would’ve noticed it this far north. I couldn’t let it go. Not until I was sure where it led.

The forest began to thin ahead, breaking open into a wide clearing. When we stepped to the very edge of the trees, I stopped short.

The Cornucopia was directly ahead, maybe half a kilometer off. Shining dull gold in the hazy afternoon light. And the fracture—faint as it was now—still pointed right at it.

South to north. A straight line.

My heart started to race.

“Careful, the Careers are camped at the cornucopia.” He whispered urgently.

I dropped into a crouch, brushing my fingers along the dry mud where the fracture ran. Still here. Still straight. It hadn’t curved once.

And then, further out, past the Cornucopia, I saw it.

South to north. All the way to the center. “Wait,” I muttered, already squinting into the distance. “Wait, wait, wait—look.”

The mountains.

The jagged spine of silvered rock on the far horizon. Right at the center, the mountain split, cleft down the middle and carving a valley that the river roared out from. 

I looked back at the fracture in the ground. Forward again. Fracture. Cornucopia. Mountain.

It lined up.

As if the split we’d been following extended not just through the Cornucopia, but through that mountain too—like the whole arena had been sliced along a perfect line from one end to the other.

“And that’s where the sun sets,” I murmured, half to myself. “Right in that valley.” I pointed up at the cleft peak.

“Mike!” He hissed, pulling my pointing hand back into the shade with both hands on my upper arm. I instead put my hand on his shoulder to bring him closer to my side so he could better follow my eyeline.

“Same direction,” I said low, brain running a mile a minute. “Exact same angle. South to north. The crack leads right to it.”

Straight. Not natural. Deliberate.

“This whole thing…” I murmured. “It’s built on a grid.”

He blinked at me. “What?”

“The Cornucopia faces due west,” I said. “The crack runs south to north. The mountain’s split down the middle, right at the northern end. And, look.” I breathed low, letting go of his closest shoulder to wrap my arm around him and pull him closer into me so he could see.

West of the Cornucopia, low to the ground, pale and slow-moving, mist had begun to curl into the clearing, just barely. Not rolling in fast, not even touching the Cornucopia yet, but drifting. West to east.

I couldn’t forget the mist near our camp that had come from the fracture. And this was the same. White and cold and wrong. Creeping. 

East to west. North to south. Two clean directions. They would intersect at the center.

And something clicked.

“They’re quartering it,” I whispered. “With the splits. If they crack open—… The whole arena’s quartered.”

I turned to look at him, inches from his face.

He was already watching me. Watching with this wide-eyed, almost admiring sort of silence. 

“What?” I asked, blinking at him.

He gave a small, half-embarrassed smile and shook his head, leaning away just a little. “Nothing. Just—I think you’re right. You’re…” He trailed off, seemingly considering his words. “Smart.”

I felt my ears heat up and looked back at the mountain again. “It’s just patterns,” I mumbled.

He hummed a little sound of agreement.

I decided it was safest as far away from the splits as possible which would be the centre of a sector at the far edge of the arena. Maybe somewhere higher so we could keep an eye on the cracks, but still with enough cover to keep up hidden. Somewhere in between.

I settled on the quarter one over from the one we had set up camp in. It was steeper. The bare rock faces gleamed periwinkle and silver, but there were enough shadows where the stone cut sharp against the sunlight to take cover in and there were still grassy patches veiled by dark, reaching pines to slip into. 

It should have been perfect.

We crossed into the quarter no problem. The fractures had barely cracked yet, barely hanging open and only closer to the center.

But my feet hated me. Everything hated me. The Capitol especially, but also the terrain, the jagged, hard, uneven ground. With the way the wind kept picking up and rustling my jacket so aggressively, I could have shredded it just to get it to shut up or stop the hood from smacking the side of my face. It didn’t help that I hadn’t eaten more than a handful of dried berries since morning.

I was muttering, voice sharp and drenched in resentment. “Nice and dramatic. Real cinematic”

A branch snapped under my boot and I nearly twisted my ankle.

“God, I hate this place. I hate it. I hate whoever designed it. Sadistic mouthbreathing piece of shit.”

There was no answer behind me, but I knew he was there. I heard the shuffle of his boots in the gravel. 

“Hell, while we’re at it,” I go on after the edge of a rock cut particularly offensively into my foot, gesturing broadly to nothing, “why not pave the whole arena in knives. Very on brand.”

“You okay?” he asks, voice quiet.

I stopped, turned, and everything in me dropped a few degrees. 

“Yeah,” I said, voice losing its bite. “Just—” I waved a hand, a little helplessly, “—hard to be optimistic, I guess.”

He nodded. His eyes flicked up to mine, searching. I didn’t want him worrying when really I was just being dramatic.

“You alright?” I asked. “You need a break?”

There was a split second of something like bewilderment crossing his face. “No, I’m good.”

I nodded. “Okay. But if you need to stop, just say.”

I turned back around before he could say anything, and the second I was facing forward again, it was like flipping a switch.

“I swear to god,” I muttered, kicking a stick out of the way, “Apparently watching us die wasn’t enough. They had to make us do it uphill.”

There was a breath of laughter behind me and I almost smiled. He’d been doing that. Laughing when I rant. Like I’m entertaining him somehow, even when I’m about to rip my own hair out.

We found a ravine late in the day just when the worst of the incline had begun to level out. A narrow crack in the earth that widened fast, maybe thirty feet across in places. At first, I thought maybe it was another split and I was wrong about the quarters, but where the light fell into the depths, I saw stony contours of caves and gravel. No mist, just roots dangling out of torn dirt and one fallen tree stretching over like a makeshift bridge.

It didn’t look stable. But we didn’t have much choice.

“I’ll go first,” I said, testing the bark with my boot. It held, but barely. Yeah I could die doing this, but to be fair I weighed little enough that I was emboldened enough to risk it. “Wait until I’m across.”

Will nodded, hesitant. I could tell from the way he adjusted his pack, just slightly, that he was running the odds.

I took a deep breath before stepping onto the log. I moved fast but as careful as I was capable, knees bent, hands out a little for balance. The log creaked under my weight, and I could feel it flex with each step. Everything in me stalled, breath catching, heart flinching, but I didn’t fall. I made it to the other side and crouched down, turning back to face him.

“Alright,” I said. “Alright, It’s holding. Just keep your center low and don’t stop moving.”

He didn’t answer right away, just stood at the edge, sizing it up. I watched his hands, fingers fluctuating between flexing taut and clenching into fists. His eyes flicked to me, and that’s when I softened without thinking.

“I’ll catch you if anything goes weird,” I said, voice low. “You’re good. Just walk to me.”

His jaw twitched. But then he started.

He was careful, cautious, but he wasn’t slow. The log shifted a little under him and I saw him sway for a second. His breath caught. Mine did too.

“You’ve got it,” I said. “Halfway. You’re fine.”

He didn’t look up, but I knew he heard me. His shoulders eased just a little, and he kept going.

Near the end, the log creaked again, louder this time. He flinched. That’s when I stepped forward and reached out, hand extended across the last two feet.

“Come on,” I said, palm up. “I’ve got you.”

His fingers wrapped around my forearm with a strong grip, and I pulled just enough to help him off the log and onto solid ground. Breathing harder than usual, his eyes flicked down and then back to me, skin warm from the effort.

“Knew you had it.” I smiled. “You good?”

Will didn’t say anything, just looked at me, eyes unexplainably soft, like I had said something else entirely.The silence lasted long enough to prompt me to give him the most awkward shoulder-pat of my life.

“Nice job, dude.” I said, like an idiot. Then I turned and kept going.

Yeah. Not sure what that was. I don’t know, maybe he was in shock. Or just shy and weird around people Or maybe he had some kind of brain parasite. Or maybe I had said something completely unhinged that, for some reason, I couldn’t remember. Maybe I had a brain parasite. Great. Early-onset brain rot. That would track.

Anyway. Not overthinking this. 

We had more important problems. For example, assuming I was right, we're almost at the centre of this quarter and we hadn’t seen water since we made a final stop hours ago at the stream before heading this way. Not ideal. 

Another thing: My whole ‘quartering the arena’ theory could be total shit, meaning  I’d dragged us both up a violently rocky hill, almost died in a ravine and experienced a painful-silence-to-awkward-bro-tap pipeline, which I was not thinking about, for absolutely nothing. Nothing. We could set up camp and a crack could still abruptly open right under my feet and eat me alive and no amount of graphing the arena would be able to save us. That shoulder pat would forever exist as one of my last televised acts on Earth. People would look back and go ‘wow look how he responded to...whatever that look was.

The look I wasn’t overthinking.

It was just weird. Out of place.

I probably said something strange. Or maybe he’s just naturally intense sometimes. Is it weirder to ask what I did? Yeah. Yeah, definitely. That would be worse.

Right. Moving on.

The terrain was opening to a clearing, flatter here like a patchwork of slanted but smoothing slabs of stone and earthy patches of green. The dusty space was pretty bare, but the mossy outer edge was still decently lined with pine trees, their needles carpeting the ground in a thin, soft layer that quieted our steps. 

A cluster of leaning stones jutted up at odd angles at the base of the next, steeper incline. They were half-curved like walls, deep shadows slipped between each boulder. Cover.

The daylight was already surrendering into the cleft summit, glaring through the treeline and I knew we didn’t have time to play forts tonight. Still thinking, Will’s footfall dropped beside me and I felt his gaze on the side of my face with the warmth of the setting sun. I didn’t look at him, and strangely aware of the fact that I didn’t, I just mumbled something about settling for hiding between the rocks and sleeping in shifts.

I sat with my back to the flattest wall of granite, legs curled in. He was doing the same—head tilted back, eyes half-lidded. Breathing steady.

He’d fallen asleep. I’d let him rest a while, keep watch for the first half of the night. I adjusted my grip on the knife and leaned forward, stretching out my neck like I was already preparing to stare into the dark for hours.

Then his voice, low and surprised:

“Are you sleeping upright?”

Oh. He hadn’t fallen asleep.

“What? No. I’m keeping watch.” I said.

“You—? I thought I was keeping watch.”

I stared at him. “I literally told you earlier I’d take first shift.”

“Yeah, and I said I’d do it instead?”

“You looked like you were sleeping?”

“I was sitting! I was watching the treeline!”

“Yeah, with your eyes closed.”

He let out a soft, baffled huff. “I was blinking.”

I narrowed my eyes. “It was a long blink.” I drawled, to which he laughed a little, looking at his feet. “You sleep first.” I tacked on and waved him off.

“No, you sleep first.”

“No, I—”

“No, I insist.” He shifted like he was getting even more upright out of sheer stubbornness. “You look more tired.”

“I look tired?”

“I mean–”

“Wow.”

He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to struggle for the words, cutting himself off with an embarrassed smile. I grinned tiredly back at him. He was probably right, I could barely keep my eyes open.

A short silence settled soft between us. I could hear the crickets.

Then, at the exact same moment, both of us caved:

“Okay, fine.”

We looked at each other. He let out a quick, helpless laugh. I rolled my eyes.

It was like when you bump into someone and both try to step the same way to get past—then just end up colliding again. Verbally.

“I’ll keep watch,” I said, before he could argue again. “Just—sleep, okay?”

He looked like he might protest, but I reached for my jacket before he could, wadded it up, and offered it over. “Here. The rocks aren’t exactly ergonomic.”

His fingers brushed mine as he took it. “Thanks.”

I meant to look away right after that, but he looked at me again. Quiet, open. Probably tired or grateful or something normal. I dropped my eyes.

Only a moment lingered before the Capitol anthem broke across the arena for the fourth time, loud in my chest, and the day’s cemetery lit up the sky. Just two today. 

The career pack was still fully intact.

Chapter Text

I was waiting for Will to come back, sitting on the ground against the trunk of a tree, squinting through the pines to the cleft valley. 

From above, I could see more of that fog had started to curl into the center clearing, snaring the Cornucopia. And, dispelling my doubts,  I could map the straight lines in my head. I was right. I could keep us alive if I was right. If I kept on being right.

Will was finishing something. Checking what we had, packing it up. He was better at that; I always forgot or skipped things. He told me to keep going but I had stayed waiting and he looked relieved when I said I would.

The ridged ration tin– empty after a mean meal that could barely be called breakfast– sat in my hands, reminding me of how little we had left. I tapped it against the tree I was leant against just to listen to the metallic ring.

But, the sound hit strange. A dull, almost warped echo.

I stilled. Then did it again, a little harder.

Thump. Muffled.

Maybe Capitol trees are just weird, I thought, before I shifted a foot left and tapped the can against another tree. 

Thump. Clear.

Right back to the weird patch. Thump. Muffled.

“Holy shit.” I whispered. There’s something hollow under here.

I scrambled back to grab the strip of bark I’d peeled earlier—thin, taut, and flexible enough to work like a membrane, and, stretching it over the tin, I knocked again, now listening with the can pressed to my ear.

Hollow.

There was something underground here. A tunnel. A chamber. Something. I didn’t know what but the sound changed, and that meant structure or direction or something.

I laughed out loud, surprised, a little manic.

I heard a rustle behind me.

I froze. My fingers still gripped the can. My entire spine locked. Please be a squirrel. Please be a squirrel and not someone with a knife—

“What are you doing?” came a voice. Soft. A little confused. Not a squirrel.

I turned. Will was just staring at me, eyes flicking between me and the tin can like he had walked in on me doing something horrifying and not completely genius.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I said immediately.

He shuttered. “…What does it look like?”

“Insanity.”

There was a pause as his face melted into a smile.

Then, he laughed. Not a snort or a polite chuckle—an honest-to-God laugh, breathy and sudden, like he couldn’t stop it even if he tried.

“Are you laughing at me?” I asked, mock-affronted, still clutching the can like it was gold.

“I mean,” he said, “you are knocking on trees and listening to them.”

“In my defense,” I said, “it’s a highly sophisticated makeshift acoustic resonator.”

He raised an eyebrow, not buying a single syllable.

“It is! It is.” I insisted, planting the can dramatically against the bark and giving it a solid thunk. “This one? Muffled echo. Theres gotta be something underneath.”

He took a slow step closer, not blinking as his eyes dropped to the spot I tapped. “Wait. Seriously?”

I nodded and got up, clunking the metal against another tree to prove the difference, still feeling a little too hot in the face. “Physics.”

He crouched down carefully by the tree, looking at it with curious eyes before his gaze flickered to mine. “That’s so cool.” He said quietly. “How do you know that?”

My stomach did a weird little flip. I told it to shut up.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered. “I just… got distracted when I was looking into black holes and waveforms once. This stuff sticks.”

His gaze flicked back to me. “You got distracted by– what did you call it? Acoustic resonators?”

“...Yeah? It was like…a page or two before.” I said, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was looking at me and his eyes were all wide and warm and twinkly. “I mean, haven’t you ever fallen down a research spiral and—I don’t know.”

He smiled, just a little. “I guess, but,” He paused, “Not like that, not anything useful.”

I cleared my throat. Useful. 

I clutched the tin can like it was going to save me from spontaneous combustion.

“So, nerd,” he said, tilting his head and letting his shoulder brush against the tree bark, “what do you think is under there?”

“Um.” I said, genius that I am, thrown off by the ‘so, nerd,’ Just because I guess I wasn’t used to him like this. I tap the spot again with the tin. “Prolly a cave or something. The echo’s got that low-frequency reverb, which usually means a big empty chamber beneath. Pretty cool.” I got up and started walking but I didn’t hear him follow me. I turned back to see him still crouched down, eyebrows furrowed like he couldn’t tell if I was joking or just stupid.

“That sounds kind of… safe?” He said.

My brain shuttered.

And then I just kind of stood there. Staring at him.

Because oh. Oh. Right.

“A cave,” I say slowly, like I’m trying to teach myself English. “Would be. A good place. To not die.”

He gives me a look. Not mean, never mean. Just soft and teasing around the eyes. “You didn’t think of that?”

“I was focused on the science,” I mutter, which is possibly the most humiliating sentence of my life. “Not the… uh. Survival application.”

“So your brain stopped at ‘fascinating acoustic phenomena’ and not ‘possible shelter’?”

“Shut up.” I laughed.

“Right,” he said, smiling now, and it was so quietly fond I began to really believe we could be real friends instead of allies. Like maybe we would still be friends outside of this.

“It’s a highly sensitive resonator,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster.

He hums. “You’re lucky I’m here to keep you alive.” I could tell he was trying self-depricating sarcasm, but I think he was right.

I huff a laugh, wiping my hand across the back of my neck. “We make a good team, huh?”

And he looks at me for just a second too long, like he’s thinking something he’s not saying, soft surprise burning low in his eyes, like he didn’t expect me to say that.

“Yeah,” he says. “We kinda do.” He smiled and looked down.

I tapped my knees, a little restless. “So, uh,” I started, “Shelter.” Oh good, I’m a caveman.

“Shelter, yeah.” He grinned. “You think we can get in there? If there's a chamber?”

My eyes flicked to the warped, risen roots of the tree, moss covered and dark. Will’s eyes followed mine, grazing a hand against the neck of the tree as he looked around the other side of the trunk.

It was barely visible—just a thin sliver of darkness wedged between a mess of roots and stone and with tired eyes I was blind to it. Will, however, brushed away some earth and bent down on his knees, bringing his face close to the ground at the tree's very base. He waited, like he was listening for earth to tap out co-ordinants. 

“There’s a draft, Mike.” He spoke, leaning back onto his ankles, “Here.” He pointed to the spot and I placed my hand against it. Cold air skimmed my skin. I inched closer and dug into the soil to which more crumbled away, revealing a gap just wide enough to slip into.

“You think there are any animals in there?” I asked.

Will peeked closer. “I don’t know, I mean it’s not like it's a burrow or anything. It looks like it opens into a cave pretty directly downward. I don’t know any animals that make habitats like that but I guess that doesn’t mean none have found and adopted it as a home.”

I nodded and “It looks stable-ish. Probably won’t die. I’ll go first, check for—whatever. Bad things.”

He nodded, but not without his usual hesitation. I gave him a quick grin, the kind that often covered the anxiety churning beneath my ribs.

I slid in feet-first, dirt under my nails in seconds, back scraping against gravel. A branch snagged my shirt, and something sharp jabbed me. Zero grace. Maximum struggle. But it was brief before I landed a shallow drop and was left blinking in the dimness. It opened wider. Dry. Cold. Empty.

“We’re good,” I called up. “Come in, but go slow—watch the root on the left, it’s sharp.”

Will’s boot appeared first as he eased himself through the narrow alcove and little light that had slipped in, dimmed, falling just barely around his shape. Gravel rolled a little from under him and echoed against the base of the alcove as he approached the little drop far more carefully than I had. I offered a hand and he stood steady, brushing his hands off on his pants, hair mussed by the tangle. 

“You okay?” I asked, him breathing a little hard beside me.

He brushed off his sleeves and nodded, eyes wide in the dark. “Yeah.” He glanced around. “It’s not bad in here.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying not to sound weirdly proud. “Solid acoustics too. If we die in here, at least our screams will echo nicely.”

He laughed—quiet, but I was right; sound did echo nicely and his laugh rang against the walls, warming the chill. Then, he started pacing against the soil sides, running a hand against them, looking closely through the darkness.

“What are you–?” I started, but he stopped me with a gentle shush.

Then he stopped, and ran a thumb over something. That's when I heard it. A whurring, mechanical and discreet. A camera.

“That has to mean this was made by the gamemakers right?” He said, hand still against the wall by the camera. I came closer, looking at what I could see of it, just the faint reflection on the dark lens. “Do you think that means it’s trapped?” He added. I couldn’t peel my eyes off the tiny camera, like if I looked long enough I could read the Gamemakers plan, or will them not to set death on us in our sleep, or just implode the stupid thing with my mind. His gaze was trained on me before I met his eyes, two soft lights in the dimness. 

“Maybe,” I said, “But it's better than being out in the open.” 

He nodded. I took one final look at the lens, the eye following us, wondering what they were thinking. Wondering if they could see what was coming before we could.

The real struggle was getting out. Almost impossible without the other. I scrambled up first, Will having let me use his knee as a step and his shoulder for balance. I helped pull him through from the other side.

We decided to scout for water closer to the Cornucopia, having seen how the treetops got greener further inward. It was a risk, sure, since Will was certain the Careers were camping right in the Cornucopia, cocky enough to bank on their reputations to scare the rest of us off–which, annoyingly, was working–but it was either this or slowly die of dehydration, unfortunately. 

The trip downward was steep and unstable, gravel skidding down with every step I dared take. Eventually, I sat against the slide of the descent and let myself skid down on my ass, the heels of my hands burning against the rough earth. They still burned once we finally found a thin vein of a stream, trickling out of cracks in some wet sheened stone and into a dark pool, and I submerged my raw palms in the cool water.

Will crouched on his heels beside me at the river bank. The wind skimmed across the clear surface, crinkling the water like billowing fabric. When the air was briefly still, my ears welcomed the musical twinkling of the cold ripples. Sunrays sifting through the leaves above us streaked the moving water with brushes of warm gold and emerald green in dappled paintstrokes, moving, moving further downstream. It was all misty and vague through the water. 

Will’s foggy reflection, warbled in the stream, a shifting memory of his shape, wavered blurrily in my peripherals as the water carried pieces of him ahead of me. I watched a shrinking pool of water cupped in my red hands slip between my fingers, dribbling into the river, into Will’s shadow, causing little splashes to sparkle up with a lyrical crackling. Once the droplets had all dwindled and fallen from my grasp, I kept looking into his silhouette with empty hands. I could see he was looking at me. I could just about make out his profile in the thin shimmer.

I reached for the canteen.

Will stayed squatted beside me as I filled it, quiet, like normal. I swung him a glance, he was looking off into the distance, through the evergreen. His face was just a little tense around his eyes, squinting a little. Thinking, always thinking.

The sun was filtering in low through the canopy, hitting him at the right angle to catch every light strand of hair and make his eyelashes glow. His skin had gone golden in the warmth, smooth except for the faint, healing scrapes along his jaw. And when a bird cut the air above us — wings slicing the silence, whistling something almost pretty — Will looked up.

He tilted his face with the motion, chin lifted toward the sky. It made his jaw and the line of his neck more obvious. His lips parted just a little and I noticed, with the weird clarity that comes from not thinking, that they looked kind of soft. A little red just a little where he must have bitten them, but not an angry red; a warm, soft red. 

He was pretty, for a boy. 

That wasn’t a word I usually thought about guys. But it was the right one. Pretty, in the kind of way that catches you off guard. Pretty, like something you’d stop to look at if you weren’t too busy trying not to die. Pretty, for a boy. Objectively.

Then he looked at me. I was caught a little off guard by his eyes, the sunlight shooting through them and igniting them a bright green, mottled with amber flecks.

“You okay?” He spoke soft and cautious like always.

“Yeah.” I said, not really able to make an expression before he had already looked away. He looked to the canteen under the water,  uselessly overfilling in my wet, stupid hands, but didn’t say anything. Just waited for me to notice. I screwed the lid back on it, stood up, and wiped my free hand dry on the sides of my legs.

“You ready to go?” I said, looking vaguely elsewhere.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

We had just started our way back to where we found that underground alcove and my brain was preoccupied, which was dangerous anywhere but particularly in a murder forest. 

“Mike!” Will yelped, his hand wrapped around my elbow and yanked me backward. 

I came to and saw what he was squeaking about. There was a snare at my feet that I had completely missed.

“I told you. Careers.” He whispered, but it wasn’t mean, just quietly concerned as he looked over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have yelled so loud. Sorry” 

“No you’re fine, you’re fine. I would have definitely walked straight into–”

We both gasped and swung around.

Just behind us, maybe twenty feet, a boy, our age, was pulling back on a slingshot, a machete hanging on his hip. He had that farm-strong build of tributes that came as occasional surprises from the poorer districts. However, with his weapon drawn, bloodied sleeves and a bandana uselessly tied around his head like a video game fighter, he reeked of Career, scouting for an easy kill. 

But then, the slingshot lowered. Still drawn back tight, but not trained on either me or Will any longer.

That was the boy from 10. The one who fell in with 1 and 2 during training. Lucas.

We didn’t have time to run before he had already backed up a step. I could see he was breathing heavily even from a distance, like he was weighing the consequences of leaving us alive.

And then, he must have decided we weren’t worth the trouble because he ran. Left us. And as he did, something flew from his pocket, or his hand, I couldn’t really see. Whatever it was glimmered for just a second before skidding into the dirt and kicking up dust. He didn’t look back.

Once we were both breathing again and the sound of the boy’s steps disappeared completely, I followed where it had fallen.

It was one of those Capitol, barely-edible ration bars by the looks of the obscure silver wrapper. I picked it up, a little gingerly, knowing that this shit was pure gold in the arena and surely no tribute could have left it, no matter if you were in with the Career pack with ample resources elsewhere.

Probably an accident.

But how does a protein bar miraculously fling itself from zippable pockets?

It could be poisoned.

But how would they reseal it? I feel like you’d have to be pretty bright to be able to do that discreetly and the pack aren’t generally known for their brains.

Will took it from me, silently asking permission with his hands, and turned it over in his palm. Brows drawing together, his gaze, steady, lingered on the spot where Lucas vanished a pacifist into the trees. 

“Did he just…” I started, “He was…I mean he was with the Careers, right? He was with the Careers, why would he drop that?” I asked, not really expecting an answer, but Will’s focus didn’t break from that spot in the trees, like maybe he knew. “Will?”

“Let’s just get back.” He turned back around, “I might know, but…” Trailing off, he looked over his shoulder again at where that slingshot once took aim at us. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Cryptic. Awesome.” I nodded. The smallest laugh ghosted his face but there was no humour in his smile, mind so clearly elsewhere. His eyes were almost glazed over too, like he wasn’t looking out of them, watching something replay in his mind. The moment Lucas pulled back the slingshot? When he dropped the bar? Maybe he was still kicking himself for saving my ass too loudly. I spent the entire time trying to piece it together. 

Maybe they had spoken in training. Or had some kind of alliance. An alliance that never came to fruition. Or maybe one he was keeping from me. But why would he do that? He wouldn’t do that. Oh my god what if he would do that and I don't know him at all. Like that district 7 girl who won years ago by pretending to be pathetic.

He still didn’t bring it up again even when we were quiet, sat on our heels, watching the canteens boil over the fire. This time, they hung on a makeshift spit that Will was motivated to build out of sticks and twine from his backpack after the previous water boiling catastrophe. 

I was about to ask about what Will saw in Lucas’s charity when an eery, metallic ring blinkered through the soft hushing and low crackle of campfire. Our heads turned to the singing parachute drifting toward us.

Immediately, I staggered up and reached for the little shiny box, clutching it at the sides and opening it with a click, expecting food. Eager for it. Hoping for something that didn’t taste like cardboard but so desperate that ‘edible’ was my only standard. But what waited, nestled between foam, was a glass bottle of water.

But we had water.

Are they not watching? We have water. We don’t have food.

There wasn’t even a note to say, ‘Sorry’, or ‘Our bad, Mike, you’re not worth the wasted money.’ or even ‘Haha. Starve.’

“They sponsored us?” Will said, voice honeyed thick with hope that I unfortunately, but almost certainly, would soon dash. “Wh-”

“Water.” I cut in. “They sent us water. We have water. We have that.” I gestured vaguely to the water murmuring hot and ready on the flame. “God, I’m starving.” I stropped, passing the bottle into Will’s hands. 

Will looked at me, brows drawn a little upward, together. “Maybe it’s all they had. You can’t seriously be angry about having too much water.”

“I know. I–” I started. “Sorry. It’s just– It doesn’t make any sense. They have to be watching. They have to know we need food. Why would they send us water? It’s weird.”

“I know.” He soothed, “Do you want some?” Unscrewing the lid, he tilted his head at me like I was some sulking toddler. Honestly? Deserved.

“Yeah, fine.” I grumbled, along with my hunger. Water dropped cold to my empty stomach.

It wasn’t until we were in the alcove, having helped each other back into hiding, and we were sitting in the dark that I asked Will again.

“So,” I frowned. “You knew him?”

“No,” he said with his knees up while he slowly wrapped his arms around them, resting his chin between them. “Not really.”

“But you recognized him. You think he recognised you?”

A pause. Then, finally, he said, “He was with the Careers. On the first day, before I met you. They hunted me.”

Something tightened in my chest. Hunted him?

He went on, voice low like it hurt to pull it out: “They chased me. All of them. I didn’t even have anything. They didn’t care. I ran until I couldn’t breathe, and I still heard them behind me, laughing and yelling to each other, so unafraid.”

My hands curled in on themselves a little before I noticed. He’d never told me this before. He’d said he hadn’t run into anyone else except me.

“I slid down a riverbank. Landed bad. Hit my head a little and thought that was it.” His voice faltered. “But there was a shadow on the side of the bank. I—I hid in it. I was underwater and my lungs were burning.”

I remembered that stream. The one I’d followed, where I’d collided right into him the next morning and he collapsed right in the dirt,  too tired to fight back or even get up when I’d stepped toward him. He’d looked like something already dying or giving up.

“I thought they’d never leave,” he said. “I don’t know how— I should’ve been dead.”

“And he was with them?” I asked, sharper than I meant.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“So why the hell would he leave a bar today? Guilt?”

“Maybe.”

I stared at the ground, jaw clenched. It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

But he spoke again, softer this time, like he was saying it more to himself than to me. “I think… maybe it was an apology.”

I looked at him, and when his eyes met mine, even in the dark, I found a flicker of something complicated there, pain muddied with undeserved forgiveness. 

“That?” I motioned obnoxiously to the crinkled silver wrapper in his hands and shook my head. “That’s not good enough.”

There was a pause before he said softly with a shrug, not even a little accusatory, “You thought about it too, Mike.”

That hit like a punch, but not for the reason he probably meant it. I sat up straighter. “Yeah. I thought about it, I thought about it but I didn’t do it. I didn’t hunt you down or laugh as I did it. I didn’t—” I broke off, the words tearing out sharper than I meant. “And I’ve done a hell of a lot more for you than throw you a hundred calories and walk away.”

His face changed. Something dropped and went cold in a way that he hadn’t expected.

“Oh,” he said. Quietly.

I realized too late what that must’ve sounded like. ‘For you’. God, I’m an idiot.

“I didn’t mean—” I started, but he was already turning his face away.

“No, I know,” he said quickly. “You’re right. I just—”

But he didn’t finish.

I stared at him, my pulse loud in my ears. Why had I said it like that? Like I was keeping score.

“I wasn’t trying to—” I tried again, reaching for something that would make it better, but it all felt wrong in my mouth.

“I know,” he said again, but this time it sounded like a door closing.

We sat there in silence, the ration bar between us, the apology half-eaten and stuck in our throats.

Chapter Text

We hadn’t ever had the luxury to sleep the whole night, together, like we did in that alcove. We couldn’t be hunted here. Buried deep as the dead and hidden in a pocket that would always be shady. 

So when I opened my eyes in the swaddling, hazy darkness, I didn’t feel the urge to scramble up and check for danger. Instead, I watched particles of dust drift lazily in the stale air like fireflies when the gauzy shifts of light sifting through the opening catch their fluttery movements. The birds’ morning song drifted in. Pretty for a murder ring.

Still only half-awake, I turned to Will.

Woah. Closer than I thought.

He was still asleep on his side, turned toward me like maybe he rolled like that in his sleep. Or maybe I did. He doesn’t usually move much in his sleep. Before I could decide whether or not to shift back, my eyes settled on his face, the soft, low light brushing against one side of his face.

I thought about yesterday. About how I’d said the wrong thing. Again. Just when he’d started to trust that I wouldn’t hurt him. Just when he had started to actually like me. 

When Will was asleep, though, the tension smoothed under his skin. And it was weirdly peaceful to watch when his eyelashes fluttered a little against his cheek, face pressed against the crook of arm. And I got this weirdly warm feeling when his breath, slow and soft in his chest, hitched into a little half-snore, half-sigh when he shifted. 

But, when his breathing grazed my skin, it only reminded me we were mere inches apart. And that was objectively weird. 

I felt a twist in my chest and I shuffled a little away from him. I was hyperaware of my every limb as I tucked myself backward, each shuffle feeling huge and loud. I knew that awkward feeling was only residual tension from last night. I knew that warm feeling when I looked at him sleeping was only me missing his face when he wasn’t closing himself off. Because I wanted to be friends. Because I wanted something human in all of this. That’s why. 

Not because, the day before, I thought he was objectively pretty. For a boy. That was just a bonus. Not like, for me, but for the cameras. For getting sponsors. Strategic, really. And completely unrelated anyway. Doesn’t matter.

I got up. Because laying down staring up at the dark meant replaying what I said yesterday, imagining different, better versions of the same moment where I didn’t make him feel like a deadweight.

So instead, I crouched at the edge of the alcove, scratching lines into the dirt with a stick like I had a plan. Mostly it was just to keep my hands busy. It wasn’t like the map was particularly accurate—half of it was based on vague guesses and a rough sense of direction—but it made me feel like I was being useful. Like I was doing something that looked smart. Like maybe if anyone was watching, they’d think I had a plan and not just a lingering sense of guilt and an inability to hold a normal conversation.

I was muttering little things under my breath—terrain markers, maybe the slope angle near the stream—quiet enough that I didn’t think he’d hear.

So when his voice came from behind me, low and hoarse with sleep, it startled me.

“…What are you doing?”

“Uh—” I cleared my throat and kept my eyes on the dirt. “Planning. Mapping, sort of. Trying to get an idea of the terrain.”

There was a pause. Then, softly, “Oh. Right.”

Not dismissive. Just quieter than I expected. A little worried, maybe. Like I’d reminded him of something he forgot.

I heard the faint rustle of him shifting, the crinkley fabric of his jacket against dirt and stone. I turned slightly, just enough to glimpse him sitting up, rubbing his eyes, frowning like he’d overslept through something important. Which he hadn’t. Obviously.

“You don’t have to—” I started, then cut myself off. I didn’t actually know what I meant. You don’t have to what? Get up? Look worried? Feel bad?

He didn’t answer anyway, already reaching for his pack. Avoiding my eyes. The same way he avoided my eyes at the start, when he thought I didn’t believe in him, like maybe he thought that now. Even though I’d never said that.

I glanced back at the dirt. My fingers tightened around the stick, suddenly unsure what to do with it.

I hadn’t meant to make him feel like he was behind. Or guilty for sleeping. Again. I was just trying to look like I could think two steps ahead. Maybe I was just overthinking it. I didn’t know why I always did that with Will.

We walked mostly in silence.

The forest had that late-morning stillness to it, the kind where even the birds had stopped bothering. Just the crunch of our boots on dry leaves and the occasional brush of branches against our shoulders. Every so often I’d stoop to poke at something vaguely root-shaped, only to straighten up again empty-handed.

“We’re really not good at this,” I muttered after a while. Not exactly a joke, but not bitter either.

He gave a faint huff. “At what? Foraging, or surviving?”

“Both,” I said, flicking a stick off the trail with the side of my boot. “But mostly the first one.”

Another pause.

Then, quietly, “Kind of weird we’re still alive, huh?”

I looked over at him. He wasn’t smiling. Not that I expected him to be.

“Yeah,” I said. “Feels like the Gamemakers are dragging it out.”

He nodded without looking at me.

We kept walking. There were trees up ahead—older ones, with their roots lifted like ribs—and he drifted toward one to check underneath. Nothing but dirt.

“I bet they’re saving something for those splits,” I said. “They’re still spreading. Getting bigger. And if they’re not hurrying the rest of this along, it’s probably because they’re waiting for that.”

“Something big,” he said, quietly. He brushed bark off his palm and straightened.

“Yeah.”

Another beat passed. His jaw tightened a little, but he didn’t say anything more. He just kept walking. 

I wanted to say something to cut through the quiet, but every word felt too loud in my head. Too obvious. Too close to sounding like I pitied him, or like I was trying to make up for yesterday without actually saying so.

Then he suddenly crouched down by a patch of low, scraggly-looking plants clustered near the roots of an old tree.

I turned back. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away—just brushed some dirt off the base of one, tugged it gently loose. Held it up.

“Wild tubers,” he said. “Not great raw, but if we boil them they’re edible.”

I blinked. “Seriously?”

He gave a small nod. “Saw some like this near the fields back home. Not exactly the same, but… close enough.”

I squatted down next to him, watching as he started checking the surrounding ground, more focused than I’d seen him all morning. His hands moved with this kind of quiet, practiced care, brushing aside soil, tracing the stems.

“There’s more. Could even mark the spot and come back for them later. Maybe try replanting one, if we need to.” Then, after a second, a little quieter: “You can put it on your map.”

I stared uselessly for a moment. “My… oh. Right. Yeah. Good idea.”

The map. Right. I knew full well those scribbles were mostly garbage—just something to make me feel like I was in control or had any hold on strategy. I was surprised he still thought it was even worth adding to. I guess he hadn’t properly looked at it.

Once that part settled, the more important thing hit me. “Wait—are you saying we could farm them?”

He shrugged a little. “Sort of. Won’t grow fast, but… maybe.”

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound normal. “That’s—uh. That’s actually really clever.”

He glanced up, and I realized too late how that probably sounded. Too sudden. Too surprised. Like I didn’t expect him to be useful at all.

“I mean, I didn’t— I wasn’t saying it like—” I fumbled, then gave up. “It’s a good idea. Genuinely.”

He watched me for a beat longer than was strictly necessary, expression unreadable. Then he went back to digging.

“…Okay,” he said softly.

Not forgiven, exactly. I stayed crouched beside him for a moment, letting the silence stretch out, before reaching for the dirt too, nothing but birdsong above us. 

But the birdsong crescendoed to screeching, with the fast, feathered beating of wings cutting through air echoing above us as something made a hurried escape into the sky. Me and Will both snapped up to watch the blur of a lark whip away. I shrugged it off, but Will didn’t. His gaze hung on the canopy, brows drawn together slightly like he understood something I didn’t. Like the birds were a warning.

Then I heard it too. A thin, metallic beeping, faint but getting closer.

I turned back up toward the sound just as a glint of silver dropped through the canopy, sunlight flashing off the edge of a parachute that must have scared off that bird.

We both stayed crouched down, hands in the dirt as it drifted down in a lazy arc, beeping all the while, and all I could think was it better not be water. 

It landed, nestled in the bush right in front of our noses and Will looked over quietly, waiting for me to open it, his hands still full of roots. I leant forward, over the black hole that was my stomach, and pulled the metal giftbox open.

“You gotta be kidding me.” I scoffed.

Water. It was water. Again.

“You gotta be kidding.” I repeated uselessly under my breath. Why? It didn’t make sense. Why would sponsors send things they had already? That they knew we didn’t need? I could feel Will’s silent eyes on the side of my face as I rammed the stupid bottle into my pack. “Mouthbreathers.”

“They’re doing their best,” he said.

Something in his tone made me glance over. Measured. The words came out with a bite under them, like something he was holding in his teeth.

I paused. “Yeah, well… it’s not enough.”

“Maybe they’d send more if you didn’t act like their help was beneath you.”

I blinked. “What?”

He didn’t look at me. “You act like it’s some offense if someone tries to help and it’s not good enough.” I stared at him blankly while my brain whirred and when I opened my mouth to deny it, he continued, somehow forceful without raising his voice. “You do. They're still trying to help and you make them feel like some burden.”

“Okay,” I said, slower now, heartbeat tapping out a warning. I had a hunch this wasn’t about the sponsors anymore. “That’s not fair.”

“Help is help, Mike. It’s a nice thing to do. And they’re trying. And plus, help shouldn’t be something you do for a medal.”

I stiffened. Okay. Definitely not about the sponsors. Definitely about the ‘for you’ thing. Shit. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But you said it.”

I stared at him. I couldn’t read his expression—he was still half-turned away—but I felt it in the air between us, like a taut string.

“You’re totally blowing this out of proportion. I meant I care more than someone who tried to kill you and left a snack behind like that makes it fine,” I said, sharper now. “I’m not—throwing you crumbs and walking away. I’ve stuck with you. And not just to feel noble or whatever. Will, I’ve—”

A whoop rang out—loud, sharp, and close.

Somebody’s voice called through the trees like a war cry. Another joined in, then another—laughing, yelling, gaining fast.

For half a second I froze.

Then Will hit my arm before gripping the side of my sleeve and tugging me up. “Run!”

We didn’t know where to. Not yet.

Branches whipped past. Mud sucked at my boots. Behind us, the crashing of feet and the snap of brush got louder—closer. They were sprinting. Hunting like salivating dogs snapping their jaws after prey.

I grabbed Will and steered left behind bracken and shrubbery, hopefully buying us enough time to scrabble up a gravel and stone sheeted incline. Hauling myself upward, slipping on rocks that kicked out from under my boots, we made it up. 

I was panting. Will was too. But we couldn’t wait to catch our breath. All we could do was run. 

Between sharp, shaking gasps I muttered something about a ravine to him. He said nothing but his brow creased like he couldn’t understand my logic. Despite it, he followed me.

We veered back to that ravine, sprinting, burning, heaving the whole way. My legs were dead numb by the time we skidded to a stop at the edge.

I hauled Will heavy-handedly by his jacket over to where the drop was the shallowest.

“Get down.” I said and nodded to the shadowed depths below us.

“What?” He yelped, his voice cracking with the fear of someone who only just realised they’d made allies with an insane moron. I wasn’t. I swear I wasn’t.

“Will. Go.”

He hesitated, eyeing up the edge with skeptical eyes, peering into the dark.

The Careers’ laughter echoed eerily across the ground, bouncing off the rocks.

The drop was steep, but where we stood there was a sloped pile of gravel we could jump to and maybe not die on impact. We might roll and would almost definitely bleed, but maybe we’d survive.

The sound of taunting and hollering and running feet smacking against the ground closed further in.

Will finally looked back before dropping down into the ravine. 

The scuffle of him hitting the gravel pile reverberated upward. I threw myself into the echo right after him.

I hit the ground hard. Bruised every inch of skin. But I didn’t even have time to wince. My hands hurried to wrap around Will’s wrist like a vice and yanked him into the first dark pocket I saw in the reaching wall of the ravine that looked like it might hide us. A little cave. A crevice. Somewhere where the light wouldn’t reach. Where we couldn’t be seen.

We had to squeeze in. Cramped. I had to hunch over just a little, my back trying to curve into the crooked shape of the rock while Will’s chest grazed against me with every panicked, shuddery inhale.

Above us, the Careers jeered and called down. Mocking and spitting. 

Then my stomach dropped. 

I heard the first of them jump down the same way we had. The first sound of heavy feet crunching on the rock echoed deep and drawn out. Deep and layered.

Echoing.

That gave me an idea.

I pushed myself flush against Will so I could wriggle my backpack off of my shoulders. Pressed so close to him I could feel his heartbeat thudding hard against his ribs, against mine. 

I tore into the pack and ripped what I needed from it. The empty tin can. The one that echoed. 

I reached as stealthily as I could out of the cavity in the wall. 

I swallowed. I knocked the tin against the rock with a trembling hand.

The clang, warbled and sharp enough to cut through the sound of blood pounding in my ears the murmuring of the Career pack, sounded loud against the ravine’s sides. Cutting through everything.

Will froze. Wide eyes filling with disbelieving panic.

The careers froze too. 

But then they started toward the noise.

I smacked to stupid thing on the rock again. Harder this time.

The sound cracked up louder this time like splitting stone, louder and deeper as it rang through the dark basin of the ravine. The echoes built on themselves, overlapping and warping in the natural acoustics. A standing wave. An illusion of something big. Something bad.

Crumbles of dust trickled down.

“It’s caving in! Get out!” one of the girls shrieked.

“They’re dead. Leave ‘em!” another snapped. “Let’s go!”

A chaotic clatter of retreating boots. The metallic thump of weapons jostling. Scuffling, swearing, scrambling up the slope.

Air didn’t reach my still lungs until the only sound was Will breathing.

Quiet.

Finally.

I stayed frozen anyway, my whole body strung tight like a wire, waiting for the sound of another footstep or a stupid laugh or a rock falling wrong. Nothing. Just breathing. Just ours. Harsh, panicked. Too loud.

I let out a shaky sigh. My hand slid down the cave wall, and I leaned into it. My legs felt like jelly and I didn’t trust them to hold me up, so I braced myself there and let my head hang.

It… sort of… landed on Will.

Not like on him, on him. Not dramatically. Just near his shoulder. Maybe barely touching. It wasn’t intentional. It was me giving into exhaustion. 

We were both drenched in sweat and adrenaline. That whole run, the near-death fall, the Careers crawling into the ravine after us—it was a miracle I hadn’t passed out cold on top of him. It was normal. 

I could feel him breathing too fast. Practically vibrating next to me. I didn’t blame him. My chest felt like it was on fire. I was probably breathing on his neck. Which was probably gross. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t shove me off or scoot away. Honestly, he didn’t even move.

Except it felt like his head tilted a little. Just the faintest shift. Something warm touched my shoulder. A pause. A weight.

Maybe he was just catching his balance. Or slumped too far forward and hit me by mistake. Or… I don’t know. People did weird stuff when they thought they were about to die. 

He was probably just grateful. And tired. And recovering from the fact that I definitely yanked him around by the collar like a sack of flour.

And now we were shoulder-to-shoulder. Head-to-head. Breathing like dying animals in a pitch-black ravine cave.

I didn’t move, even when it started to feel like I should have.

I told myself I was giving him a minute. Letting him calm down. Letting us both calm down. That was it. Just a second to breathe.

I could still feel it though. That tension from before still sat heavy in my chest. It didn’t go away just because I yanked him down a tunnel and almost got us killed in a cave. We hadn’t resolved anything.

“You…” he said, voice a little scratchy, like he hadn’t used it in days. “Thank you.” Even though the darkness was thick, the light still found his eyes.

I dropped my gaze, suddenly aware of the sweat drying at the back of my neck. “No, I mean—it was this or die.”

“But you let me go first,” he said.

That caught me off guard. I looked at him too fast and then immediately looked away.

“Yeah, well…” I trailed off without an ending. I rubbed my palms against my pants.

He smiled a little at that, but it was soft, knowing. Like he could hear all the things I didn’t say.

“You saved us, Mike.”

My stomach twisted and it wasn’t just hunger. I mean, how do you reply to that? It was that feeling you get when someone says something nice to you and it feels uncomfortable in the moment but you replay it in your head for the next couple days to remind yourself you’re not useless or annoying. That's pretty universal, right? 

Will was still looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read. Not that that was anything new. He was still wide-eyed like he was still a little dazed, but it was softer than panic. His face was still flushed. Probably from running. Still in shock, I guess.

“…You okay?” I asked, voice low.

He nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

He said it like he meant because of you.

I didn’t feel like a hero. I felt like a guy who nearly got us both killed and still hadn’t figured out how to say I’m sorry for yelling. 

So, I said nothing.

I just nodded awkwardly, cleared my throat and ducked cautiously out of the pocket.

“Mike?” Will whispered, “I don’t think we should leave yet.”

He was right, it was a risk to leave now in case the pack was waiting for us above. But staying here, cramped and starving?

“We could wait a while. Like an hour before going back out, might be risky. It’s that or we stay the night with no food.”

He weighed the decision in his mind for a long seven seconds, like he knew what he wanted but didn’t know if he could say it. 

“I’d feel better if we stayed.”

I sighed. If those idiot sponsors had sent anything but water I’d be happy to do whatever Will wanted, but my stomach was sacrificing for him. “Cool.” I said.

“Cool.” He echoed.

The silence crept back.

We ended up searching for a lower, larger cave to camp out in so we wouldn’t have to morph into the rocks or each other just to sit down. The descent was uneven, and the gloom made it hard to see more than a few feet ahead. I had to squint for every step, trying to memorize the path backward by feeling in case we needed to retrace it later.

Eventually we found a place where the ceiling didn’t skim our backs, and the walls gave us just enough space to sit next to each other instead of on top of each other.

It still felt too close.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Will asked quietly.

“Hope not.” I said, tipping my head back against the rock.

Truth is, I was too tired and starving to really give a shit anymore. Or think.

A hunger-induced headache pounded just behind my eyes, like my brain was trying to punch its way out through my skull. Every time I blinked, it throbbed worse. I pulled the water bottle out of the bag, turned it over in my hands. Rolled it like it might sprout calories if I just stared hard enough.

I clenched my jaw and took a sip anyway, knowing it wouldn’t help. Cool water over nothing just made it worse.

Dead air sat between us for a while before anyone said anything. He was probably still mad. Not that I blamed him. I was too consumed thinking about the distant philosophical concept of…oh, don’t know…a meal? The memory of flavour? The lost art of chewing?

I was halfway through mentally cursing whoever thought hydration counted as generosity when Will’s knee bumped mine—just barely. A quiet tap like a peace offering. I blinked out of my food spiral as he mumbled something under his breath.

“Sorry about snapping at you earlier,” he said. “I just— I guess I was tired and hungry and I was being totally overly sensitive. I shouldn’t have been mad. I was acting like you were being ungrateful or something. I was being ungrateful. You were right. I guess I am pretty bad at this after all, huh?” He gave a small, tragically self-deprecating laugh. One of the ones people do when they’re pretending they don’t care if it hurts. And just like that, the gnawing edge in my stomach shifted to something else entirely.

I turned to him, fast enough that my head bumped against the cave wall behind me. 

“What? No, no. I never meant it like that. I never would think that about you.”

He looked at me, eyes wide and tired and warm.

“I just—I couldn’t believe you were forgiving someone who tried to kill you,” I said. “I couldn’t believe it. I was just mad someone would do that and I—”

I stopped. Swallowed hard. I tried again.

“I like being allies,” I said. “I like being friends. You don’t need to be grateful, I don’t want you to be. You just need to be safe.”

I watched it smooth over him like simultaneously hadn’t expected those words but had also been waiting for me to say them.

“…Yeah?” he said, and his voice was softer than before. 

“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck again, suddenly warm. “Yeah.”

It was still cold. My head still hurt. We were still starving. But the space between us had stopped feeling sharp, like it had been muffled by the haze of low light. There was something about being in the dark, being buried underground, where no one could see us, that made everything feel a little safer. And in that darkness, I let myself stop holding everything so tightly.

Survival-wise. Of course.

Chapter Text

Will’s knee shook as it took my weight.

We couldn’t scale the ravine swiftly like the Careers did. I had said I’d go first in case they were waiting silently above us like deranged mutts but the plan stalled the second I tried to climb. Heavy hunger had hollowed me out, leadened my legs and had my arms trembling with useless effort. 

I had never had the upper body strength other boys my age did. The strength I was supposed to have.

His shaking made me realise just how desperate we were becoming. His knees shouldn’t have buckled like that under me. I barely weighed anything before the Games. God knows how skeletal I looked now. Weak.

And Will was stronger than I was. I’d noticed the lean muscle in his arms before. Not staring, just strategically observant. 

He had probably gotten to be stronger farming in District 9 where you actually had to be physically useful. Real strength and real work. It was different at home in 6. Most of us were bound for work in factories that did most of the heavy lifting for you. And I’d always figured, if I was lucky, I’d be someone who engineered things with my head. My hands held pens, not pressure. Not well anyway.

Eventually, I managed to pathetically purge myself from the mouth of the ravine, hurling myself over the top and scraping my ribs on the stone, breath coming out ragged. I couldn’t see him, but I felt Will’s hands at my back the whole time.

My eyes swept over the clearing. No Careers.

I leant over the edge and tried pulling him up with the little strength I had left. My help wasn’t enough.

He grabbed my forearms, tried to climb but his boots just scraped the wall.

“Mike,” he panted, wincing. “It’s not working.” 

“No, c’mon I got you this time. I got you.” 

I opened my hands for him again but he just sighed, tired, looking up at me.

“Mike.”

The sun caught his face for the first time in too long. I had almost forgotten how vivid his eyes were in full light. Warm green. I found myself thinking how much I hated how dark this arena was. I knew 9 was sunny, he probably always looked like that back home. Glowy. Like wheatfields in August.

“I’ll boost myself halfway,” he added after a second. “You just catch me, okay?”

I nodded before I could even think. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll catch you.”

He backed up as much as he could on the ledge. The slope wasn’t exactly vertical, but it was steep. Steep enough that every foothold was a gamble. I watched him crouch low, palms pressed to his thighs, calculating it. 

Then he set his jaw and propelled himself up it. 

For half a second he slipped—but he caught himself. Elbow to rock, boots scrabbling. I leaned further over the ledge, arm outstretched. He made it farther than I expected, halfway, maybe higher, before his momentum started to break.

“Will—! Now, now, reach—”

His hand shot up and I grabbed it with both of mine. His other arm scrambled for the edge, fingers scraping hard against the annoyingly smooth stone. I strained back with all the strength I had left in my arms.

For one awful second, we didn’t move. His weight dragged hard at my shoulders. His boots kicked at the cliff wall. I thought we’re both going to fall.

Then he found footing.

He heaved upward, using his own strength, mine only enough to steady him. The rocky ground dug hard and mean into my knees as they took the weight until his body collided into mine as he collapsed over the lip of the ravine, half on top of me. We were breathing hard.

His forehead was inches from mine, his knee brushing my leg only slightly. He looked up, still panting, still warm and green and close. And somehow my first instinct was that I couldn’t have close become a pattern.

I flinched back, coughed, and scrambled upright.

“Right. Okay. Cool. You’re up. Teamwork,” I said, maybe a little too loud.

Will blinked at me from the ground. Not smiling. Not frowning either. His head tilted a little like he was looking at something I didn’t know was there. Whatever it was, he left it alone. Wordlessly, he got to his feet and brushed dirt off his knees before swinging me a brief glance and began walking. It felt oddly like forgiveness.

I stalled for a second, watching him silently while I tried to puzzle out what part of my brain just exploded like a busted computer. And I had to fix it but all I knew was that it was leaking smoke. No manual, no tools, just a fried circuit. Something wrong. Somewhere.

Something about when the space between us got thinner made me feel like I was wired wrong sometimes. Like touching him would be dangerous. 

Which obviously is crazy. Like completely nuts. I know Will wouldn’t hurt me, that's not who he is and I know that. 

But maybe it’s just the Games. That feeling of always being on high alert. It would be understandable to subconsciously feel like I was in danger when anyone got close. Maybe it was that, the fear and adrenaline, that had my body braced for the worst. And I felt bad for it. Guilty. I wouldn’t want Will to think I didn’t trust him but, It was all I could think of that would name it. It was all I could think of that would solve it. 

I followed after him. We were headed back for those roots that we’d dropped in the hurry of yesterday. Maybe it was a risk going back, and maybe the Careers would have already pocketed them, but I knew Will didn’t want to kill anything, and if I’m honest, I was relieved when he had said that first so I could pretend I was brave and making a sacrifice by not eating animals, for Will’s sake.

The roots were where we left them, half-buried, muddied still with the soil.

“I guess the Careers have better to eat.” I mumbled, knowing they probably had enough to make up a medieval feast at the Cornucopia considering how much they would have poached off the dead, not to mention the sponsors. It was so unfair. “That and most of them are mouthbreathers. They probably haven’t got a clue about what roots are edible. Cocky pieces of shit probably didn’t even bother learning in training.” I kept muttering.

Will’s reaction to my grumbling was the same as normal. His lips turned up even though I could tell he was trying not to smile. He hummed a laugh, small and almost fond. And like that, the bitterness dissipated and I was smiling too.

As we hiked back for the alcove, roots nestling in Will’s arms, we wandered right past a snare. I hadn’t really been looking out for them, too distracted by the thought and need for food. I was lucky to have missed them, really. A little lark hadn’t been so lucky.

He was caught up in wire, waiting for the end.

I was confused. Birds are meant to fly around in the sky, yet this little guy somehow was unlucky enough to get trapped in the small amount of time he spent on the ground.

It reminded me of the broken-necked lark that curled up and died in my palm a couple days ago.

“Will?” I nodded toward the bird. “He’s dead anyway, right? We’d just have to put him out of his misery.” The words felt mean, but whatever guilt I had was easily outweighed by the hollow ache in my stomach.

Will looked from the roots in his arms to the struggling bird, then to me. He took a slow breath deep into his lungs. “How would we..?” He trailed off, wandering closer to the wire-entangled lark.

“Kill it?”

“Yeah.”

I crouched down. “I don't know…break it’s neck?” I looked back up at Will, whose eyes were still fixed on the bird like he was trying to silently and telepathically apologise for even considering it.

“Right. Okay.” He said, turning his head to me a little, but still not able to rip his eyes off the poor thing.

“Are you sure?” I said gently.

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

We both stared at it. For a long minute. Neither of us able to reach for it. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal — probably less morbid than dissecting frogs in school — but there was something worse about it being alive. Alive and looking right at me. Knowing that in a second, it wouldn’t be alive or really looking anymore, even if its eyes stayed open.

“Mike, can you do it? Please? I just—”

“Yeah, yeah. I can.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I reassured him, reaching for the lark.

I took the bird in two hands, stroked its feathers once like that would make it better, clenched my jaw and twisted its neck until I felt it break. It flapped its wings when I did like he was scared of going.

I untangled him and cradled the corpse in one palm. Its head lolled wrong. The body was already starting to go still in that creepy way that feels too fast for something warm-blooded. Its eyes were still wide, hard little glass marbles catching the light.

I should’ve shut them; It seemed like the respectful thing. I even told myself to do it. My thumb twitched toward one, but the thought of actually pressing its eyelids closed made my stomach turn harder than breaking its neck had. Like that part was too gentle. Like I’d be pretending it was sleeping and that felt worse than admitting it was dead.

“Can you close his eyes?” I asked, my voice too small for how much effort I was putting in to keep it steady.

He tucked the roots under one arm, took the bird from me gently, his fingers briefly brushing mine, and rolled his thumb down over each eye carefully. He didn’t flinch.

“Let’s go. Quick.” I mumbled, “Quick, someone might come back for the snare.”

***

Warm, welcome and long awaited, the smell of campfire baked meat eased into my lungs as the bird cooked in the smoking, low flames at my feet, the bundle of roots softening just beside it. I sat cross-legged, knee bouncing, hunger shaken and tired and anticipating. 

I struggled between the guilt under my ribs and the hunger slowly consuming me. In the end, my body’s screaming won and I gave in. However, once the thing was dead and wasn’t looking, I had managed to strip it of feathers down to the flesh. 

“Ready yet?” Will queried, watching me peek at the bird.

“Not yet”

Will nodded in my peripherals, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting against them. We sunk back into a soft but starving silence, just the sound of warmth sparking between the firewood.

When it was done, I ripped into it, splitting it as best I could between us. Will portioned the roots, trying to remain restrained and ration what he could for later, assuming we lived that long. 

Finally sinking my teeth into something edible was borderline euphoric, the relief of solid food easing the insatiable tension that had clenched my shoulders for God knows how long now.

I watched Will’s body react the same way and was hit with another wave of relief fluttering over me.

“You want any water?” I asked, reaching for the canteen we’d filled a few days ago at the stream, having made our way through the sponsor water. He nodded in response, mouth full and so I shuffled closer and handed it to him. “You first.” I said.

He smiled and took it from me, swallowed and gave a soft thanks.

It was easier to push aside my annoyance at the sponsors for the days of nothing but bottles of water on empty stomachs now that I wasn't starving and Will wasn’t either. I had fixed it without them. We didn’t need them, just us. We were okay now.

I heard the canteen open, a soft slosh and watched as Will lifted it to his lips, watched the bones flexing in the back of his hand, his jaw clenching just a little as he swallowed the last of the food.

And then it hit me.

“Wait—!” 

But he had already taken a sip. Barley, but definitely. I had watched his throat work. My chest froze.

The sponsor water.

When we had two full canteens already.

Why would they send it unless—?

Unless the other water was—

“Spit it out.” I said. My voice cracked. “Will, you need to spit it out right now.”

He blinked at me, confused. “What?”

I was already scrambling toward him, knocking the canteen from his hands. It hit the rocks, clattered, sloshed open. I didn’t care.

“You have to throw that up,” I said, grabbing his shoulders. “Please. Now. You can’t let it stay in—just do it, please—”

Then I reached around him, put my hand at the back of his neck, the other on his chest.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry. Just breathe. You have to get it out.”

He just blinked at me, confused, and then I was shoving my fingers into his mouth before he could even ask what I meant. Harsh. Quick. Desperate. My knuckles scraped his teeth as I forced them down, ignoring the muffled, startled noise he made. I felt his throat clench, felt the gag reflex kick in, and then he was lurching forward, retching into the dirt.

He jerked. His body seized up—and then he vomited, hard.

I stayed there with him, one hand gripping the back of his neck, the other still half-shoved into his mouth until I was sure it was all out. My heart wouldn’t stop hammering. All I could think was if I’d been slower…

I held him steady through all of it. Rubbed his back. Kept whispering things I didn’t even hear myself say. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just let it happen.”

When it was over, my hands were slick — spit, bile, the acrid stench of what had just been inside him. But I didn’t move away. I caught his face between my palms like I could physically anchor him here.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt my breath hitch.

He was breathing hard, eyes wet, and for a second it didn’t matter that my hands were disgusting. He leaned into them just slightly. Not much, but enough that I felt it.

“You’re okay,” I told him again, voice low and shaky, as he collapsed against me. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He slumped forward, trembling and cradling his own spent body in his arms, chest heaving. The worst of it seemed to be over.

I exhaled shakily, and only then realized my hand was still in his mouth.

I withdrew my fingers gently, thumb dragging lightly along the inside of his bottom lip before slipping free. My hand lingered—under his chin, against his face, even though my knuckles were slick with spit and bile. I didn’t care. He was alive.

He blinked up at me, dazed. His lips were red, raw. His skin flushed and damp. I could feel the heat coming off him, my other hand still at the back of his neck.

I was breathing too hard. Shaking. His breath ghosted against my jaw. And still, I didn’t move.

“I didn’t know,” I whispered. “I didn’t know. I let you—God, I let you drink it—”

His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned into my palm.My thumb brushed over his cheekbone before I even really thought about it.

I don’t think it hit me until right then—sitting there with his face in my hands, covered in sweat and spit and sick and the bird I’d killed for him—that if I had been too slow, if I’d just watched him choke, that would’ve been it. I would’ve had to live with that moment forever, knowing the last words I said to him were “You first.” 

If he had died like that, I wouldn’t even have a shot at winning. Not really. Even if I walked out of this arena breathing, I’d be empty. I knew right then that the ending where I survived alone wasn’t mine anymore. I didn’t want it. Not if it meant Will didn’t.

He would live, or we’d both die. Because the guilt would eat me alive. Maybe that’s selfish, dragging someone through the nightmare of the Games just because I can’t stand losing them. Maybe I am selfish. But if I couldn’t even shut a bird’s eyes without shaking, how the hell could I shut his? How could I look at him, empty and broken, and walk away?

This was bad. This was very bad. 

I wasn’t getting out of this arena. Not now. Not that I had ever fancied myself a victor or anything…

We weren’t supposed to matter this much. He was supposed to be like a backup plan, an ally, someone useful but disposable. And I was stupid enough to have wanted more than that. I wanted us to actually be friends. To know him. And look what that got me. How could I be so stupid? So strategically dense? I actually cared about him. Stupid. A stupid amount. 

“Gross.” He mumbled, a weak laugh catching in his throat.

It took me a second to realize what he meant. My hands, still on his face, smearing his own vomit across his cheek. I jerked back, flicked the worst of it off before wiping my hands down my pants.

His face was filthy, wet, and my first instinct was to clean it off for him, to fix it for him. But I froze. My fingers twitched like they might move without my permission, so I shoved them into my fists instead. Yeah, gross.

Will brushed his sleeve over his face, still shiny and vacant eyed. Like glass. Like he was fragile like he never had before and I hated it. I hated that it was my fault.

“You should eat the rest of the food, Will.” I said, reaching for the last stingy bites of meat and some roots. “Eat the rest, here.”

“Oh, Mike, it's really okay.”

“No, I mean, you just threw all of yours up and it's my fault you did. Take it,”

“Your–?”

“Here.” I pressed it into his hesitantly accepting palm. 

His brow pulled up in his uniquely heartbreaking way like he didn't think he was worth it, eyes hovering on me before he took it. I watched his eyes flick to the vomit and then the food, something like shame flashing over him. I ushered and helped him up and across so we wouldn’t have to look at it, trying to flush it out by pouring the leftover poisoned water over it.

He took a bite.

For some reason, my stomach lurched like it all might happen again. Replaying the panic I felt when his lips touched the water, my hands down his throat, hearing the sound of his struggling to breathe again. It filled up the silence that sat heavy in between us. I didn’t want to think about this anymore.

“So,” I blurted, “Favourite subject at school?”

He tilted his head at me, half a mouthful of food in his cheek and his brow wrinkled in curiosity before his eyes filled with this amused disbelief before his smile caught up. He swallowed and laughed weakly. “You’re kidding.”

“Seriously. Tell me”

“I almost died and you wanna talk about whether or not I like math?”

“...Yeah?” I didn’t say that it was because I needed something to stop me from thinking or doing something stupid like hugging him or crying but I think maybe he understood. I think maybe he was going to let me not say it.

Will smiled, soft and tired and didn’t push. “Art. Always art.”

“Yeah?” I said, and it made sense right away. I could see him with a sketchbook balanced on his knee, shading lines no one else would notice, or standing in some sunlit studio that smelled like wood shavings and paint. Drawing something in a way only he and sunlight understood. It fit the quiet, observant thing he did better than anyone I’d ever met.

“Yeah. But we didn’t do much of it in Nine.” He continued, “We were mainly brought up to do farm work. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I liked art. It could be…mine, I guess. No quotas or pressure or trying to fit into one box.” 

I nodded absentmindedly, but something in me clenched. I wanted to say, me too. That I used to scribble fantasy stories on the backs of my bio homework until…I don’t know, I didn’t anymore.

“What about you?” He said softly, tearing through my train of thought.

The answer wanted to crawl out before I could stop it. Stories. But my mouth didn’t form the words. Writing was the thing I’d boxed away years ago, after Dad told me I needed to think about a real future and not fairy tales.

“Physics,” I said instead. 

“Oh yeah, duh.” Will smiled at the ground.

Duh.

I looked at the ground too.

The truth was, I liked physics. The way it all slotted together, the neat rules that didn’t bend for anyone. Equations didn’t look at you sideways. And neither did people when you told them you wanted to be an engineer or a physicist or just a guy that sits at a desk punching out numbers. Especially in 6. That's what we needed. That's what we were taught was important.

I really did like physics. Loved it even. Genuinely, I did. But maybe it was my future only because I’d taught myself to bury what I once wanted most.

When I looked back at him, he was studying my face, raw lips slightly parted, head tilted attentively as if he could read silence.

I looked away again. 

How was it that he had kept all of what was his when his district must have tried just as hard to beat it out of him? 

He’d given up reading me or had seen enough by the time I spoke again.

“I used to wanna be a writer.” I figured that with these basically being my final days I may as well admit it. I didn’t care. It was just him here, anyway. No one else around to laugh.

Well. Except the cameras.

But they didn’t count. I couldn’t see them, so—yeah, didn’t matter.

Okay, it mattered a little. But probably no one was even watching. Probably somebody else was getting mauled by mutts right now, or finding some epic hidden weapon, and the whole world was staring at that instead of me running my mouth about dumb stories I used to make up. 

God, I hoped so.

“Yeah?” He said, soft surprise lacing his voice. “That’s cool.” 

His eyes always looked like they actually saw me.

“Uh— yeah. I mean, I guess. Doesn’t matter now though. And I have really bad handwriting anyway so.” I tore the bark off a stick until it was bare, then tossed it into what used to be a flame, got up too quick, and wandered off before Will could say anything else.

Our bags were slumped in the dirt a few feet away, so I crouched and started digging through them like there was something important in there. There wasn’t really. And everything was exactly where I already knew it was. My hands moved anyway, rustling wrappers, shoving things around, trying to sound like purpose.

I told myself it was useful. That I wasn’t just scrambling for something to do with my hands, something that would keep me from looking back at him and seeing that careful attention in his face.

Because that’s the thing about Will—he doesn’t miss it. He never misses it. He sees straight through me, and it’s the one thing I can’t stand about him. And the one thing I don’t want to lose.

***

When night fell, we were in our alcove, the dark, while the capitol anthem blared outside. We couldn't see the faces in the sky from underground but what did it matter anymore.

“You know,” he started, voice casual but with that familiar tilt that meant he’d been thinking on this for a while, “when you did your Capitol interview…”

I groaned immediately. “Oh no. No. You are not bringing up the fire-breathing toaster.”

Will laughed, small and low. “I mean, it was a bold opener.”

“I was nervous!” I squeaked before adding, “And, in fairness, it was the Capitol, they love fire.”

He turned toward me a little, smile still warm but less teasing now. “I wasn’t gonna make fun of you.”

“Oh.”

He glanced up at me through his lashes. “You said you wanted to do something good. Something that mattered.”

“Yeah,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “And then I got chucked into an arena with a bunch of killer kids so...plan’s a little off track.”

Will gave a small shake of his head. “I think you can tick that off your list, actually. The ‘doing something good’ thing. You totally saved my life.”

The words hit harder than I expected, soaking in what it felt like, warm and uncomfortable like I wanted to crawl out of my own skin but like in a nice way, to be seen as good at something. I felt my ears go hot, and I ducked my head, fiddling with the straps on my bag. “I, uh—” I cleared my throat. “I ticked that off ages ago.”

“Right. I guess you saved me in that ravine too, huh?”

“No, um…before.”

Will tilted his head, brow raised.

I nodded, not quite looking at him. “Yeah. When we met. When I asked if you wanted to be my friend instead of, y’know…murdering you…?”

Will went quiet for a second. Not tense, just still. Like something gentle had unfolded between us.

Then he smiled again, softer this time, that kind of grin that pushed into his eyes. “Oh, like you could take me?”

I scoffed. “I could have.”

“Sure.” He chuckled brightly. 

He looked good. As in healthier. Better. More himself than earlier that day. 

“You feel okay?” I asked

“Yeah, I do. Thanks.”

“I’m not gonna wake up next to a corpse?”

“Theres a good chance you won’t”

“Okay. Good.” I leaned back against the rock wall, like that was the end of it.

But Will didn’t look away. His gaze lingered, steady, almost stubborn. “You know… if you did—” He broke off, shook his head once, then tried again. “I just um. I'm glad that— Thanks.”

“I uh— Of course.”

“Night, Mike”

“Yeah. Night.”

Chapter Text

The search for water penned us ever closer to the cornucopia. The journey inward brought us back to the death reeked stream, shallow and sheer, glimmering an eery purple against the stone. It sung out in ripples, now tainted with the echo of retching in my mind.

Will had woken up before that morning. When I opened my eyelids, his were blinking against his cheeks as his hands secured the head of a spear onto a stick. He’d been working on that thing for a while. The sight of him alive had made the breath in my lungs lighter like I had been holding tension in my chest all night, even in sleep.

Now he was walking beside me. Still upright, looking more flushed and alive by the minute as the chilled air of the forest colored his face.

Will kept glancing at me like he was thinking something soft, ever since the moment with the water. I couldn’t tell if I liked it or hated it.

“Hey, Mike?” He said.

“Mmh?”

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

I looked over at him. Morning light drenching him like sunrays were more interested in sitting on his shoulders then touching the ground. He didn’t even look scared as he said it, like it was normal to ask a friend whether he thought you were gonna live through the next few hours or die, fully, on camera to some rabid twelve year old. But how could he not be scared? He must be, I thought, He must be scared and he’s just doing it quietly like he does everything. And if he was? I wanted him to feel okay. Especially after yesterday.

“Well, why not? I mean, we’re alright at stuff. You’re good. Smart, y’know, the spear. I can– I’m whatever. Keep each other alive. I mean, you’re not a problem. You’re easy.” What. “I mean, not like– I mean like you know, no problem. I could totally keep you satisfied.” What.

Oh my god.

I froze like a malfunctioning android. I could feel the blood leaving my brain. I could hear my heartbeat in my teeth.

I watched Will slowly turn to look at me. One eyebrow raised. Curious. Entirely too collected. Just tilting his head slightly, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right. Or worse, was sure.

“Oh my God,” I muttered. “Not like that. I didn’t mean—I meant with food. And warmth. And—God—that came out wrong. I didn’t mean sexually. Obviously. Obviously. I meant like, I can make you full. No—fed. Fed-full. Nourished. You know what? I’m gonna shut up now.”

Will was still just watching me implode. That stupid knowing smile tugging at his mouth, like he was trying not to enjoy this too much. Like I was a very entertaining car crash.

“How do you feel,” he said casually, “now that you’ve offered to keep me ‘satisfied’  on national television?”

I threw down the stick I’d been holding and covered my face with both hands, already planning the most efficient way to off myself.

“Stop. Please. Just let me trip over and die or explode from embarrassment. Either is fine.”

Will hummed, all annoying and serene. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not gonna hold you to it.”

“I swear to God, Will.”

He just laughed, bright and golden and unbothered that the most mortifying slip up of my entire life had just been immortalised and broadcasted for the entirety of Panem to see.

I didn’t talk much for the rest of our journey for water, afraid of what might come out of my mouth unprompted.

Thank god, down a slope, a wide river opened and gushed with clear, bountiful rippling. The air washed over my skin, fresh and damp like the smell of rain soaked soil. I judged the decline, assessing the risk. It was steep but not death-like.

“I’ll go first.” I said over my shoulder.

I tried to walk sideways down the side of the slope, a little jagged with sharp gravel already digging in through my shoes and coated in river slicked moss. The mixture of which I decided was the entire reason I then slipped so horrifically. Nothing to do with my coordination or lack thereof.

My foot skidded out from under me. I felt Will’s hand ghost my shoulder, trying to hold the fabric but I slid right out of his grasp. It was too late. I fell right against the rubble, skidding down the rocks on my back. Graceful.

 I felt the gravel grip and burn through my shirt, and I knew it tore skin.

Will yelped my name and hurried down much more skillfully until he was beside me, pulling my arms to help me sit upright.

“Are you okay?” He said, eyes racing over me, his touch still grazing my forearms.

“Well I’m pretty sure I left about five layers of skin on the slope and my ego is even more bruised. Probably took about 3 years total off my life.”

“Mike…” He half scolded.

I cupped my head in one hand, trying to ease the ache. I must have smacked my skull against the cold floor. Wow this was not a good day for my self esteem.

And then I felt Will's hands on my shoulder and he shuffled a little behind me. Then I heard him gasp.

“Oh Mike.”

“Huh?”

Will’s fingers traced light against my back and I felt what he meant. I felt the sting and I knew.

“The back of your shirt is like, shredded.”

“Well, shit.”

“Yep.” Will’s brow drew together into what I had started to mentally refer to as ‘The Will face’ while he thought before abruptly getting up. He wandered down to the water and cupped a little in his hands and brought it over to me. He knelt behind me and I felt it trickle against the raw skin. I must have winced pretty bad because I heard him mutter an apology over my shoulder. I felt it actually. His breath against my skin. Not that I cared. Obviously. 

Then he began fussing with my jacket, knotted around my waist. 

“Here, c’mon.” He urged.

“What are you–?”

Will untied it, pulled it off, and brushed any dirt from the rustling fabric. He then wrapped the thing around me, his face very near mine for a moment. I felt a warm burn in my cheeks. From the embarrassment.

Then Will helped my arms through the sleeves. My shoulder blades protested as bruised bone rolled under the clawed skin. Will zipped it up and adjusted the collar. His hand then found my face, his eyes fluttering over my face, checking for scrapes, shaking his head fondly at me. He even lifted my chin. I don’t know if air touched my lungs the whole time. I mean he was acting like I was some idiot toddler that had just taken a tumble at the park. It was…humiliating. Totally humiliating.

“You think you can get up?” He asked.

“Uh. Yeah, sure. Sure.”

Will reached a palm out to help but something in me told me not to take it. 

I pushed myself up and then shoved my hands into my jacket pockets, oddly certain that I needed to keep to myself.

I watched an unsaid question flicker like a candle in his eyes but it was snuffed out as he seemed to let it go.

Will filled the canteens while I stood, hands still very much tucked into my pockets, spine on fire, pretending I was fine. Like nothing had happened.

The limp home was equally demeaning as the fall. And the face cupping. I worked myself up into a low simmering anger at myself while Will trailed attentively in my wake. I figured it was better this way, me not being able to see him looking at me or how he was looking at me. Because however he was, I’d hate it.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Will said. Earlier, he’d offered a shoulder but I thought the face holding was quite enough. More than I could take.

“Yep.” Keeping to myself.

“Okay…It’s just– you look like you’re limping there.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a tragic war hero limp. Added for flair.”

“Oh well, you do like your flair.”

I stopped dead in the path, my head turning back toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Will blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… nothing? Just—you're a little dramatic sometimes. You know. It’s not a bad thing—”

“Dramatic,” I repeated, my voice a little too sharp. “That’s what you meant. Not… not something else.”

His brows knit. “Something else?”

“Forget it.” I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets, heart pounding against the jacket he’d just zipped up for me. Heat prickled in my ears, my neck. God. I sounded insane. He wasn’t calling me—he wasn’t saying that. Why would he even? He wouldn’t. “Let’s just get back to camp, okay?”

We walked in silence for a while, the limp in my step growing louder in my own head than in the dirt. Will glanced at me once or twice, probably trying to figure out what the hell just happened, but didn’t press. He was good like that. 

By the time we reached the alcove, my anger had burned itself into ash. All that was left was the stupid echo of my voice in my skull, biting at him for nothing. He’d been… what? Making a joke. Smiling at me. And I twisted it into something else. Something mean. Because maybe deep down I knew what that warm rush in my chest really was when his hand had been on my face.

I winced climbing through the gap, and before I could tell him not to, Will was already there, steadying me with one hand under my arm and the other bracing my back.

“Careful,” he murmured, guiding me in like I was made of glass. He even crouched to pull our pack closer so I wouldn’t have to stretch for it.

I sank down against the wall, pretending I didn’t need any of it. He did everything. Pouring a little water into a tin, making sure the jacket was clean, adjusting me so I didn’t further injure myself. Meanwhile, the whole time, he didn’t look upset. Not even a flicker of annoyance. Just patient. Which was worse. Way worse.

I shifted, uncomfortable in my own skin. “You don’t have to…” I started, gesturing vaguely, but Will just gave me this small, tired smile and said, “I know.” And kept going anyway.

I don’t know how I fell asleep with my raw skin flaring like that but I did, because the next time I opened my eyes, morning birds were busy, singing fluttering melodies aloud outside the alcove. But Will? 

Will wasn’t next to me.

I shot upright and my back screamed.

“Will?” I spoke into darkness.

 Nothing called back. Just birds twittering somewhere I couldn’t see. 

“Will?” Nope. Just a faint echo at the scuffle of sound as my feet kicked up dust while I struggled up as quickly as I could.

I looked around, eyes still hardly focused, and saw that his stuff was gone.

What if he left?

What if he looked at my back and figured I was useless to him now and he should cut his losses and leave. That’s not who I thought Will was. But this is the Games. I was useless to him now. Why wouldn’t he leave? 

He left.

I can’t even get out of this stupid alcove without his knee to lean on.

I thought we were allies. Better than allies. I thought we were really friends.

He was my friend, wasn’t I his? This whole time here I was thinking he was cool and, like, the kindest person I’ve met basically ever and then he turns out to be…not? That can’t have all been fake. That wouldn’t be fair. Hey, I saved his life! That wouldn’t–

“Mike?” 

Will?

I spun so fast my spine almost lit itself on fire.

Will crawled into the alcove and for half a second I just gawked at him, because not only did he carry a bundle of green broad leaves under his elbow, but in his grip was something I wasn’t expecting at all. A limp rabbit, ears hanging. He must have beat a Career to their own snare or something. He could even kill a half dead bird two days ago.

“You’re—” My voice cracked, raw from sleep and panic. “Where did you—”

He raised his brows like it was obvious. “Finding stuff. And breakfast.” Then, with the smallest crooked smile: “What are you doing standing up? Sit, please.”

“I was—” I stammered, half defensive, half relieved. “I thought—you weren’t here, I thought—”

“What, that I’d just ditch you?” His tone was light, but not careless. He set the leaves down on the floor, then crouched to lay the rabbit carefully beside them. “Seriously? I go out for like an hour and you’ve already decided I’ve abandoned you?”

My mouth opened, then shut. What was I supposed to say? Yes?

“Sit before you fall down.” He nudged me back with one hand, that steady, unfailingly calm like he could anchor a storm. “You’re going to tear your back open again.” He eased. 

I blinked uselessly at him.

I sank to the floor, heat crawling up the back of my neck. He worked so efficiently, skinning the rabbit like he’d done it a hundred times, even though I knew he hadn’t. Last time he’d been near killing something, he’d looked like it broke a piece off him. I knew he hated it. Now? When he knew I couldn’t do it, his jaw was firm, his hands sure. He wasn’t softer than me in the way that I had thought. He wasn’t weaker. He just… chose when to show it.

“And these—” He touched the leaves, glancing at me almost shyly. “They should help with burns. My mom used to use them when I got scraped up. Might sting a little.”

I just stared at him.

“Does it still hurt bad?” He asked.

I nodded, my chest tightening more than it should. My throat felt full, my eyes prickling before I even knew why.

Will’s gaze softened immediately. “Aw, Mike… it’s gonna be okay.” He reached to adjust my posture, hand brushing my shoulder.

I blinked rapidly, trying to catch my breath. And I realized something in a flash so sharp it nearly made me gasp. 

He hadn’t left. He could have. Everyone in the Games would have understood. He could have. But he stayed. He went out alone, hunted, foraged, and came back to me.

And in that instant, all the fear, the worry, the tiny panic in my chest shifted into something else entirely. Relief, awe, something hot and raw that had nothing to do with my back.

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even move properly. I just let my head drop forward, feeling tears well. Will, reading me only as if I was in pain, rubbed my arm. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

I nodded again. My hands twitched, itching to do something, anything. But I just sat there, overwhelmed. It wasn’t pain that had me breaking down. It was the sudden, undeniable understanding that Will was never going to walk away. Not now. Not ever. Even if I was useless.

He was humming again while his hands worked over the rabbit.

“Did you kill that yourself?” I asked him.

“Yeah.” 

I nodded. “Oh.”

His hands were bigger than I remembered. Not huge, just biggish. Neat. The kind of hands that always looked like they knew what they were doing, even if he didn’t. Smooth-skinned, but not soft. Like he’d always used them, not wasted them. And the bones. Y’know. Good bones.

Jesus Christ.

He shifted, his wrist flexing as he did, and I just blurted out, “You have, um. Hands.”

What. What kind of sane, literate, human person says that?

He looked up slowly, eyebrows raised, trying not to smile too hard. “That’s true. Well observed.”

I probably should have just taken that and shut up then but I didn't.

“No, I mean…” I flailed a little, gesturing at them like that helped. “They’re just—y’know. Masculine?”

He blinked. “My hands?”

“Yeah. Like… solid. Not like they're too masculine. Not like scary. Just y’know, practical. Good veins. Structure. Whatever. Kudos on the—uh, fingers.”

A beat passed. I wanted to disappear into the nearest patch of dirt and stay there. I thought the injury must be doing something to my brain.

Will slowly lifted one hand, examining it like he was trying to see what I’d just seen. Then he looked at me, all fake-serious. “Thank you. I do try to keep them very… fingered.”

“Okay,” I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “Forget I spoke. Please.”

Will snorted. “Too late. ‘Kudos on the fingers’ is now carved into my soul forever.”

“Great. Glad I could ruin both of our lives.”

He just smiled and nudged my knee with his.

For the rest of the day I just sat around pretending that didn’t happen.

I hated not being able to do anything. Not being able to go outside or even make a really bad snare was actually torture. I just kinda sat around while Will did everything for me. He made the food, laid leaves over the worst of my grazes and told me how to sleep so I wouldn’t make myself worse.

And I did.

***

I woke to the sound of my own ragged breathing, each inhale catching like my lungs had forgotten the rhythm. Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead and temples, damp and itchy, though I couldn’t quite muster the strength to move it away. My back pulsed in hot, pounding waves, every throb radiating through my ribs until it felt like the ground itself was pressing in on me.

A shadow moved at the edge of my vision. Too close. Too soft to be threatening. Then, cool steady fingers found my shoulder.

“Easy,” he murmured.

Something shifted beneath me, a rolled jacket, the pressure lifting from my chest as he tucked it under my ribs so I wasn’t flat against the earth. The change made my head spin, the world lurching sideways, but the relief that followed was so sharp it almost broke me.

I mumbled something slurred and senseless even to me. Just noise spilling out of the heat.

“Oh, I know, I know,” he said, gentle and amused in a way that reached me even through the fog. His fingers slid into my hair, combing lightly through the damp strands, cool against my fevered scalp. I tilted toward the touch without meaning to, greedy for it, like it was the only thing anchoring me.

When a fresh tremor shuddered through me, his other hand pressed briefly to my forehead, then lingered at the side of my neck. Cool skin, steady pulse.

“Still warm,” he murmured, his thumb grazing my jaw before retreating.

“’M fine,” I tried to shape the words, but they came out warped, my voice too heavy, too thin.

“Yeah, you’re fine,” he said. Soft, certain, like a parent humoring a child. The kind of lie meant to comfort.

Then the humming started. Low, steady. Less a song and more a vibration, something that wrapped around the dark and folded into my bones. I felt it more than I heard it, and by the time I recognized it for what it was, I was already slipping under, lulled down into something quiet and warm. Too far gone to pretend I didn’t like it.

And then I was out again.

Chapter Text

Will was at my side when I woke up, a hand on my forehead, worry carved in a soft line between his brows.

“Hey, you’re awake. Feeling any better?”

Right. Because last night was bad. Like, can’t-think-straight bad. Can’t-speak-straight bad. And now, even though I didn’t feel so spacey, I was still drenched and hot with the night's fever, and mostly just regretting the way I fell apart in Will’s hands.

Ghost-like and almost slipping like loose threads holding my conscience together, the hazy memory of Will’s cool fingers traced through my hair, the gentle rhythm of his thumb on my temple coming back in flashes. I remembered him talking, soft and slow like candlelight in the once spinning alcove. I fell asleep bathed in the comfort of him next to me. I fell asleep next to him. Needed him. Let him stay close because I was sick. I was so sick that I let it happen. And I was so sick, it didn't count.

“Yeah, I– um. I’m fine.”

His gaze lingered on me for a moment too long, doubt clouding his eyes; a look that said Sure and I’m President Snow. But despite it, he nodded slowly before forming words. “Good. You were mindlessly yammering something about thermodynamics when you passed out again. Do you remember that?” His mouth quirked.

“No.” I winced. 

Laughing into the dim echo of the alcove, he looked away. As he smiled deeper, his lips pulled smooth over his teeth and into the crooked corner of his mouth. His eyelashes were long. Even a little tangled with his bangs, his hair falling over his face as he tipped it down.

“I remember you humming.” My voice came before I could stop myself, and smaller than I expected it to.

He looked up, startled, that softened smile blooming back into his face again. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He nodded to himself, a little sheepish, and shut up. Yeah, there wasn't much you could say back to that. I don’t even know why I said it. Maybe I just wanted him to look up, or maybe I wanted to say thank you and didn’t know how. I blamed it on the fever. Residual brain fog. I was sick. Didn’t count.

Will sighed, small with the tiniest shake in his chest.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He said, eyes on the floor.

I waited, as quiet and as patient as I could, like pretending I wasn't waiting.

“I just–” He started. Knew it. “Mike, I think you’re back might have gotten infected. I think that’s why you feel sick.” 

I nodded. Like that was fine and totally cool. Totally cool.

Infection in the Games was practically a death sentence. Unless you had miracle sponsors. But, I imagine that with all the water, we’d emptied the pockets of anyone who actually gave a shit. And Will was right, even with all he did, he couldn't stop it from happening.

“I’m… I don’t know, I’m sorry.” He said.

I forced myself upright, biting back a hiss.

“Oh Will, that’s okay. I’ll probably be fine, right? C’mon, dude, I’m fine.” My hand landed on his shoulder before I even thought about it. I rubbed my thumb over the fabric of his shirt once and felt him take a breath. I didn’t believe a word I said, but I hoped he did. “It’s the Games. We’re all going soon, may as well speed the process up with a bit of light plague.”

“Thats so not funny.” He gave me probably the most forgiving smack, or more like a tap, on my arm.

“Yeah, my bad.” I smiled a self-depricating laugh-at-your-own-pain kind of smile at the ground. 

But then I looked at Will. 

And I couldn’t pretend it was funny anymore.

His glassy gaze hit me like a brick. “I just want you to know how much you’ve saved me in here. Not even like…big stuff. When it’s you saying something kind. Or stupid. I forget where I am for a minute. Like I’m safe.” He looked away. “I guess I’m scared of…” Trailing off, he blinked a couple times at the ground.

I didn’t know where to put my hands or the feeling that he just put into words everything I’d been thinking and kept to myself like pulling back a curtain and letting the light in. He was safe for me. I strained to wrap my head around me being just as much for him. 

“Oh.” I swallowed, processing whether or not this was allowed. This level of caring.

“Sorry.” He wrapped his arms around his knees. 

I could probably allow it.

“Will, hey,” I shuffled ever so slightly closer.  “I’m not… I’m not going anywhere.” I said, quiet and careful. 

“Mike… I just wanna go home. I want you to go home.” He let out, My chest clenched. I wanted to reach for him. I just wanted to go home. I wanted him to go home too.

“I— I’m so sorry this happened to you Will.”

I meant more than I could say. I was more than just angry that it was him that ended up in this arena. I was more than just sad that one day, we would be separated. Him or me from the other. Every time it crossed my mind, I’d been biting the insides of my cheeks. I’d fucked up and got hurt, and if I didn’t get over this, I’d leave him. Alone. And that was the scariest part, not just that it would be bloody and it would hurt, but that it would hurt him too and no one would be there to fix it. 

He could manage on his own, of course, but I was more than scared that he wouldn’t. 

Because if I could have been honest with myself, I know I wouldn’t have if I didn’t have to. For him. I would have quietly starved away if he didn’t need food. If he wasn’t worth sticking around for. I stayed to make sure he wouldn’t go horribly. I was so much more than just sorry that this happened to him.

We held each other’s gaze for a moment, drawn out and quiet as I tried to figure out what I could say, wishing there wasn’t a camera trained on my face. 

“Okay,” he said, half a laugh in it, voice a little wrecked. “Sorry, I’m—” He trailed off.

“Hey, don't be sorry.” I said, low and as gentle as I could.

He nodded once, still blinking hard. “Right. Yeah. Sorry— I mean, not sorry, just— I wanted to check you were okay.” He sniffed, clearing his throat. “I’m gonna go find more of those leaves.”

He stood, deciding to handle everything anyway. And all I could think, watching him go, was that he apologized for caring and I hadn’t even said thank you for staying. And that despite it, he was much stronger than I was.

“Wh– Wait let me come.”

He turned, frowning, “What? Mike, no, you can hardly move.”

“But Will, I’m going crazy in here, I need to do something.” That, and the thought of him walking off alone made my stomach twist. Sitting in the dark, counting canons and hoping none of them were his—that was not a fun time.

“No. I don’t want you making your back worse. Wait here, okay?”

I tipped my head back against the wall of the alcove. “Ugh, fine.”

He left and the weight of everything crashed in on me. The selfish part of me started to hope the infection would get me before anything happened to him so I could go first. Just so I wouldn’t have to know what it felt like, hearing his cannon.

It was mind-numbing, sitting there, listening to birds somewhere above me, free to fly around while my own stupidity had me chained underground like a wounded animal. I tried to nap, but my body was too hot, too restless, too aware that I was alone.

I was half-dozing and worn and overly-warm when the scrape of stone jolted me awake, and for a second I thought I was still in fever-dream territory. Then Will ducked back into the alcove, hair mussed. He was back (and unharmed, thank God.) He didn’t even really look phased, just tired. He didn't have any leaves but had a couple roots or something under his arm, and two canteens dripping faint trails of water. The daylight behind him haloed sharp around his shoulders before the dark swallowed him again.

He looked different recently. Like the games had hardened him, or maybe I just knew him better now but, he was capable. Very capable. I never saw him doing anything that wasn’t useful. He was always using his hands. Doing something to save us.

I liked it. I felt like maybe, that gulf that used to exist between us had shrunk to nothing. I think he used to see me as some kind of saviour. Someone who would fix everything, someone he could hide behind. I liked that too, really, but this was better. Him saving me. Us feeling equal. Equally useful. I’ve always needed him but now I think he believed it.

I pushed upright, ribs straining. “How’s it look out there?”

He hesitated just a breath before answering, too quick. “The same.”

“The same?” My voice cracked up an octave, climbing over itself. “Really? What about the splits—are they bigger? Are there more, or was I right about the quartering? And the Careers. Are they all still alive?” I shoved an elbow against the wall, trying to rise, even though my spine screamed. “I need to look around out there. Get some air. I’m going crazy not knowing.”

“You don’t need to worry about that right now,” Will said, already unloading the bundle into our corner pile. His tone was calm, final. “You can worry when you get better. So get better.”

“C’mon, just let me—”

“No, Mike.”

“But—”

“You can barely stand. How are you gonna walk around?”

“Will, please. I can do it. I’m fine.”

His head turned toward me. “You’re fine? Last night you were—”

“I’m fine,” I cut in, fast, before he could finish. My cheeks flared hot. I didn’t want him to say it, didn’t want that picture—the way his hand stroked my hair while my skin burned up—to live out loud in the air between us.

For a moment, only our breathing filled the alcove and the off drip of water somewhere. My heart pounded too loudly in my ears.

“…Okay,” he said finally, a reluctant exhale. “Fine. You can sit outside. But that’s it.”

“Really?”

“Sure.”

He moved before I could protest, sliding an arm around my back, the other under my elbow. The climb up was awkward, brutal—I couldn’t do much more than hang on, my legs trembling like a puppet’s strings, while Will steadied me step by step toward the mouth of the alcove. His breath caught sometimes with the effort, but he never said a word about it, never shifted his grip even when I leaned too heavy.

When we broke into the daylight, it stung my eyes. I blinked furiously, gulping down air like I’d been under water for days. Will lowered me onto a flat patch of stone just above the entrance, careful, steadying me until I could sit without pitching forward.

“There,” he said, crouching in front of me. His eyes flicked over my face, unreadable. “Happy?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. The world still tilted under me, but it was open, bright, and I wasn’t sealed in rock and shadows.

I’d barely gotten used to the sun on my face when the faint whir of wings cut through the air.

We both looked up. A tiny silver parachute drifted lazily down toward us, sunlight flashing off its threads.

“Medicine,” I breathed. For the first time in days, something that wasn’t rotten roots or panic. “Finally.”

It dove straight for us and clunked against the stone I was sat on.

I snatched it up, twisted the top off, and nearly laughed out loud at the sight inside: a tiny tin of salve, pale green and smelling sharp, clean. Relief fizzed hot in my chest as I dug a fingertip toward it.

A hand closed around my wrist.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Will asked, one brow raised.

“What does it look like? I’m putting it on.”

He blinked at me, expression flat. “On your back?”

My mouth opened, shut. Right. Of course.

“Yeah, didn’t think so,” he said, plucking the tin easily from my hand. “C’mon, don’t be stupid.”

“But I—”

For half a second, I considered arguing. Anything to not have to sit here half-naked with Will’s hands on me while the Capitol licked its lips watching. But the look he gave me was stubborn and annoyingly kind. Like he already knew I’d give in.

So I did.

“Oh, Michael,” Will said, his voice a mix of gentle scolding and something almost—fond. Like he couldn’t quite believe the state I’d gotten myself into.

I was sat almost shirtless in front of him, my arms looped loosely around my knees, trying to look casual even though nothing about this felt casual at all. My shirt was bunched up against my chest, gripped in one hand like a security blanket, because taking it fully off felt… I don’t know. Weird. Too exposed, like taking it all the way off would've crossed some line I couldn’t name. Like admitting something out loud I hadn’t even said in my head yet.

So I left it half on. Awkward. Tangled. Like everything else.

It was already vulnerable enough, sitting there with my back to him, all scraped up and quiet. The air on my skin felt strange, like even the forest was watching. And Will was right there behind me, close enough that I could hear every breath he took, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him even without looking.

And yeah, maybe I was being ridiculous. But there was something scarily intimate about it. More intimate than sleeping back to back for warmth. More intimate than sharing food. Just me, hunched up, bare-skinned and twitchy, trying not to freak out because Will had nice hands and was about to touch me.

Will sat cross-legged on the mossy ground, the little tin open between his knees. I heard the soft scoop of fingers into ointment, and then—

His touch. Slow. Warm. Careful.

I flinched.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, too quickly. My voice came out low, rough at the edges. “Just… trying not to think about it.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, and I could hear the smile blooming in his voice. “I’m being gentle. Wouldn’t want to damage my very masculine hands, would I?”

I choked. Literally.

On air.

Will laughed behind me—not one of those soft huffs he usually gave me when I said something dumb, but a real laugh. Quiet but full. It brushed warm against the back of my neck like sunlight, and I swear my whole spine locked straight.

“I hate you,” I muttered, ears burning.

“Do you?” he said, and I didn’t even have to see his face to know he was grinning.

His fingers moved again, trailing ointment in slow, steady sweeps across my shoulder blade, the curve of my spine, the jagged places where skin met stone. He was always so careful. Even if the Games had hardened him like they seemed to, they hadn’t corrupted him like they did others. He was still Will.

It felt good. That was the problem.

Not the sting. Not the embarrassment of sitting here half-shirtless with Will literally rubbing medicine into my back. But how much I liked it. How easy it was to forget everything else when he touched me like…that.

His palms were warm, his hands sure. He was close enough that I could feel his body heat in the air, this soft, invisible pressure that wrapped around me like something I wasn’t supposed to miss once it was gone.

I wasn’t thinking about the Capitol. Or the cameras. Or what it meant to be here with him. Just the quiet that came with him. The way I always felt like I was one breath away from saying something stupid just to keep him looking at me.

I chewed the inside of my cheek.

“I—” I started, then chickened out and pivoted. “You’re different than when I first met you,” I said instead. My voice came out quieter than I meant. Easier, somehow, with my back turned. “Not in a bad way.”

He paused, just for a second. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I said, and my mouth kept going before I could rein it in. “You seem to like me more now. Like we’re… actually friends. Not just teammates or whatever.”

I winced. God, that sounded needy.

But Will didn’t laugh.

“I’ve always liked you,” he said softly, and he was closer than I’d realized. His breath hit the side of my neck again, and it was warm. Gentle.

I didn’t know if I was supposed to say something back, or if saying anything at all would break it.

So I didn’t.

I just curled in on myself a little, resting my chin on my knees, arms looped around them like a shield I didn’t really need anymore. My eyes stung out of nowhere, this tight ache behind them, like the feeling of being full after going hungry for too long.

The glint of light through the trees blurred. Dew welled at the edges of my eyes, and I sniffed once.

Will’s fingers hesitated on my back, just for a second. 

“I really like you.” he said a moment later, almost absently. The way you might say the sky’s blue or you should get some rest. Like it was easy. His voice melted into my skin, warm and welcome everywhere apart from that one corner of my brain that never shut up. It's not like he meant it like that. He just meant it.

I swallowed. “I really like you too.” I managed. “I think…I think you might be my best friend."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I think you’re mine.”

And that was it. Simple. Unshaken. Like there was never a world where it could’ve been otherwise.

Something in me went quiet — not numb, but clear.

I hurriedly tugged my shirt down when he was done, like I’d snapped out of it. My skin still burned where his hands had been. From the medicine. Not from–

Anyway,

I must have stood up in a rush too because Will blinked up at me from where he was kneeling, one eyebrow raised. He looked confused. Or startled. Or maybe… kind of amused.

“Uh. Thanks, dude.” I said, not really knowing what to do with my hands.

Will turned away, screwing the lid of the tin on and putting it into his backpack. I hated how calm he looked. Like he wasn’t replaying the whole thing in his head at high volume. I hated how confusing he was. Confusing by being a wave of complete clarity I was trying really hard to ignore.

“Mhm, no worries.” He hummed, getting up and pulling his backpack onto his shoulders. He dusted off his palms.

When he finally looked back at me, there was this tiny grin playing on his mouth — quiet, knowing, like he’d caught me in some private joke I hadn’t realized I’d told. His eyes did that soft sparkly thing they did when he was trying not to laugh.

“What?” I said, defensive, too fast.

“Nothing.” His grin deepened, teasing now. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird.”

He tilted his head like he didn’t buy it, but let me have the lie anyway. “Sure. No, of course not.”

I cleared my throat, desperate to change the subject. “So, uh… how long ‘til that stuff starts working?”

Will’s eyes flicked toward my back, scanning me like he was already checking for improvement. “If it’s real sponsor stuff, a few hours maybe. You’ll be okay.” 

I noticed then the soft edge in his voice, relief melting the teasing. He’d been worried. Really worried.  I forced myself to look away from him, picking at the hem of my sleeve. My heart was doing something stupid in my chest, and I decided it was just the fever working itself out.

I nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I mean, it’s nice not dying for once.”

Just then, a deafening, ear-splitting crack thundered through the arena, rocking the earth and sending erupting tremors through our bones.

Chapter Text

The rumbling started low before ripping through the arena in one long, brutal growl.

BOOM

Dust shook loose below our feet, upward into the air. Rocks tumbled down the shallow decline. My ears rang.

I counted the canons in between the low tremors, breath stuck in my throat. One,

BOOM

Two,

BOOM

Three.

Each blast rolled through my bones. Everything in my body locked. Spine straight. Shoulders rigid like they were preparing to take a punch. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the next canon could be one of ours. That any second, the arena could swallow us whole and that’d be it. I gripped onto Will’s wrist like instinct and felt his pulse jump under my fingers, as quick as mine.

I needed to know what that was. 

Adrenaline propelled me forward. Possibilities fired through my brain so fast I was about to blow a fuse. I half-limped, half-sprinted, to the edge where the trees thinned, my back straining, hoping to look over the arena from there. Will’s voice called after me, my name, sharp, worried, but he followed close behind anyway.

It must be the Gamemakers. A ‘natural’ disaster. Just… huge this time. An avalanche? Maybe a-

What I saw when I looked over the edge was like nothing else. 

The cornucopia was gone.

The metal horn, the pedestal, the bloodstained dirt, all swallowed into a wound in the earth where the splits had converged. A crater, wide and pulsing and dark, like the ground itself had taken a bite out of the arena.

It was still moving. Still breathing.

A low gurgling sound came from its centre, wet and deep, as if the arena were trying to digest what it had eaten. The air above it shimmered, eerily glowing red, and spitting out hazy fog where the intense cold of that underworld met the arena’s air. 

Will gasped next to me. 

A cold wind must have rolled up from the crater, washing over us, cutting through the air like a blade. For a moment, everything went quiet. Even the birds. Just the two of us standing there, the arena breathing, and the distant smell of smoke and iron.

I muttered under my breath, “Holy sh-”

BOOM

“Shit.” I finished.

“Mike, wh-...Four. That's four.” 

“Okay. Okay. Well. Okay here, look, we're in the safest place right now, okay? So we’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna be fine. All those canons, they’re probably the careers, ‘cause they were camped in the middle right? Yeah so, really I mean, this could be good for us. Right?” I rambled until I ran out of air.

“But,” he said finally, voice low, careful, like he was testing each word before letting it go, “the Career pack was bigger than four. And all their supplies were there.” He swallowed, eyes flicking toward the horizon. “Now all of that’s gone. The food. The weapons. Everything. They’ll be desperate.”

“Desperate how?” I asked, already knowing I didn’t want the answer.

“They’ll move outward. No central ground anymore. No middle.” He turned his head, just enough to meet my eyes. “They’ll be coming this way.”

My stomach twisted. I didn’t even realize I was gripping his sleeve until I felt him glance down at it.

“Right,” I said, my voice coming out thin. “Cool.”

He huffed a breath like disbelief made a sound. “We should get back to the alcove. Before someone else thinks to come in this direction.”

But neither of us moved. The crater kept pulsing below, slow and alive, and for a second I couldn’t tell if the shaking under my feet was from the ground or from me.

“Hey, Will?”

“Yeah?”

“If that—whatever that was—happened in the middle,” I said, “what’s stopping it from happening here?”

He was quiet for a long time. Then, softly: “Nothing.”

I swallowed. “Awesome.”

Still, he didn’t look scared. Not really. Just focused. Like he’d already started planning three steps ahead, and I was clinging to the one we were standing on.

I wanted to say something. Anything to make him look at me again, maybe even smile. But all I could manage was, “So... good thing we got that medicine, huh?”

He broke away from the crater and glanced at me, slow and his voice light. “Yeah,” he said. “Good thing.”

Then he turned back toward the alcove, his hand brushing mine as if to make sure I followed. And I did.

We climbed back down to the alcove, the echoes of the rumbling still chasing through my ribs. The air down there felt tighter somehow, pressed close with dust and leftover fear. I hated it. I hated not seeing what was happening. I hated how small the space felt.

Will dropped his pack near the wall and crouched to check through it. The quiet stretched too long, so I filled it like I always did.

“Okay,” I started, tapping my knee. “Okay, so let’s think this through. If that—whatever that was—took out the Careers, then maybe that’s good for us, right? Fewer people. But also, like, bad, because now there’s a hole the size of a mountain in the middle of the arena, and if the ground keeps splitting—”

“Mike—”

“—we could end up trapped. Which is fine. Totally fine. We’ll just, I don’t know, build a bridge or something. Or find higher ground. Or dig sideways. I can dig.”

Will blinked at me, clearly choosing silence over logic.

“Okay, no, digging is stupid,” I said before he could. “We’d suffocate. So, scratch that. But maybe if we go around the ridge, we could—”

“Mike.”

“—see where the cracks slow down, right? We know that—”

“Mike.” His voice was gentle, patient in that annoying way that made me want to keep talking just to prove I was fine.

“What?”

He gave me a small, knowing look. “You done?”

I deflated a little, rubbing a hand over my neck. “Maybe.”

“Good.” He went back to tying something on his pack strap, unbothered. “We stay put until we know more. If we move too soon, we run right into whoever’s left. We’ve got water, food for at least a day, and this place hasn’t caved in yet.”

“‘Yet’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence,” I muttered.

Will hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was hiding a smile. “You can plan all you want. Just don’t forget to breathe while you do it.”

“Breathing is part of the plan.”

“I’m sure it is.”

He stretched out, leaning back on his arms. For a few seconds, neither of us said anything. Just the steady drip of water from the canteens.

Then he said, almost casually, “If something happens… Don't wait for me.”

I froze. “What? What does that even mean?”

He didn’t look up, just shrugged as if it was anything else. “Just what it sounds like.”

“Will, that’s not—no. I’m not doing that.”

“It’s not a choice.”

“Yeah, it kinda is,” I said, louder than I meant to. “You don’t just—say stuff like that and expect me to nod and be cool about it. We’re a team. You don’t get to—”

He finally looked up at me then, eyes steady, voice even softer. “I just don’t want you wasting time.”

“Wasting time?” My chest felt tight. “What, on you?”

“On anyone,” he said, the breath of a laugh ghosting through his voice like I was being humorously ridiculous. “On me, on this place. Just… if it comes to it, go.”

I stared at him, trying to find some edge in his tone that wasn’t calm acceptance. There wasn’t one. He wasn’t scared. Not even pretending.

“How are you so ready to go?” I asked, quietly. Not accusatory. Just... baffled.

“I’m not,” he said eventually, his voice soft. Will was leaning back on his elbows, the trees above casting shifting shadows through the gap of the alcove, the light bouncing into and across his softly glowing face. He didn’t answer right away. Just watched the sky through the leaves like there might be something up there waiting for him. Some answers. “I’m not ready. I’m just—fine with not being ready, I guess. Fine with it being too soon.”

“Oh.” Was all I could manage, because what the hell else could I say to that?

He let out a soft breath, not quite a sigh. “I mean, maybe I won’t even really be gone, y’know? Not all the way. Maybe something comes after. I try to believe that.”

He said it so calmly, like it wasn’t terrifying. Like he hadn’t just admitted that he was bracing for death with nothing but faith to catch him.

I stared at him, throat tight.

I wasn't ready for him to go. I wasn’t fine with it being too soon.

“Do you believe in that kinda thing?” He said, turning to me and finding my eyes.

I couldn’t really give him much. “I think when you’re gone, you're gone.” I spoke without thinking and realised how I came off once the words were already out. Blunt. Probable though.

He didn’t flinch. Just nodded a little, like he’d expected that answer from me.

“I mean, I used to think otherwise,” I added quickly, the words spilling out like I had to explain myself. I scratched at the dirt. “Like, when I was a kid, there was this mountain back in my district. It’s always covered in clouds—mist, really—and in the spring it gets all these wildflowers. My mom told me our pet bird went there. Said it flew up to that mountain because it was closer to the sky. She used to bounce me on her knee and say it was a place only good things go. I believed her completely. Obviously he didn’t. He was dead. But I was young and stupid, not that I’m not now or anything,” I tried to joke, “but even after I figured out the bird was just... dead, I still thought, for a while, that maybe that was where people went. Somewhere high up. Somewhere soft. But I guess I grew out of it. Doesn’t really make sense anymore. It’s not logical.” I forced a crooked smile. “Pretty though.”

He tilted his head, just slightly, like he could still see with soft eyes the kid I used to be. The one who believed in wildflowers and sky-mountains.

“Sorry.” I muttered.

“No, don’t be.”

“It just doesn’t... compute in my brain, y’know?” I added, “That you could still hang around after. That something of you could stay. There's no science in it.”

“Maybe not. But science doesn’t have answers for everything,” he said gently. “It doesn’t try to. Not with the big stuff.”

“Big stuff? Like what?”

“Like where our consciousness really lives. Or what love actually is.” He shrugged, eyes flicking back up toward the canopy. “A lot of human things don’t make sense on paper. That doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

I didn’t say anything. 

“It helps,” he added. “Thinking there’s something more. Something waiting.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t fully believe it. 

It was strange, listening to him talk like that. Like there was this quiet faith threaded through him that didn’t need proof or logic or even hope to keep existing. He could just accept things—things that scared me, things that didn’t make sense—and somehow that made him stronger, not weaker. I couldn’t understand that. Couldn’t understand accepting something that wasn’t a sure thing. I’d built my whole life around the idea that if you didn’t fight the uncertainty, it’d swallow you whole.

But Will—he didn’t fight it. He just let it be. He could look at something uncontrollable and still find peace in it. Even death. Even the parts of himself he couldn’t explain. It was like he’d made peace with not having control, and that scared the hell out of me. Because it made me realize how much I was still at war with myself. With everything I didn’t know.

Sitting there beside him, I felt it settle deep in me, how different we were. I fought the world to make sense of it while he opened his hands and let it in. And maybe that’s what made him feel so impossible to look away from. Maybe that’s why I needed him.

Somewhere above us, a bird called; a low, wavering sound that didn’t quite belong in this place. It startled me, breaking the quiet like a thread snapping. For a second, I almost laughed, because of course there’d still be something alive enough to sing here. The sound echoed faintly off the rocks, small and bright against the static hum of the arena.

“Guess not everything’s dead yet,” I muttered. It came out rougher than I meant, but Will just smiled, faint and knowing.

The bird kept calling. Somewhere distant, somewhere free.

I found myself thinking about the one from home again. The one my mom said had flown to the mountain. For the first time in a long time, I wondered if maybe it had. If maybe Will was right and that not everything ended when it ended. That some things, or people, or pieces of them, found ways to keep going.

I hoped so. I couldn’t lose this forever.

The thought of it alone sent my mind spinning. Fighting. And I knew I was doing it, but I still couldn’t stop.

“So,” I started, because silence was starting to feel like a challenge I was losing. “I was thinking tomorrow we move camp.”

Will hummed, eyes still on that gap that you could peek at the trees from within the alcove. Not disagreeing, but not agreeing either, which obviously meant I had to fill the void.

“Yeah, I mean the careers know we’re about and they’ll be flushed further into the sectors because of the whole, y’know, ground eating hell-mouth thing and they’ll probably be looking for people. They’ll need to poach people’s stuff. We’d have to be careful but– I think we need to head over that other split, eastward toward the valley maybe? What do you think? If we go early, we can grab higher ground and check how far the splits spread overnight. Do you know how wide they’ve spread? You know, don’t you?”

Nothing. A blink from him, maybe. 

“And we should probably ration the food again. Like, obviously we have been, but I mean strict. We don’t know how long we’re staying put. And plus people will be desperate. They’re gonna start stealing, probably. Y’know, if they don’t wanna just… impale us immediately”

He seemed to snap out of that glazed state, turning slowly to look at me, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his knees. He rested his chin on them, not saying anything but looking at me with that amused glint in his eyes that he did a lot when I started rambling. I kept going because, why stop when you can over-explain yourself into the grave?

“And I think your spear thing should be sharpened. I can do it. Or, you can, obviously you can, you made it so– I just mean that– if you don’t trust me not to cut off a finger, which would be totally fair, because I probably would. I’m just bored really. I mean not bored. Hard to be bored when the earth is actually eating itself. Note to the Gamemakers; I've had enough, let me be bored. Anyway, doesn’t really even matter. Point is, we need to be ready. Can we go through our packs again? Just to check, y’know.”

“Yes, dear.” He said with the light breath of a laugh, unwrapping his arms and pulling the bag through the dust to the space beside him before he began to dig through. I stared at him while he did.

I blinked. “What?”

Will lifted his head just enough to look at me. His mouth was twitching at the corners like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “I said, ‘yes, dear.’”

There was a long, empty second where my brain blue-screened.

I stared at him. “I—what?”

His grin dropped. “Mike. I was kidding. ‘Haha.’? You know. A joke. Because you’re acting like…?”

“Right. Yeah. Obviously.” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to sound chill, which only made it worse. “No, I got that. It was funny. Very funny, actually. I just, I don’t know.”

He gave me a look like he couldn’t quite believe me.

“Anyway,” I muttered, retreating into myself like that might stop the embarrassment from radiating out of me, “just trying to plan ahead.”

“I know,” he said, and this time his voice came softer. “And I appreciate it. I do. Even if you sound like my nagging husband.”

He smirked again, the kind of smirk that made my stomach do something really unhelpful. Weird, very weird.

I busied myself with the twig, breaking it in half. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta keep you alive.” I said ironically, knowing he was very much keeping me alive.

“Guess that’s you, then.” He said anyway.

“Guess so.” I grinned.

He smiled at that and looked away, back toward the outside.

Meanwhile, I was still very much imploding internally. Because, apparently, one dumb joke and a smile were enough to short-circuit every neuron I had left. My chest felt weird. Warm, maybe. Electric.

I shoved the feeling somewhere deep, under the pile of other things I wasn’t dealing with. Just fatigue. That’s all. Fever residue. Brain rot. Totally fine.

Time passed. 

Plan making. Still in the darkness of the alcove. Two more canons fired over the course of the day. 

The evening’s cool had begun to roll in, the sun sinking and giving way to night. I took in the light dimming and felt a pang of dread pulse through me.

“So, are you thinking this could be getting to the end now?” I didn’t mean just the day.

“Yeah, I think so.” He said after a while, soft. He watched me carefully, eyes flicking over my face. His eyebrows were pulled up just a little, washed with genuine, gentle concern, eyes big and warm. “Mike, you okay?”

He was low-lit, gleaming, the blue sharpness of the night softened when it touched his skin. I realised, it was very important that I took it in, held on to it and remembered. It was more than possible that I might never see him like that again, so I let myself get lost along the line of his profile, stuck on his lashes. I swallowed.

“No.”

“Hey,” he said, soothingly.

He shuffled over, reaching tentatively to touch my shoulder, and he turned toward me, slow, like I was fragile. I didn’t really know what I was doing until I was doing it.

We hugged. Weirdly, for the first time.

He was warm. At first, it was soft. Loose. A kind of permission. His arms slid around my back like he was being careful, and mine folded around him the same way. Just being there.

But then—without saying anything—it changed.

He leaned in more. I felt him sink into me, his chest against mine, just enough for the air between us to disappear. His hand curled into the fabric of my shirt, not pulling, just holding. My arms tightened without thinking, one of my hands sliding up to the back of his neck.

We stayed like that for longer than I expected. Long enough that I forgot how we started.

Our breath had settled by then, his slow and even against my neck. My hands had stopped shaking. I could feel his heartbeat, steady and quiet, right up against mine. 

And then, slowly, he leaned back but not all the way, just enough to see me. We didn’t let go. Our arms were still there, still holding. He pulled back just enough for our faces to be inches apart. His eyes were darker in the shadow, still tired, still heavy from all we’d lived through. And I looked.

Really looked.

At him.

At his mouth.

I hadn’t... noticed it before. Not really. But it was right there. And soft. His bottom lip was a little chapped, like he’d been biting it. He probably had. I could feel myself staring at it longer than I should’ve, and I didn’t look away.

For the first time, I let the thought come in fully: I could kiss him.

I could just move, just lean in a few inches and do it. His hands were still on my back. My hand was still at the base of his neck. He…he probably wouldn’t stop me.

I probably could. I could probably kiss him.

But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Because it wasn’t just about the kiss. It was about everything it would mean if I did. The quiet shift that would follow. The way nothing would fit neatly back where it was before.

He blinked, and something in his expression shifted like maybe he knew. Or maybe not. Maybe I was just imagining it. 

The closer the end crept in, the closer I realised I wanted to be to him. And that I had been stupid to ever let myself keep him at a distance in a vain attempt not to feel anything, pretending that not feeling meant surviving. When all it really meant was being half-alive. Maybe that's all the thought was, wanting human connection and closeness when you were in the middle of a capitol constructed hell-hole.

“Night, Mike,” he murmured, voice soft, already turning away to settle into sleep. The alcove went quiet except for the low hum of crickets, the faint drip of water somewhere deeper in the dark. But my eyes lingered on him, tracing the gentle slope of his shoulder, the slow rise and fall of his breath.

“Will?” I said. My voice came out small.

He hummed, sleepy. “Yeah?”

I hesitated, swallowing the knot in my throat. “Do you… wanna stay?”

He looked at me then, and something in his face loosened. He understood. The edges of him softened. Wordlessly, he shuffled closer, closing the space between us. 

His body was warm against mine, his head resting half on my arm, half against my chest. His arm looped across my ribs as he exhaled, a small, tired sigh that melted through the quiet. I froze for half a second, then let myself breathe. Let my hand rest lightly against his shoulder.

I stared at the dark ceiling of the alcove, counting the rhythm of his breathing against mine. I tried to focus on that sound while, somewhere beneath us, the arena, finally breaking apart, kept rumbling. I felt it’s splitting open echo in my chest.

I felt Will smile against me. “Your heart’s going crazy.” He murmured, the feeling of it fluttering into my skin.

Instant panic. Full internal nuclear meltdown.

“Uh–” I swallowed. Will was right, I could feel it like gunfire against my chest, like it was trying to break right out of my ribs to get to him. “It’s not— It’s not crazy,” I said, which was exactly what someone whose heart was going crazy would say. “It’s just— you know. Fever stuff. And uh— adrenaline. ’Cause of the Games. And— thinking. About… things.”

Will didn’t even lift his head. Just opened one eye, the tiniest bit, like he was checking if I was actually real or if he was dreaming me being this stupid.

“Oh,” he whispered, not buying a single word. “Fever stuff. Right.”

“Yeah,” I said, too defensive. “Residual symptoms.”

“Mhm.”

He let his eye fall shut again, and his cheek shifted against my shirt as he settled in closer like my racing heart was a pillow he’d been looking for.

“And thinking,” he added, like he wanted to make sure he had the full diagnosis. “About stuff.”

“Exactly,” I said, voice cracking on nothing. “Planning, survival, not dying stuff..”

A tiny, quiet smile curved against my chest. I could feel it more than see it. He didn’t tease me. Didn’t poke. Didn’t press. He just… let it go. Let me drown in my own flailing excuses, because he understood exactly what they were.

And he was delighted. Absolutely glowing with smug, sleepy delight. My heart beat even harder which, he definitely noticed because he said absolutely nothing at all, but tucked himself a fraction of an inch closer, like he was listening to it on purpose.

Fever…

As I laid there, I kept thinking… what if I got scraped up again?

Not on purpose, obviously. I’m not an idiot.

Just—accidentally. Like, if I happened to take a bad step or brush against something sharp. Nothing serious. Not life-threatening. Just a scratch. A graze. Something small enough that it wouldn’t actually hurt but big enough that it needed attention. Something that meant Will would kneel behind me again, quiet and focused.

He’d do that thing again — where he clucks his tongue and sighs like I’m a walking disaster he’s somehow stuck with. Like I’m trouble. But not in a bad way. Not in a mean way. Never in a mean way. In a way that says he’ll deal with me anyway. Like he wants to.

And he'd tease me again. Say something low and stupid about his “masculine hands” or some shit, just to hear me stutter. Just to make me sweat, probably. And I’d groan, or glare, or tell him to shut up, but only so he’d do it again.

I mean, it wasn’t a weird thing to want. It was just… nice. Just someone being close. Being friend-close. Being nice. Touching you like you mattered, even a little. That was normal. Human. Very human and evolutionary. Scientific, really. It didn’t mean anything.

I just… liked the way he laughed behind my ear. Liked the way his hands were warm and steady, like he knew what he was doing. Liked the way I forgot, for a minute, that I was hurting.

I didn’t want to get hurt again. That would be weird. That would be crazy. Crazy.

…I just wouldn’t mind it. Him and me. Just like that. Like real friends. Just like friends.

And thinking about his mouth like I did before was a fluke. Flukes happen. I’m sure loads of friends have been stupid and kissed each other and it meant nothing. And that's what this was. Plus, I only thought about it so it counts even less.

Friends could do things like this.

I scrunched my eyes shut, trying to figure out how I felt about his hair brushing the underside of my jaw like I could think my way out of and back into his arms.

Chapter Text

I woke up feeling like the sun had baked right into my skin. Heavy and warm and weirdly safe. Will and I had melted into one another, him still nestled into me, face half buried in my shirt. His snores weren’t loud enough to be annoying, in fact, they almost…were settling. Every exhale poured soft and warm into my chest before blooming, fanning through me like wildfire. It was like every nerve suddenly realized what was happening and decided to make a huge deal out of it.

It was all consuming. Some tangled sensation I felt as trapped by as I was desperate for. 

I craned to look at him without waking him up. Peace laid quiet in his face in a way it only did when he was asleep. My fingers twitched where they rested awkwardly on his arm as if they reached up by their own accord to touch his face as I thought it. 

Obviously, I didn’t though. Not because it would have been stupid to do, but because I was too stupid to do it.

So instead, I tried to roll him off me. Very slowly. Cartoonishly slowly. The kind of slow that makes you aware of every single inch of your body and all the places it touches someone else’s. Half because I wanted him to get as much sleep as possible, but half because I didn’t want him to wake up and know we had slept like that all night. Because if he did, it would make it real and if it was real I imagine I would probably spontaneously combust.

I managed to inch him just a little off, but he stirred and made a gentle-groan-noise like he didn’t like that. I froze like a guilty kid mid-crime. Stuck, I just stared at him. Bent at a funny angle, my heart going a thousand beats a second and staring at him like a complete idiot.

His eyelashes fluttered and a shadow formed in between his brows as he stirred again.

He blinked awake slow, like it took him a second to remember he was still alive. His eyes found mine, bleary and confused at first, then soft.

“Morning,” he said, voice still thick with sleep.

“Uh. Morning,” I said, way too fast. I was still kind of folded in half like a broken lawn chair, one arm trapped under him and the other hovering midair because I had no idea what to do with it.

He was so close I could still feel his warmth clinging to me, like he’d left an imprint of something weirdly special behind, deeper than just where his skin had touched mine. And I kept telling myself it was just normal. Just what people, scared and dying, did. Animals slept near each other for warmth all the time. This didn’t have to mean anything.

Except it kind of did. And I kind of knew it. And I hated that I couldn’t stop knowing it.

Will stretched beside me, arms over his head, shirt tugging up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin before he sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He looked unfairly peaceful for someone surviving the apocalypse. Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out how to rearrange my limbs without looking like a total freak about it.

“Sleep okay?” he asked, voice scratchy, still soft with morning.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Yeah, great. Best sleep I’ve ever had while actively being hunted for sport.”

He smiled a little, like he couldn’t help it. “Good,” he murmured.

I looked at him long enough for an absurd idea to strike me. It was a bit pathetic, honestly.

“Uhh,” I started, hesitating. “Hey, Will?”

He glanced up, eyebrow already halfway raised like he could sense the incoming nonsense.

For context, the scrape on my back barely even twinged. It didn’t burn or sting or pull when I moved, but I still caught myself reaching back like it was bothering me. I wasn’t faking it, exactly. I was just... hoping it would hurt a little. Or that Will would think it hurt.

“Oh, is your back still bothering you?” He asked through a yawn before I actually said anything.

“Yeah,” I said, then hesitated. “I mean... it’s still kind of sore.” It wasn’t. It so wasn’t. But the second I said it, I was too deep in to take it back.

He blinked. “Sore?” He may have raised an eyebrow but if he did it was very subtle.

I shrugged, not looking at him. “A little. Just feels... weird.”

Will stood up slowly, dusted off his hands. “You want me to check it?”

“No,” I said too quickly, waving him off with a hand that was definitely too casual. “It’s not a big deal or anything, I just thought maybe— I dunno, maybe the ointment’s wearing off or something.”

He stared at me for a second, with his arms crossed over his chest. It rose and fell once without a word. And that’s when I knew he knew.

He just looked at me. Not judging, exactly. Just knowing.

And I wanted the ground to open up and eat me.

“You want me to put more of the salve on it,” he said. Not asked. Said.

“Uh, maybe? If you’ve got time. Or not. You probably don’t. You definitely don’t, actually. Forget it. I’m fine.” I waved it off with what I hoped was casual authority but probably looked like someone fending off bees. “Seriously. Totally fine. Not dying.”

Will’s mouth twitched. “Mike.”

“What?”

He sighed through his nose, half a laugh. But he didn’t say anything. Just sighed in that soft, fond way he does when he’s onto me.

“Alright,” He said, “Come on then.” and he pointed to the ground to get me to sit like a dog while he got the salve.

“No, no. Thats, um- no I’m fine actually.” I mumbled, suddenly having icked myself out by getting so hopeful about it. “I don’t even—”

“Mike,” he cut in, voice light but final. “You’re such a martyr. Just let me. I insist.”

I faked indifference or irritation even as my shirt was coming off. Will definitely knew. He always seemed to know everything. He always gave me this knowing smile, even when I didn’t know what I had done to deserve it.

I was sitting with my back to him like before when his hand, warm and careful, spread the stuff along my skin again in slow, steady sweeps. Just like before. Just like I wanted.

I tried not to breathe too obviously. Or lean into it. Or close my eyes. Failed all three.

“You’re lucky I’m such a good field medic,” he muttered behind me.

“Yeah, lucky.” I managed. 

Will huffed a laugh. Probably at how weird I was acting after silently begging for this exact scenario.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Will said after a moment, half teasing.

“I’m not,” I said automatically, which is exactly what someone thinking too loud would say.

He laughed — soft, low. “You so are.”

“Im not thinking at all. Just rocks rolling around up here.”

“Mm-hmm.” He murmured. It was barely a sound really, If i wasn’t so hyperaware of literally everything at the time, I probably would have missed it.

His thumb brushed right along my spine in a final touch, slow like he was dragging it out. I couldn't tell if it was for me or for him.

When he finally stepped back, I rolled my shirt down a little too fast and muttered, “Thanks.”

He didn’t tease me. Didn’t smile smug or smirk or ask why my ears were red.

Instead, he just said, “No worries,” and turned to start checking our bags. He hummed mindlessly while he did but the lulling sound of it resonated so heavily in every part of me I could have recited it perfectly.

When we headed eastward as soon as we were ready, eager to be safer but still terrified we’d find the exact opposite.

It was foggy out, thick and polluting, spilling from the splits into the air overnight like it was reaching for us. Despite it, the haziness, I was looking at him with more clarity than I ever had before.

I couldn’t lose him.

There had to be some loophole, some invisible thread of logic where we both made it out. The odds didn’t matter. The Capitol didn’t matter. Probability didn’t even matter, really. Because if there were infinite universes and if time could bend and split like the ground under our feet, then somewhere, in one of them, we were both alive. There had to be one where we got out.

I wasn’t the kind of person who believed in fate, or soulmates, or whatever spiritual crap people told themselves to feel better about dying. But sometimes, when I was close enough to hear his heartbeat under the quiet, I found myself thinking there had to be something bigger. Something that knew we needed each other.

And if something that big existed, why would it bring us together just to tear us apart? Universes can’t be that cruel. I don’t know, maybe it's stupid.

It reminded me of something I’d read once, back home. Quantum entanglement.

How two particles can become linked—connected across any distance, no matter how far apart they drift. Change one, and the other changes too, instantly. Like they’re still talking in a language only they understand. And I didn’t believe it when I first heard it because it sounded too much like magic. Too much like the stuff people make up when they don’t know how to explain love, or faith, or maybe even whatever this was. But then there was him. And now I thought maybe we were a little like that. Entangled. Changed by each other in ways that couldn’t be undone, even if we tried.

Maybe there was a version of this—of us—where we got out. Where we lived. Both of us.

I kept thinking about it like a plan, because that was the only way I knew how to handle it. If I could make the math work out then maybe the universe would let us have it. Maybe we’d just… refuse to play by their rules. Get to the final two and pull a stunt to save him.

It was easier to think our way out than to imagine him gone now.

We got to the split at the edge of the next quarter. It was heaving, still growing and breathing but so far from alive. It was strictly dead. And looked like it was reaching to take more with it.

“Careful.” I said, putting an arm out in front of him before walking right up to the split’s edge myself, surveying it for where best to cross. “Jumpable, you think?” I asked him

He grinned, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.”

“Hopelessly brave,” I corrected.

“Hopelessly something,” he muttered, brushing hair out of his eyes. 

We kept walking along the edge, throwing out dumb ideas for how to cross. Our plan’s kept requiring extra supplies we didn’t have like rope and jump boost boots or…a bridge.

“If we angle it right and, like, tie the—uh—the theoretical makeshift-rope to the biggish tree, and use that to, y’know, propel ourselves—””

“Propel ourselves?” he repeated, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah. Physics. Science. You wouldn’t understand.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You barely understand.”

“Harsh, Will. Really harsh. Don’t you know this is all I am?”

He snorted. “I’m just saying, your plan sounds like something you’d try after hitting your head.”

“Which I did, by the way. So that’s mean and ableist.”

He laughed then, the kind that started small but built until he was doubled over slightly. It was stupid how good it felt, making him laugh like that. Like winning something that actually mattered.

I grinned, pretending to study the split again just so I wouldn’t have to look at him too long. “Y’know, if you’re gonna insult my engineering genius, maybe you should come up with something better.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just watch you figure it out.” He grinned.

For a second, it was quiet again. Just the wind threading through the canyon and the slow, familiar rhythm of him beside me. I didn’t realize I was smiling until he looked over, caught it, and smiled back.

It wasn’t the kind of moment that needed words—it was small, simple, stupid even—but something in me wanted to bottle it anyway. The warmth. The teasing. The part of me that felt almost normal when we were like this.

He turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the sky was going gold at the edges. “Hey, Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“This whole plan of yours—” He paused, grin tugging at his lips. “You sure you’re not just trying to impress me?”

“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “If I was trying to impress you, you would know.”

He smirked, knowingly. “Hmm…true, I would.” He tilted his head down, still smiling hard. “Guess I’ll wait for that one, then.”

I think I gave it about thirty seconds before I said, way too casually—

“Just asking for a friend, what would impress you?”

What.

“Excuse me?” He smiled disbelievingly at me.

“What?” Backpeal. Backpedal right now. “Just, it's like,  a general…uh– y’know, wonder…-ing. So. Yep.”

He hummed, pretending to think it over, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“What would impress me…” he repeated, mostly to himself. “I think a firmer grasp on the English language would be a good start.”

“Mm, yes. Noted. Excellent feedback.” Please bury me alive.

“And uh, I don’t know,” He was grinning now, eyes doing that squint thing they did when he was trying not to laugh. “I think nerd knowledge is pretty cool.”

“...Yeah?”

“Yeah. So I guess  you can tell your friend that.”

“Oh, I will.” I said, valiantly trying not to implode.

 I braved a glance at him and he was fully grinning at me, head tilted and warm eyes in a way that was then very difficult to look away from even if it made my brain fizzle like white noise. 

So naturally I began spewing word vomit. “Funnily enough, I was just about to mention, have you heard of quantum entanglement?”

“Quantumn en-who?”

“Right. Okay. So, uh—basically, it’s this thing that happens when two particles—tiny ones, like smaller than dust, smaller than anything you can see—become connected. Entangled. Doesn’t matter how far apart they get, light-years even, if you mess with one, the other reacts instantly. Like, instant. No lag, no time delay, nothing.” I waved my hands like it helped, like I could draw lines between us with air.

Will tilted his head. “So they’re… stuck with each other?”

“Not stuck,” I said quickly. “More like—linked. Like their states are… tied together. They can be across the entire universe from each other, and it still—still means something. It’s not about space, or time, or… I don’t know. It’s just connection.”

He gave me this look, smiling small but full. like he knew exactly what I meant.

We were still grinning at each other when it happened—the sudden snap of a branch behind us.
My smile dropped before I even turned.

Jason.

Tall, broad-shouldered, that predator stillness about him. His face was smeared with dirt, his hair matted, his eyes half-wild with whatever the Games had been doing to us all. He looked worse for wear, but not weak.

My stomach dropped clean through me. I heard Will’s breath hitch beside me.

We couldn’t run, the split was biting at our heels.

I shifted instinctively, putting myself half in front of Will, even though we both knew he didn’t need me to.

Jason’s grin widened. “That’s cute,” he said, tilting his head. “You two planning to die together, then?”

He took a slow, deliberate step forward.

My pulse started hammering so hard it hurt.

“Jason, don’t,” Will said. His tone was low, almost steady, but I could see the tension drawing up his shoulders. “You don’t have to do this.”

Jason’s jaw clenched like it hurt him too. “Yes I do.”

He lunged. And everything after that happened in flashes.

Before he could swing at me, I plunged Will’s spear into Jason’s torso with a blind, pulsing, panicked adrenaline I hadn’t known I was capable of. The sound of it—wet, dense, real—made everything stop.

Suddenly, the scene, which had been a frenzied blur of survival, snapped into eerie quiet.

I stood frozen, both hands gripping the spear, staring at the place where the head had disappeared. At what I’d done. My mouth was open. I couldn’t form words.

"I—" It was barely even a sound. Just a cracked breath.

His wide, glazed eyes couldn't focus on anything. I was completely frozen. He brought his shaking hand, in a faint motion, to where the spear still stuck out from his stomach. “I’m sorry.” I half whispered, my voice croaking as it squeezed out through my dry, closed throat. And at my small voice, his eyes flitted up to mine as they screamed with a disbelieving, unguarded panic, sharp and boyish and terrified, like he had only just realised all of it was real. That he was about to die.

I pulled the weapon out, almost vomited at the sound of it dragging back through him, slick and wet and final. His body crumpled to the ground with a heavy, graceless, dead thud. Dust rose around him in the still air.

Dazed, I stumbled backward, spear in hand, dragging a black scar into the dry dirt. My breath came in stutters. I couldn’t make sense of my body. Couldn’t remember how to stand up straight. Couldn’t remember how to think.

I had killed someone.

The thought crashed into me so violently I could hardly stand. Jason had someone waiting for him to come home. Someone shaking and screaming at the screen. Someone with hopeless faith for him to survive. 

This was someone’s son.
This was someone’s Jason.
Jason could have been someone’s Will.

Will.

Disorientated, I swung around to look back at Will, looking up at me from where he cradled his wound, against the thick trunk of the tree, unable to properly support himself. He buckled and crumpled into the thin patch of grass.

"Will?" I choked out, staggering to him. "Will, get up. Please. Please." I fell to his side, my voice cracking with a brittle, impossible faith. I gripped his arms, trying to pull him upright, as if I could will him back into him through sheer force.

“Mike…” He breathed, his voice thinner than I’d ever known it, looking into my eyes from under his furrowed brow. “Mike it's… its not-”

"No. No, no, no." I babbled, shaking my head fiercely. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay. Look at me please, you're fine, okay?" I slid one arm under his back, cradling him, trying to do anything, feeling how limp he was. He was so limp. "You're okay, aren't you?" I reassured him.

“Mike.” He rasped again, reaching a shaking hand to brush my sleeve, just grazing the skin of my arm. The touch was so light and brief I might have imagined it. His fingers slipped away almost immediately, falling back to his chest, too weak to hold on.

“No.” I shook my head so hard it blurred my vision. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I can fix this, okay? We can fix this.”
I was rambling. Desperate. “I’ll fix it. I’ll fix it for you.”

"Mike..." he murmured, almost scolding but smooth and fond. He began to shush me, soft and broken. "Hey... it's not the worst way to go." His mouth quivered into a broken half-smile and it shattered me. He was trying to soothe me. Even now. Even here.

“Im so sorry” was all I could choke out. Holding the broken boy like water in my hands. “I should’ve—I should’ve gotten there faster—” I felt my brow crinkle, tears dropping from my stinging eyes.

With the little strength he had left, he kept trying to quiet my panic, his voice small, "This was always going to happen, Mike," he said, strangely calm, almost peaceful. “You knew that.”

“Does it hurt?” I cracked out, stupid. Stupid question.

"Talk to me," he whispered. "Just... talk about anything."

"Okay." I nodded fiercely, brushing his hair back from his forehead, my hands trembling. "Okay. Just stay with me, okay? Just listen."

I scrambled for words. For anything.

I looked around. From the hill, as the trees had thinned, you could see the sun sinking on the horizon, setting the sky on fire with gold and crimson streaks softly bleeding into one another, just about to slip into a valley between the mountains.

"Hey," I said, adjusting him gently so he could see. His head lolled lightly against my shoulder. "See that mountain over there? See how the peak disappears into the clouds, all misty?” He made a soft sound—maybe agreement, maybe just a breath. “That’s just like the mountain back in my district. The one that gets covered in wildflowers in the spring.... just like that one. It looks like... like the barrier between the earth and space gets thinner there just as the fog rolls over it. Like maybe, if you walked far enough, you could just step into the sky. I think... I think that's where we go…after this. Its where all the good things go. It’s pretty, isn’t it? Isn’t it pretty?"

“Pretty…” He echoed as his eyes lingered on the horizon.

“Yeah.” I said, my voice breaking on the word. “Really pretty” I looked down at him, brushing the tears from his face, from mine.

His eyelashes fluttered as his tired eyes squinted at the gold falling sun. For a moment, I wrestled with myself to believe it was real. I lifted one of my hands from beneath him and brushed a few warm brown strands from his vision. His eyes met mine again.

“You’ll meet me up there won’t you?” He whispered, the first, faintest flash of fear crossing his face, not fear of dying, but of me letting him go alone. I could tell, as the warm hum of pink in his cheeks gave way to a clear white, he was slipping.

My chest cracked open. “Yes,” I swore, voice raw. “Of course. I’ll find you. I promise.”

At that, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

“Okay,” He said, "I'm going to close my eyes now.”

“Okay.” I swallowed hard.

His gaze lingered on me, flickering weakly between my features, memorizing, holding on—and then he looked back at the sun-drenched landscape, the light falling around us.

Then, one last, long, final look at me.

One final, exhausted smile,

And then his eyelids fell shut, like the wings of a bird closing for sleep.

I waited,

I waited for them to open again.

They didn’t.

The first cannon boomed across the valley—then the second—splitting the silence apart, echoing in my ears as the world kept turning without him.

I don’t know how long I sat there. Minutes. Hours. It didn't really matter anymore. All I knew is that the winds whined in he shaking, the ground tilted and groaned right under me, and he stayed still.

The cleft mountain still stood against the sky, its misty crown glowing faintly. Waiting.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, my entire body shaking. My legs were stiff, half-numb from sitting so long. My ribs ached from the shallow, ragged way I was breathing, but I couldn’t even really feel it.

He’s dead.

I shifted, sliding one arm under Will’s knees, the other under his back, and gathered him into my arms.

He was so much lighter than he should have been.

For a moment, I just knelt there, holding him, listening to the rasp of my own breath in the quiet.
Then, one trembling step at a time, I stood.

His head lolled gently against my chest and I looked down into his face. He looked the way he did when he slept – Calm, smooth and quiet, but his blood was loud in my hands.

He’s dead.

I tore away from him and my eyes found the peak again, mist swirling like soft hands around the summit, and I walked. 

I walked down the edge of the split, not knowing how far, not even really seeing what was in front of me, until the chasm was narrow enough to cross. I struggled over, holding Will as close as I could to me.

Every step tore something inside me, but I kept going, staggering up the rocky inclines. At some point, I stumbled so badly that I went down hard on my knees, gasping, Will’s body cradled protectively against my chest. I pulled myself back up with all the strength I could muster.

If I stopped, he wouldn’t get there.

If I stopped, he would be alone.

I tried to hum to him like he did to me when I was broken, hoping maybe he’d hear me. It came out in shakes and jolts as I walked, as I grasped for air.

Toward the mist. Toward the mountain. Toward that thin place where he was waiting.

When I was half-way there, I heard a crackle build to a burning woosh behind me. At first, I couldn’t even care to see what it was, just kept walking. But then, there was a loud crash and a creeping warmth in the air I couldn’t ignore. I turned weakly and saw a burning forest in my wake. One tree turned upward on itself, ripping its roots out the ground as it had thundered to the ground, filling the air quickly with black smoke as it went up in flames. The blaze crept closer. 

I knew it was the Gamemakers. And I knew what they wanted. 

Will.

Fury flared in my chest at the cruelty of it. I clung to him and tried to run, as if I could ever really outrun this.

The flames growled and grew, chasing me. 

I thought maybe it would be better if I laid him down and just laid beside him and let it happen. Together. But I didn’t want him to get burned. I wanted his family to have him back and be able to see and touch his face.

I had to give him up.

So I ran the stretch I could, ran out of the fire’s arms and behind a rock that would protect him as much as possible. I sat him against the stone and tried to not think about how grave-like it was.

I tried to see him as best I could through my blurry eyes and traced my thumb over his nose and lips. I cupped his pretty face in one hand for an awfully brief first and last time before I ripped away from him, just praying the Gamemakers would show him a final mercy and take him before the fire did.

I got far enough away and crumpled into the floor. Collapsed, I watched.

I watched as a hovercraft flew in, casting a looming shadow over us, and reached with a descending mechanical, cold claw into the billows of black smoke rising from where I left him. The hand disappeared before reaching back up again, a body trapped in its grasp.

He was limp. 

He’s dead.

Knelt weakly, I tried to find my breath. It burned. Everywhere. My knees, my arms, my hands, my head, my lungs and that place in my heart where his smile had sat. 

“I’m sorry. I'm sorry.” I muttered with breaking threads of air. “I’m sorry.”

I looked down into my palms. They didn’t feel real. Both twitched and shook. One was hot and gleaming red with his blood. I choked but I couldn’t stop looking at it. 

Wrecked, I pressed that same hand, hard against my chest. I felt my heart hammering and rocked myself backward and forward once. Twice.

When I pulled the hand away, I looked at the wet, dark stain it had left clawed and dragged in my shirt. I covered my mouth, trying to shatter as quietly as I could, not caring that it smeared blood on my jaw. It was his.

Chapter Text

The smoke cleared.

I must’ve sat there for ages just trying to process it, remember how to move or think or be. Alone and without him sat next to me.

I had always known something like this was coming. I knew it and I didn’t accept it, or prepare for it in the way he had because I kept everything at an arms length.

I remembered his face when he was slipping away, he didn’t even really look in pain. He was strong like that. I thought about how he looked almost relieved in a way. He looked at peace, with that quiet knowing that he always seemed to have in his eyes that I never quite understood.

Eventually, I pulled myself up onto my feet.

There were so few of us now, the careers pushed out into the outer arena, desperate for anything they could take and mowing down tributes everywhere. I'm sure the splits took some of them too. This was the end really.

I could just give up. I probably wouldn’t win, I may as well look for a career to end it quickly or jump into the cracks and go quietly.

But there was something in me that couldn’t quite let go.

If I gave in now, Jason’s death meant nothing. And I hated him, with everything I had left for taking Will from me, but I knew it wasn’t him. Will was murdered before I met him. It was the Games that had killed Will, the second he was reaped. 

And Will wouldn’t want me to die like that. I think he’d want me to try. He wanted me to go home.

Still in shock, I looked up at the sky. Dark. Lightless.. 

So aware of how alone I was, I knew I had to find somewhere to sleep out of sight if I wanted to make it for Will. I pulled my mind back to the beginning of this, not knowing how to think for myself anymore, and remembered how I camped out in a tree that night. So I walked, numb, the world going blurry around the edges, my ears full of white noise intercepted with things Will would have said. I tried to grapple with the emptiness in the cold air next to me. In the silence.

Eventually, I gave up walking and picked the first tree I saw. I clambered, weak-willed and weak-limbed into the arms of the tree, shuffling into space, only big enough for one person.

The woods were too quiet.

It wasn’t even a peaceful quiet. Not like before, when the wind would rustle the trees and Will would murmur something strange and soft beside me — something about mist and light. No. This was the kind of quiet that pressed in on your ribs. The kind that made your ears ring.

I sat against a tree, knees drawn up, pack forgotten at my side. My throat hurt, like I’d swallowed something sharp and it had gotten stuck.

So I started talking. About nothing, like always.

I told the trees how I’d seen a bird an hour ago and almost cried. I ranted about my legs aching again. I ranted about how my socks were still wet from when we went to the stream days ago.(“The eternal damp. They should put it in the anthem.”) I said something about how that fire breathing toaster would actually come in handy right now, or how I’d have to invent a dryer that ran on misery and make a killing every Games. I waited for Will to roll his eyes and smile at me.

He didn’t.

I paused. Dug my fingers into the bark beside me like I could hold onto the world that way. My voice wobbled when I started again, but I kept going. Like maybe if I filled the air with sound, he’d find a way to follow it back.

“Hey, uh. I don’t know if there’s, like…reception in the thin place. Or if it’s like an afterlife or just a really long nap, but…” I laughed, short and rough. “If you’re there, and you’re listening, I just—I hope it’s pretty. I hope it looks like the mountain.”

The trees didn’t answer. So I closed my eyes and kept talking.

Because if he could hear me, I wanted to give him a way back.

Because I know he would’ve stayed.

I shut up, cut off when I heard movement. I looked down from the tree branch and saw, just a little way off, that district three boy, Dustin. Well, just his head really, it kept bobbing up into view through the underbrush.

I sat up.

Weird, I thought. He was hopping.

But not just hopping, the way he was moving looked calculated. Like he had a map in his head and was dodging the spots that were going to swallow him whole.

Maybe he knew something I didn’t and the terrain around here was weirdly swallow-y in places, but, completely exhausted in every way, I couldn’t bring myself to relocate. Not now. So I just sighed and leant back against the trunk. I tried to think of anything that wasn’t the feeling of Will, limp in my arms. I tried to just think of nothing, not his last smile or the sound of his voice, the touch of his breath on my skin. I tried to sleep.

It was impossible to keep going. It kept hitting me, again and again and again that I’d never see him again. We’d had our last everything when we weren’t done having all our firsts.

Not only would I never see him again, but he would never see the world again. Home, his family, spring outside the arena. He’d never pick up a pencil again, or sleep in a comfy bed, eat his favourite food, hug his mom.

There were so many things he could’ve done. So many things should have been done.

I shouldn’t have kept babbling at that split. Maybe we would have been safe if I was quieter or if we had moved quicker. I should have moved quicker when Jason lunged at us. I shouldn’t have let Will get hurt. I let him get hurt. I let him die. 

I should have said things better when he was here. I was so stupid. I’d said everything but what I meant and now he’d never know how much I cared. I couldn't fix it. I couldn’t do anything.

I had killed someone. I had actually murdered somebody. That was eating away at me too, the look in Jason’s eyes when he realised he was dead. I should have just let him take us both out.

I could kill someone but I couldn’t say…what I meant. I couldn't even think it now.

Eventually, after what had to have been hours, tears ran dry. I must have passed out because the next thing I know, I’m jumping out of my skin at the sound of a canon.

BOOM

“Will?” I yelped as I woke. Silence. Taunting and hollow.

It was still night, but out the corner of my eye, I saw fog, purple-ish and thick with that uncanny capitol sheen, right where Dustin had been hopping around. It took a while for my worn brain to work out what was happening but then it clicked. There weren’t any splits close by. A patch of abnormal fog would be totally out of place. It had to be the gamemakers and their “natural” disasters, just like that fire. So Dustin must be…

The hovercraft descended quick, harsh winds kicking up from under it and almost knocking me clean out of my tree. The winds sent the fog gliding right into my face and for a minute I thought I was dead. It must have been poisonous, right? But it wasn’t. I was fine. It was just fog, thick and a little blinding, but just fog. It didn’t make any sense.

I snapped out of decoding his death and a pit formed in my stomach when I witnessed his body being reeled out of the fog by that capitol hand, glinting at me in the moonlight. I looked away and tried to steady my breathing, gripping onto the tree as tight as I could. As the hovercraft glided away over the arena, I tried not to think about whether or not Will was still in there, cold and alone. 

Still having to think to breathe, heavy and still not quite reaching my lungs, and blinking hard to try and stop what I was thinking, I forced myself to peer back over to where Dustin had been hopping. If I wanted to get out of this I needed to see what was coming before it got me even if just seeing straight was a struggle. I squinted for a while, scanning, but I couldn’t see anything abnormal.

In the morning, I clambered down and, with careful feet, tried to investigate what had happened that night. I figured he was hopping for a reason. There had to be something wrong with the ground.

Once I was standing right at the outskirts of his little clearing, I saw that he had just left his stuff around. His bag was open and left in the middle. Knocked over too, a blackened apple having seemingly rolled out of it. Not something I would have been hanging onto but whatever. And then I smelled it, meat. Cooked meat. And kinda burnt hair. I ducked down on my heels.

There was a rabbit, stiff legged, dead on the floor. Hunger almost led me to run and reach for it but something stopped me.

My brain kept asking questions. Why would he be hopping? Why would a rabbit drop dead like that? Why was it cooked but not skinned? 

The floor was charred under the rabbit too. Scarred black and burnt like a fork of lightning struck it. Then I began to notice it was like that in other patches too.

I thought hard for a minute until my brain hurt. I broke a branch of a bush beside me and aimed it at the spot where the bunny died. It crackled and started smoking as soon as it hit the ground. I jumped. So the ground was…electric? How had Dustin done that?

I stood back up again and looked for anything mechanical.

I couldn’t see anything.

I plucked a bundle of twigs and used them as a guide for where to step. I’d throw a stick down and if it didn’t crackle, I knew it was safe. I did that until I reached his pack. Cautiously, I bent down to riffle through it. I grabbed the food first; a protein bar, two apples and a bag of peanuts. My first thought was of splitting it all two ways and I had to swallow the hard reminder in the silence around me that I didn’t have to do that anymore. I tried to push the vomit-y aching feeling to the side and kept digging. 

At the bottom of the bag was something that made me stop. It was a broken capitol camera, the ones they hide in the trees. It was mainly just the lens and a couple ripped wires.

I stood back up and took another scan.

And right there, where a camera should have been, was an empty socket in the tree. He must have taken  the batteries out and somehow worked them into a circuit underground. Holy shit he was next level smart. That had to have been why they killed him. That had to have been how they killed him. They sent harmless fog in and got him to stumble right into his own trap. 

How many of us were there left now? Was it really 4? 

I navigated my way out of the electric clearing, thankful they didn’t smite me just for knowing how it worked.

The final four. I mean, I should have been strategising. Planning. Doing anything that wasn’t wandering aimlessly with a glazed look in my eyes. I knew that. But it was so hard to think of how to get out when my heart wasn’t in it. When my heart could never really leave the arena anyway. 

I climbed back into my tree, knocked back several handfuls of peanuts and tried to think about who was left.

I was pretty sure that it was the whole of district four that was still kicking. Steve and Robin. I assumed they had to be teamed up too which terrified me. And there was another, this weird guy from district eight or something. He had dark, long curly hair and the sense that he enjoyed being slightly off putting for the capitol. I thought he was funny but I couldn’t remember his name. I suppose it didn’t really matter now. But I think they all had a good two years on us. Our chances of surviving were slim to none.

I mean my. My chances were slim. I kept painfully forgetting and being reminded that nothing was ‘ours’ anymore.

The sky darkened and became heavy all too quickly. The whole arena creaked, letting out this building, rumbling groaning that turned to ear-splitting shrieking, echoing from the cleft mountain where the river spilled out from. I braced my body.

Then nothing.

I stood up on the branch, holding on tight to the trunk, trying to see if anything had changed but it didn’t look like it. I waited, seconds to minutes, but it was just silence. Not a scream, not a canon, nothing splitting wide open under my feet.

I looked down to the forest floor under me and swayed a little, thinking to myself how it might feel if I let go and gave in to gravity. Quick, clean. Maybe what I should have done that first night. It seemed like a better option than letting the arena kill me.

Like it could hear what I was thinking, the ground let out that awful screeching and I felt the ground jolt like the sector I was in was tilting upward.

Then, from where I was standing, I watched with horror as, In the valley, a black mob of something flew out from the split. They were winged, dark animal-like creatures with long tails, screeching, flapping and aiming as they descended in an arrowhead somewhere out of sight. Mutts. They had to be. 

There were echos of screams – I couldn’t tell if the wailing belonged to those mutts or the other tributes.

I couldn’t think of what to do with myself. I just watched the place where the mutts had disappeared into the trees and hoped they wouldn’t come for me too. I couldn’t outrun them.

BOOM

I froze. The wailing continued.

Another couple minutes passed.

BOOM

The screams settled.

A few bats flew out of the trees and back into the split.

I stood, not really breathing, shaking. I waited.

Thats…

The final two?

This is the final two?

This is the final. Isn’t it?

I swallowed back vomit. My legs went numb and forgot how to stand, forcing me to quickly sit down. I buried my face in my hands, still smelling like blood.

Did I want to try? Is it worth trying? What would Will say? Would he really want me to kill someone? He’d want me to win. Could I win? I couldn’t win. I couldn’t do anything people wanted me to do.

I climbed down from the tree and took in a breath of the cool night air, as artificial as I knew it was. I steadied myself on the tree. 

I knew where they were, they didn’t know where I was. That was good. Maybe if I found them first I could do it. 

If they found me, I was dead.

So with that thought thrumming through my brain, electrified with adrenaline, panic and a growing sense of desperate nihilism, I walked right into the danger. 

I tried to breathe even and keep a steady but level pace, trying to conserve as much energy as I could for what I knew I had to do, but also because I think half of me was still desperately trying to hang back.

I kept walking until I hit the spot I was sure the bat-like mutts had riffled through. 

Sure enough, there were dead mutts scattered across the floor, and amongst them, two tributes laid lifeless and mauled by the beasts. It was the girl, Robin, and the boy whose name never stuck. I thanked God that it was dark so I didn’t have to see their corpses in full daylight.

But it meant that Steve was the last one left. The one I was hoping with everything I had that it wouldn’t be. I wouldn’t stand a chance against him in a real fight.

I ducked down, scanning the area for him.

I held my breath as I saw the figure of him quietly move out of the dark. He didn’t see me.

He crouched down beside the girl. It looked like he wiped his face. He hesitantly rolled her onto her side and reached to take her pack off of her.

He didn’t look armed with anything long ranged, but there was a bat in his right hand, sharp slithers of rock jammed into the wood like teeth.

I desperately prayed he didn’t have a throwing knife I couldn’t see or a spear, and popped my head up over the underbrush with an intentional rustling to get his attention. 

His face snapped up and I bolted.

I bouldered through the bracken and drove forward.

I’d never run that fast. Fast like I couldn’t stop if I tried. Fast like my legs were about to fall off.

I didn’t dare look over my shoulder, didn’t have the time or the stomach to, but I heard him. Right on my tail.

My legs and lungs burned.

I had one chance. One way out. 

I could probably do it.

I smelled the burning and metal as we approached the clearing. I felt the electricity in the air against the drumming pulse beating under my skin, alive.

I hopped on the safe twigs, desperately trying not to stumble, knowing one wrong step would be the end. To my relief, I made it across the charred, electric ground.

As soon as I turned, I saw him seize.

Crackle.

Thud.

BOOM.

The canon split through me.

And the anthem played.

 It blared loud, immediate, leaving no time for me to even process the fact that I’d won the stupid thing, loud enough to be heard the growing whirring of winds as the hovercrafts started creeping in. I fell hard on my knees, eyes still locked on where Steve’s crumpled body had cracked to the floor. 

The sound couldn’t touch me. Victory couldn’t touch me. 

As my senses numbed, all I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. And with every pulse, I heard his name – Will – my own blood reminding me where his was spilled.

I looked at my hands.

I looked at the sky.

I looked at the hovercraft.

My body moved—walked toward it, stepped into the metal shell—but I didn’t go with it. I was still there, in that clearing, my heart screaming for Will to come back. Stuck in the smoke, the smell of burnt skin clinging to me. And I knew I’d never really leave the arena.

Chapter Text

The lights were too bright.

They hammered down from the ceiling in hot white sheets, blinding, relentless, and I could feel the sweat prickling at the back of my neck inside the stiff collar of the Victory jacket they made me wear.
The audience blurred into a sea of glitter and smiles, leaning forward in their seats like they already knew how this story should end.

Caesar Flickerman beamed at me, perfect teeth flashing under the stage lights.
I barely heard whatever kind, empty thing he said to introduce me.

"Now, Mike," Caesar said, tilting his head with an encouraging smile. "You really had quite a Games, didn't you? You showed us a lot of heart out there."

Heart.
They called it heart when you killed a boy with your own hands.
When you left someone behind.

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as paper. I nodded stiffly.

Caesar's smile grew softer, almost paternal. "It wasn't just your skill that made the Capitol fall in love with you," he said. "It was your spirit. Your loyalty. You gave us something rare this year. Something beautiful."

I felt like I was going to be sick.

"And now," Caesar continued, "there was a very dramatic moment, wasn't there, between you and the boy from District Nine— Will, wasn't it?"

Then they showed it — the moment with Will. But not the real one. Their version.
Us, sitting together. Will’s head in my lap. My mouth moving, but not saying what I said. Their music swelling just right.

“BROTHERS-IN-ARMS: A FINAL  GOODBYE.”

I looked at the screen and felt something break all over again. I clenched my hands into fists where they rested on my lap.

"Now, that really touched us all, didn't it?" Caesar said, turning to the audience, milking the moment for all it was worth.
There was a low, sympathetic murmur from the crowd.

"Tell us, Mike," Caesar prompted, voice soft with manufactured compassion. "Tell us how you felt in that moment."

I stared at him for a second, feeling the words boil inside me, black and bitter.
I hated him.
I hated everyone in that room.
Their shining smiles. Their slick hair and jeweled fingers clutching little handkerchiefs like they had the right to cry for him.

How dare they watch Will die just to feel something, and act like that made them kind.

“It sucked,” I said, my voice rough and flat.

A few awkward titters broke out in the audience, unsure whether it was supposed to be a joke.

Caesar's smile tightened at the edges. He tried to smooth it over. "Yes, well... of course. A very intense time for you all."

I looked down at my hands.
There was blood on them still, even if they looked clean.

“He was my comfort in the Games,” I said.
I flinched at the soft, syrupy 'awws' that rippled through the audience. They didn’t understand.
They couldn’t.

"I just wanted to say to his family..." My voice faltered.

For a moment, I wasn’t on that stage anymore.

I was back there —
kneeling in the dirt,
the sky bleeding orange and purple,
the mountain a dark smear against the dying sun.

Will was so light in my arms.
Too light.

I laid him down gently, as gently as I could, brushing his face, and his hair, whispering nonsense to him. Stories about flowers, about mist, about meeting him at the top.

But I didn’t.

I ran when the fire came.
I left him behind.

I blinked against the lights, the crowd swimming back into focus.

"I hope you're okay," I said, my voice raw. Idiot thing to say. Who could be okay? Who could be okay after this? "I hope you know I'm so sorry." It wasn’t enough, I knew that.

I blinked hard against the lights, against the stinging.

"I know he must have been loved," I said. "He was one of the most selfless and kind people I've ever met. I won't forget him."

I looked up, forcing myself to meet the cameras, to meet the Capitol.

"It doesn't end when I go home," I said. My voice broke on the last word.

The crowd was quieter now, more uncomfortable than anything else, not knowing how to clap for someone who wasn’t playing along. Caesar shifted slightly in his seat, sensing the mood.

“Well,” he said, smoothing his suit jacket with a flick of his wrist, “I think I speak for everyone when I say you have honored his memory beautifully, Mike. Truly. And I think we all agree," — he looked pointedly at the crowd until they gave him a wave of applause — "that your heart is just as strong as your courage.”

The applause grew louder, swelling to fill the room.
I sat there in the middle of it, feeling like a statue, hollow and cold.

Will’s face hovered in my mind, half-shadowed by the mist, the sun sinking behind the mountain he never reached.
The way he had smiled at me, tired and certain. He didn’t want to go alone, he wanted me to go with him. I should have gone with him.

I nodded stiffly at the crowd, pretending to accept their praise.
But inside, all I could hear was the sound of his breathing slowing against my shoulder, the way it finally stopped.

Caesar leaned closer again, his voice warm and coaxing. "And Mike... now that you’re a victor, you have a whole future ahead of you! What are you looking forward to most?"

The Capitol wanted hope.
They wanted a shiny, packaged boy they could put on magazines.
They wanted me to say something about rebuilding, about pride, about how grateful I was to be alive.

I thought about saying it.
I almost did.

Instead, I said, "I don't know."

Caesar blinked, a little thrown, but quickly recovered with a hearty laugh.
"Well, you have time to figure that out, don't you?" he said, and the crowd chuckled obligingly.
The next question came, and the next, and somehow I answered them, somehow I smiled when I was supposed to.

But in the back of my head, I kept asking the question, What else did they change?

Once the interview was over, I got to watch the shortened version of my Games back. I almost swore off it, but I needed to see him again. Alive.

The screen lit up. Capitol anthem, slow motion fire, glamour shots of the bloodbath. I barely registered it.

And then — there he was. Will.

But not the Will I remembered. This Will laughed more. Said less. Smiled almost every time the camera was on him. His voice had been trimmed down to bite-sized soundbites. No long, quiet rambles. No dry jokes. No thoughts. Just a soft, tragic shimmer.

They made him look... harmless.

And me? They turned me into a protector. Like I’d chosen him. They clipped every moment where I hesitated. Every time I looked scared. Every time he saved me.

It wasn’t the worst of it, though. That came at the end.

That moment. Where he was dying. Where I held him and said—

Except I didn’t.

Because in the Capitol’s version, I didn’t say anything. I just knelt there like some silent statue. He closed his eyes. The camera lingered on my face — a single, beautiful tear — and then faded to that stupid ‘Brothers in arms’ text again.

That’s not what happened.

He didn’t say that. I didn’t stay quiet. I begged him to hold on. I said his name like it was the only word I remembered. I said... things I didn’t even understand at the time. I don’t think I could say them now, even if I tried.

And they erased it. All of it. Why? Why would they? Why would they make Will nothing? And why does it matter? They never deserved to know Will. Not like I did. Not like I did.

I just sat, barely blinking, barely seeing the rest. Trying to ignore what they did and how bad it hurt.

Why? Why would they sanitise it?

It was the only thing I could think, looping in my head, louder and heavier each time. A familiar but unnamed reaction churned my stomach, turning it over and over and over again, like fear? like suspicion? Maybe the question rung in my head because I didn’t really want to know the answer.

 I bit the inside of my lip. 

They changed it because it was too clear, didn’t they? Because it was obvious, to everyone but me…

I blinked hard, but the screen stayed blurry. Not from tears—at least, not just that. It was like my brain wouldn’t let me see it anymore. Not the version they made.

The real version was stuck somewhere behind my ribs, buried under everything I hadn’t let myself feel. Because if I said it, even in my head, it would be real. It would be irreversible.

But maybe it already was.

I let him sleep next to me, close. I remember smiling for no reason, just because he was there. Even in that place. His voice made everything quieter in my head.

I loved him.

I did. I do.

And he’s gone.

He’s gone, and I’m still here, and I’m going to dream about his face for the rest of my life, aren’t I?

And I didn’t say it. Not once. Not when he could hear me. Not when it might’ve meant something.

And now the Capitol had taken even that away, like it was something shameful. Like it was dangerous.

Maybe it was. I hope it was.

***

Home didn’t feel like home anymore.

District Six was grey in every direction, flat and quiet, and I was supposed to stand on a stage in the square and smile. I waved at people who looked at me like I was something holy, or something cursed.

The Victor’s Village was waiting for me, gleaming and empty. One house for me. One for all the ghosts I brought back.

That night, I couldn’t sleep in the bed. The mattress was too soft, the room too big. I curled up on the floor and listened to the Capitol anthem echoing from the television downstairs.

I didn’t dream about the Games. I dreamed about the mountain. And the mist. Will would be sitting somewhere on the edge of it, and even though I left him, he’d be smiling that small, knowing smile. 

In the back of my mind, I kept climbing that mountain.
I kept looking for Will in the mist. And I kept not finding him.

In the morning I walked outside.

The air was thin and cold, and the ground still damp with dew. I found the edge of the field behind my new house and just stood there, barefoot in the grass. The sky was pale, washed out, but light was breaking through the clouds.

That’s when I saw it.

A yellow bird, a lark, small, perched on the fence post. It looked right at me, head tilted, one wing a little crooked.

It didn’t fly away.

“Hey,” I whispered. 

The lark blinked once. Twice. Then it took off, vanishing into the pale morning sky. I watched it go until its shape melted into the cradling hands of the clouds.

I’d always feel trapped, stuck on the earth, stuck in the arena. Stuck sticking a sword through a boy's stomach, stuck watching another’s skin smoke on the floor, stuck holding the only thing that made it worth it like sand slipping through the cracks in my bloody hands. I’d be stuck watching a constantly whirring replay wind over and over again in my head, flashing the worst moments of the Games that shaped the hollow in me. 

But, even if the capitol edited the footage and took Will away from me, I’d still see him in the riverbanks, in the birdsong and when music played gentle and echoed like humming on his lips. I’d feel him when the sun sat soft on my skin. I’d remember what he said about the unexplainable, about how love and souls don’t know science. No matter where he was, I’d be forever changed by him, entangled, and that was something no capitol censor could take from me. I wouldn’t forget. I’d remember and I’d wait for the day that he’d carry me. 

Not to the mountain, not to the mist, just the sound of his voice, always pulling me somewhere warmer, calmer, clearer. He was the quiet place where the boundary between worlds thinned, he was where I was meant to go. He was my thin place.