Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Since being stationed in District 12, Wyatt certainly didn't expect that he would be spending the night before his official first day mingling at the crowded old warehouse called the Hob.

But then he was partly at fault for letting his fellow peacekeeper, Marcus drag him here.

"C'mon Wyatt! This is like a passage of rites for new recruits," they said. "It'll be fun!" They said.

He wasn't having fun. In fact, he was overstimulated. The lights, the sounds, the smell— it wasn't really that bad but everything combined together was enough to gyrate on his nerves.

"I think I'm going outside for a bit." He told Tibby, the older peacekeeper who brought them there. He didn't know if he was heard but he left anyway, grabbing a bottle of water to sober up.

He savored the cool breeze as he stepped outside, wincing when his shoulders cracked as he rolled them back.

Looking at the dirt road from which they came from, he debated wether he should just go back to the base on his own or not. Though he doubted that he could even find his way back, odds are he'll simply get lost more.

His train of thoughts was disrupted when a groan resounded from the side of the warehouse. Curiosity filled him as he approached the source of sound with light footsteps.

Keeled over the bushes that grew beside the wall was a blonde girl. And from the sounds that she was making, she was throwing up her insides. It briefly reminded him of his cat he left back in Disctrict 3 who made the same noise when she swallowed a hairball.

"Hey," he approached with caution. "You okay?"

To be honest, his duty hasn't even officially started yet and civilians weren't part of the job assigned to him but Wyatt couldn't find it in him to leave the girl who was obviously quite sick.

The girl looked up from her heaving and glared at him through the darkness. "Who the fuck are you?"

Wyatt didn't answer and instead, handed the bottle of water."Here."

He expected her to ignore him, or worst, flip him off, but he was surprised when she snatched it from his hands.

Wyatt's only thought as she gulped down the water without even stopping to see if it's been contaminated was that she had the look of a feisty cat but the survival instincts of a gumdrop. But then, he did offer it first, and he should just be glad that she accepted. Who was he to be judging.

She seemed to realize this too when she stopped half-way through and eyed him over the lid. "If this has been…drugged, just so you know, I have no conscience and wouldn't mind getting blood on my hands." She would have sounded threatening if she wasn't slurring and hiccuping with every word.

Wyatt held up his hands, "Just trying to help."

She continued to stare at him, looking for a sign of malice in his face, and nodded when she was satisfied that he was telling the truth.

He was almost taken aback when she staggered and would have fallen on her face if he didn't catch her on time by ensnaring her waist, her hands flew around his neck.

Wyatt was too shocked to move, especially when she leaned her head back, his vision closing in on her cerulean eyes.

"Pretty boy," she muttered then kissed him, full on the lips.

Wyatt was top of his batch, he knew non-lethal combat, he knew how to assemble a gun and shoot with aim, he knew how to disable a bomb— hell, he's even been trained to withstand chemical attacks not… this.

His arms were frozen to his side and all his thoughts were hyper focused on the warm lips meshed against his. She tasted faintly of the bitter shine but somehow, it wasn't as bad tasting it on her. He was almost lost to the sensation—but then she pulled back, shocked. Then she threw up on him.

"Bad night?" Marcus asked as they were putting on their uniform the following morning. The long sleeves, like every other government-issued item, chaffed against his skin but he didn't voice out his complain, merely pulled on his pants.

"Thought we lost you last night," the curly-haired guy continued.

Wyatt paused before answering. "Yeah, I decided to go back when I went for a breather."

Good thing he didn't prod more— or ask why the tips of Wyatt's ears were red.

Wyatt remembered stumbling back and when he succeeded in removing his button-up, he turned to find her gone. And he would have thought that the whole ordeal was simply alcohol-induced imagination except her faint scent of vanilla lingered in the air— as well as her lunch.

Fortunately, he was able to find his way back after stumbling around for sometime before spotting the familiar fence around the base. After trying his best to remove the worst, he chucked his shirt in the laundry chute and took a shower before heading to bed with one thing on his mind; Wyatt hoped to never see again the girl who took his first kiss.

Although he doubted that their paths would cross again. He was assigned in protective detail, per his commanders order.

When Tibby learned where he would be stationed, he broke out into a loud guffaw and after Wyatt asked what was so funny, he answered, "Good luck with that because there's a reason why they assigned a newbie for that job. What with that shrew of a mayor's daughter," and refused to elaborate further.

And now he's been ordered to meet the mayor first before he began his duty.

He stood at attention in front of the wide mahogany desk with his helmet tucked under his arm. While waiting, he couldn't help but frown at the sight of his boots, the shiny toe-cap already matted from the dusting of coal.

The sound of oncoming footsteps made him straighten his back and settling down on the table was the newly-appointed mayor of District 12, Philip Donner.

The mayor carried himself with regalness that would have rivaled the president. But upon looking closely, he looked tired already for someone new on the job. His blue eyes were dull and dark purple bags stained his under eyes, but he tried not to let it show with his firm voice.

"I'm grateful that commander Scipio has fulfilled my request at such short notice. Though I suspect that he hasn't told you the full extent of your assignment." His blue eyes pierced right through him and for a bizarre moment, he remembered the girl from last night. Though he doubted that they were even related. Most of the residents he passed by on the square shared the same physical attribute.

He felt guilty when he realized that the mayor was still talking and forced himself to focus, though he missed the first sentence already.

"—only been a few accidents, a scuffle on the west entrance. Someone threw a brick through the payroll office window, a supervisor got shoved in the trough," then he waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing that fully counts as a riot—at least, not yet."

"When I was sworn into office, I decided that this District will not be some backwater camp hanging by the thread."

"No, sir." Wyatt acknowledged.

"But unrest has a way of spreading. The mines cut wages and unease grows."

He couldn't help but cut through. "Didn't you just start office?"

"They're looking for someone to blame and the opportunity has presented itself with the new mayor. Maybe they think they could pressure me to appeal for better conditions or maybe they're simply desperate for someone to blame. But whatever it is, they've chosen me."

He thought that everybody knew that the mayor never actually had a say in the way things are run and he also didn't understand why he looked perturbed when the mayor was the single most guarded individual in the district, safe inside the fortress of the Justice Building. He didn't have to wonder for long though because his questions was answered immediately.

"They won't come for my office," he continued. "They're smarter than that, but my family, on the other hand—" his eyes shifted to a framed photograph on his table, "—is more vulnerable.

Wyatt absorbed his words without comment.

"This is only a precaution, since no official threat has hapepned yet, but I refuse to be caught unprepared." Mayor Donner rolled back his shoulders and straightened his back.

"You'll be stationed at our family's sweetshop." He announced, much to Wyatt's confusion.

"To be honest, my salary as Mayor is more than enough to sustain us, enough to stop the operation of the business but my daughter disapproves." Mayor Donner shook his head like this daughter of his is more handful than the entire district. "Tell me, son, do you have a daughter?"

Wyatt opened his mouth to speak but was cut-off. "Ah, right. I forgot peacekeepers are to remain unmarried for the duration of your service."

And also, Wyatt was only 20.

"I have two daughters, twins, actually and they're my pride and joy. Merilee, though I never told them how dire the situation is, senses things and has agreed to stay indoors. My other flower, on the other hand," he sighed heavily, "is more prickly. She wouldn't leave the shop no matter how much we tried to talk her out of it, she wouldn't be persuaded. I suspect she just wants to be difficult because she has always hated working there when she was younger."

Wyatt remained quiet and sensed that the mayor wasn't finished with his tirade yet.

"I don't know if you've heard, but my daughter is quite well known, although not for the right reasons."

He remembered Tibby and the way he reacted when he shared where he'd be stationed last night.

"She once got into an argument with the Cartwrights down at mechant square over an issue that she shouldn't even be involved in. Though Maysilee insists that they were cheating by providing cheap service and charging unfairly."

"Sounds like she's just… direct." Wyatt shared.

"Well, direct enough to be dubbed the meanest girl in the district."

Wyatt started to get the gist of his assignment. Lots of good Tibby's 'good luck' made.

"Anyway, she's hot in their eyes, and more vulnerable too what with her being more out in the open. But I will not have my daughter punished for her father's occupation."

"Does she understand why I'm being assigned?"

Mayor Donner huffed. "She thinks I'm being dramatic and is quite assured that she could handle herself."

Wyatt could sympathized with the Mayor's frustration, not only does he have to deal with the unrest but also his daughter too. No wonder he looked so exhausted.

"She'll test you," he warned Wyatt. "She'll try to convince that she doesn't need protection—she'll even try to drive you away. In fact, you're the third person I'm assigning."

"I only take orders from my commander and you, sir."

"Good." The mayor straightened his jacket, clearly satisfied with his response. "I know I'm asking a lot, but try not to cage her. She reacts worse when we do. Just be there to ensure that when the my fears do come, she won't be standing on the front steps alone."

As Wyatt was just stepping out of the office, the mayor called him once more. He turned on his heel into the eyes of the weary old man.

"Please have patience."

He nodded and left.

The Donner's Sweetshop was a quaint little 2-story building with chipped white paint and dark slated roof. He looked at the sign on the door that says open then at the surroundings.

Maybe because it was a Monday but there wasn't much people milling about at the square. Back in his district, the men would be at the factory that manufactures automobiles early in the morning and would go home late into the night, it was a wonder his parents even had three children.

He prepared himself to meet the infamous Maysilee. In his mind, for some reason, he imagined a woman that spews out fire. He straightened his back, patting the baton slung on his belt, the tip softly tapping against his thigh. He was issued a rifle too which was slung behind his back, but it would only be used if worst come to place.

He took off his helmet after careful deliberation. He wanted to appear less authoritative on their first meet as much as possible and with it tucked under his arm like he did in the mayor's office earlier, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The bell chimed overhead and the smell of caramel and sugar hit him when he crossed the threshold. He has never seen so much color ever since arriving at District 12 where every surface seemed to be covered in a layer of coal dust.

Here at the sweetshop, rich brown caramel glinted in jars, taffy beckoned to children in glass display cases beside gumdrops of every color, and a whole lot of other things that Wyatt wasn't even familiar with. Everything gleamed from the early morning light passing through the shop windows.

He realized a split second later that he stepped over a mid-argument between a customer and the person on the other side of the counter. He could just see the top of her blonde hair but he could hear her snarky voice that brought back the memory of white liquor and strawberry-scented hair.

"If you're not satisfied, you're welcome to own your own shop. But until then, fudge is six coins."

The older man muttered something about her attitude to which the girl replied. "And yet, you keep coming back."

The man huffed and slapped something on the counter, coins from the sound of it, and left with a white paper bag clenched in his hands.

He remembered what was said about her; meanest girl in town, sharp tongued, impossible.

Maysilee has her back turned to him as she muttered words under her breath too quiet for him to hear, but from her tone, he could tell it wasn't praises.

He rapped his knuckled at the counter and she turned to face him.

Blonde hair that waved behind her back, cerulean blue eyes that glinted like the dozen necklaces that adorned her neck, and pink lips—Wyatt recognized her immediately.

Clearly, she did too by the loud gasp that she let out.

"You!" She pointed at him with a well-manicured nail. "You're the— I—," her mouth opened and closed, not knowing what to say.

Wyatt was equally stunned.

Silence fell as she eyed him up and down and while she did, Wyatt calculated the odds that the girl who kissed him last night and puked all over his front was also the girl he was assigned to.

"And you're a peacekeeper." She observed.

"Yes, ma'am. Wyatt Callow."

"Of course!" Maysilee threw her hands up in exasperation. "You were following me around last night before I baptized you with alcohol."

"Today is actually my first day on the job."

Impressively, she didn't even look embarrassed, mostly just annoyed.

"I told my pa that I don't need a peacekeeper hovering around the shop and scaring the customers away." She massaged her temples. "Does he think that I'm going to be attacked in broad daylight in the middle of town?"

She looked at him as if expecting some form of answer.

"My responsibility remains the same regardless of environment."

Maysilee looked at him for a long moment with her arms crossed, as if she could somehow make him go away if she glared at him hard enough. But Wyatt refused to prune.

When she was finally submitted to the fact that she can't, she sighed in resignation.

"I'll allow it—for now, but you better remove that stupid helmet and stand behind the counter. I won't have you scaring my patrons away."

Not long after, her delivery of sugar came that ended up with a red-faced grown man and an equally furious Maysilee. Something about the sugar weighing less than what she was paying for.

Through all this, Wyatt remained behind the counter. He bit the inside of his cheek to hold in his sigh.

Wyatt was assured that this assignment would last only six-months at the most.

"She'll make her point and that'll be it. She'll get tired of running that place eventually."

Winter season came with no sign of Maysilee stopping anytime soon. Eventually, Wyatt settled into routine; wake up, get dressed for breakfast, and ride the truck that would drop him off at the mayoral house where he would accompany Maysilee to walk on foot to the shop.

He doesn't exactly spend the rest of his duty simply standing on guard. Maysilee made him do all sorts of labor; carry the delivered sacks of ingredients to the storage, transferring and organizing boxes, she even made him mop the floor once.

"At least I'll make you useful."

He didn't know if those were her ploy to get him to quit, but Wyatt never uttered a single complaint. Besides, he would prefer doing things rather than just standing for hours.

He met the other twin too, Merilee. She would sometimes come by at the shop with her own personal peacekeeper, an older man who was nearing the end of his service. When her sister did visit, Maysilee would order them to stand outside and she would close the shop for an hour. Sometimes, her other friend, Asterid, would come too.

Despite the workload, Maysilee only had one person on staff, a heavy-set man named Remy who had a perpetual look of gruffness that made the sweets, although he worked at night and had them ready to be rolled out and displayed when morning came. He was usually gone before the shop opened.

So most of the time, it was just him and Maysilee. And when he wasn't doing her orders, he observed her, simply because he had nothing to do.

Wyatt has never seen anyone complain and bicker more than Maysilee who has a sort of love-hate relationship with the shop. She would mutter about entitled customers as she prepared for closing but always got in early anyway to open in the morning.

Sometimes, he found himself staring at her longer than he has to. Her cynical and cutting remarks, mostly on the way people dressed, he's counted numerous times when she got into arguments with customers over the smallest things, though he would admit that it wasn't always her fault— he could see why she was dubbed the meanest girl in the district

But there were other things he noticed too, how she would put extra grams of taffies for kids, the small smile that she suppresses but always betrayed by the twitching of the corners of her lips. She has kindness in her that she tries so hard to not show but never escaped his observation.

Just then, a miner came to the shop just as she was closing for the day. Wyatt didn't mean to discriminate but he tensed as Maysilee opened the door for the man to come inside. And while the miner didn't look to have any ulterior motives other than to buy gumdrops, Wyatt held on to his baton all the same.

Something that Wyatt observed was that almost every resident that he's looked upon has a tired face.

The miners, looked more so than the others. His seen boys his age have streaks of grey when they remove their helmets and kids who looked too dull-eyed for their age. The perpetual coal dust removes the shine of everything it touches in Twelve.

The man who came was no different. He couldn't be past his 30's but he had the posture of a man who's lived a century.

Every so often, he coughed into his dusty overalls as he counted zinc coins in his palm. Scrip. Though from what he knew, they were only accepted at Capitol-owned stores, but Maysilee never refused them.

And as usual, she put extra again—Wyatt noticed that she usually did this when the customer looked to be from the Seam, black-haired, grey-eyed residents, mostly in shabby, thread-bare clothing.

However, unlike the others, the man has noticed as he lifted up the paper bag the excess weight and his face contorted in fury.

"You think that a few gumdrops would suffice for all the things you're doing to us?!" His neck veins were bulging as he shouted at a wide-eyed Maysilee.

Wyatt moved into action and prepared to do what he's been trained for. He was never comfortable with harming people—an irony since that was the whole ordeal of his job—but his weapon never made contact with anything.

Maysilee held onto his arms with surprising strength for someone who sells sweets.

"Don't," she ordered him in a firm voice then turned to the man and her face softened.

"I know it won't make anything better, but… I'm sorry, anyway."

The miner threw the paper bag on the floor and left, slamming the door behind him.

They were left in ringing silence, and it took a good few seconds for Maysilee to recover and dropped to her knees to gather the gumdrops that scattered across the tiled floor. Wyatt followed beside her.

She didn't speak as she did so, merely put them back in the bag before tossing them in the trash and dialing a number on the telephone.

"Hello, mother, it's Maysilee. I'll be coming home later than usual, I've got some things I need to do tonight."

She eyed Wyatt as she listened to whatever was being said on the other line, as if daring him to speak up. "Yeah, don't worry. Pa's soldier toy is here with me."

"Duty's over. You can go now." She shooed him off as she filled a bag with gumdrops and disappeared at the back for a bit before coming out with her scarf and coat in her arms.

By the determined look on her face, Wyatt surmised what she was planning to do.

"You're going to the Seam."

Maysilee wrapped her scarf around her neck. "Seems only fair that he get what he paid for." She didn't even try to deny his claim.

His eyes shifted to the glass windows, to the darkening skies outside.

"Looks like a blizzard will hit soon. I can't let you go there."

"You can't stop me." And he knew that she meant it. Nobody gets in the way of Maysilee Donner.

He took the paper bag from her hands. "At least, not alone."

Something flashed in her eyes that made his insides squirm.

They walked to the Seam side-by-side. Every so often, he had to remind himself that Maysilee's strides were shorter than his and he would slow down his pace.

"I read his name tag," she answered when he asked how they would even find the miner's residence.

A group of miner's returning from work appeared at the end of the road and Maysilee placed her palms flat on his vest.

"Quick! Hide or something!" She hissed as she pushed him behind some crates in an alley. "They're not going to speak with a peacekeeper nearby."

He was sure that this was going against his every protocol, but everything that has happened in the past hour was, so what's one more broken?

Before he hid, Wyatt pulled Maysilee's scarf over her mouth until only her eyes were visible. As he did so, she peered up at him through her long blonde lashes, flaked with the snow. He could have stayed in that moment for the duration of his service but the approaching footsteps forced him to break away from the trance that he was under.

He crouched low and listened intently at the conversation happening just a meter away, ready to jump in action at the first sound of commotion. A minute or so passed before a knock brought him out of his hiding place.

"Lucky for us, he lives just up ahead," she pointed at a small house just before the grove of trees.

Good for them indeed, because the temperature was continuously dropping by the second. It wasn't himself that he was worried about. They were provided with thermal underthings for the winter and males were biologically more hot-blooded. The girl beside him was what he was worried for.

Maysilee's breathing grew heavier as she walked but forged on until she reached the house. She glanced at a window to see two children huddled in front of the fireplace as the miner, who looked significantly younger now that he was out of the overalls he was wearing earlier, watched over them. The fury on his face was gone, replaced with a sad smile.

Maysilee took the paper bag from his grasp and placed it in front of their door, knocking before she hurriedly pulled Wyatt to hide at the side of the house. They waited for a few minutes after the door slammed shut before they left.

The wind has picked up as the temperature continued to drop. By the time they got back to the square, it was an all-out blizzard and Maysilee insisted that they take refuge at the sweet shop.

Remy made a good decision not to come tonight, what with the ugly weather.

Wyatt could barely feel his face as he stepped foot in the threshold.

"Where's the fireplace?" Wyatt asked Maysilee who's cheeks and the tip of her nose had gone red.

"Up s-stairs." She replied through her chattering teeth and led the way to the second floor and in to one of the rooms.

The room flooded with light as Maysilee flipped some switches and Wyatt wasted no time in lighting up the fireplace, though it took him a few tries because in the district he came from where they never have to worry about power outages, they used radiators.

Maysilee started shedding her outer layers and released a sigh as she sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace. Wyatt stood some feet away, unsure.

Maysilee eyed him over her shoulder. "Are you just going to stand there and freeze to death?"

He didn't have to be told twice. He immediately removed his overcoat and his vest until he was left in his plain black tee and fatigue pants.

Maysilee whistled. "Not bad, officer."

He felt heat rise to his cheeks and it wasn't from the fire.

Maysilee scooted a bit and patted the space beside her, gesturing for him to sit. Wyatt did so obediently.

They savoured the warmth with the only sound the crackling of fire in front and the whistling wind outside as the blizzard continued its onslaught. When their teeth has stopped chattering, that was when Maysilee reached for the telephone nearby.

He himself took to his radio.

Five minutes later and he shook his head at Maysilee.

"My commander says to wait out the blizzard."

"It's fine, I informed my mother that I wouldn't be coming home tonight. My pa's stranded at the Justice Building too."

Just then, the power went out.

"Ah, fuck." Maysilee cursed out loud.

Well… That's that.

"I can light the other fireplace in one of the rooms so that you can settle down for the night." He stood up.

"No good, the others are equipped with radiators, only my parents room has a fireplace. Something with my ma's paranoia that the radiator would blow up or something." She waved her hand in the air. "This is the only room we can use."

She eyed him and from his position, the fire gave the illusion that her hair was glowing, like some beacon in the dark. "Unless, you're uncomfortable with it?"

At the base, Wyatt shared the dormitory with ten other guys this wouldn't be his first time. He plopped back down in front of the hearth.

"You could have gone back to your base," Maysilee said, her eyes closed as she savoured the warmth. "I know that Peacekeepers base was near that house, but you came back here with me anyway."

That was correct. He spotted the fence of the compound but not once did he think of leaving.

"My post is here," it seemed more like he was reasoning with himself.

Maysilee faced him, her cheek resting on top of her knees. "No, your post is me." Her words were factual, but her eyes were saying something else. And Wyatt was never good at deciphering emotions but it almost looked like a silent plea for him to say something else.

But what it was she wanted to hear? He didn't know. "That is correct."

Disappointment washed over her face and turned back to the fire.

He felt unsettled. "Fire's getting low. I think I spotted some crates at the storage downstairs."

Maysilee's signature scowl snapped back into place. "Those crates are imported mahogany for display."

He can handle this more. "It's kindling now."

She huffed but said nothing further as she followed him downstairs to scrounge for food.

And in a few minutes, their fire was replenished enough for the night and she even snagged some sweets from the shop. She dug around her parents' closet for blankets.

"Well," she murmured. "Isn't this fortunate."

Wyatt glanced over from where he was reinforcing the window latch. "What did you find?"

Maysilee extracted a glass bottle of amber liquid, holding it up to the fire light like a trophy. "Relief." She beckoned him over.

"I'm still on duty."

Her lips curved at his reply. "You're stranded in a sweetshop in the middle of a blizzard, your commander would want you to be lenient."

"No, he wouldn't."

"Not even a sip?"

She studied him for a long second and seeing that he wouldn't be moved, she shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Wyatt sat back down as she took her her first sip with practiced poise.

"I'd say you're so rigid but you did allow me to go to the Seam earlier."

He busied himself with adjusting the hearth. "If I were off-duty, I might accept."

"Might?"

Wyatt nodded at her, a faint flush rising to her cheeks—must be from the fire. She turned her attention to the sweets on the tray and took a bite out of a cream cheese cinnamon ball.

"Ugh, I can't believe people buy this stuff."

"Why?" He watched Maysilee put back the half-eaten ball in favour of taking another swig.

"Are you asking why do people buy sweets?" She asked.

"No, not that. I meant your father makes more than enough as the mayor. You never have to work again for as long as he is in office and that usually lasts a good few years and even then, he would still be receiving something after."

He faced her. "Maysilee, why do you still run the shop when you clearly hate what you do?"

The girl averted her gaze. "I bet my pa, also told you that I'm doing this just to be difficult." She let out a dry laugh when he nodded.

"The reason is quite simple, really. My great-grandma was the one that opened that sweetshop. She spent her entire life running this place. The only time she slept in was the day she died." She said in a soft voice.

"The last time I talked to her, she told me, 'now listen, Maysilee. Nothing they can take from you is ever worth keeping'." There was an underlying vulnerability to her words despite her humorous tone as she impersonated her grandma.

"News of my pa being in line for the mayorship has reached her then. And she knew that he would always choose the position that would put him above anybody else in the district."

Wyatt listened intently to her story, the sadness that lined her face tugged something in his chest. The fire was low enough now that it no longer crackled, just hummed. Outside, the wind has stopped howling, he thinks the storm must have migrated inside him, wrecking havoc and scattering the rest of his thoughts with only Maysilee in the eye.

"She was talking about the business that her own mama had established. Two generations of women who worked hard only for her son to discard it in favor of being a puppet for the Capitol. Merilee isn't as stubborn as me, so it's my job to keep my grandma's legacy alive. It's the only thing worth keeping.

"Of course, I still hate working here, every occasion, every inventory ledger, every time I was told that I'm only doing it out of spite—" she inhaled sharply and she suddenly looked tired. The bags under her eyes, the sugar burn with plaster on her thin wrists—how come nobody's noticed how tired she was?

In that moment, she wasn't the stuck-up mean girl they make her out to be, nor was she the mayor's daughter. To Wyatt, she was just a girl, scrabbling to hold on to the last essence of her grandmother.

"But you're preserving something that preserves none of you." He couldn't help but say.

Maysilee glared at him and he prepared himself for her onslaught of insults but she simply sighed.

"It's the only way I know how to keep her memory."

He was quiet for a long moment before he gained the courage to speak again. "But is it possible that she wasn't talking about the sweetshop?"

Maysilee's mouth opened and closed, before she found the words to say. "She was talking about the business, there's nothing else she could possibly mean." She argued.

Wyatt leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. "Maysilee," at the sigh of her name, she met his gaze. "Would it still be worth keeping if it's eating you from the inside out?"

She looked like she's been struck between her eyes. "It's not that simple and I promised mamaw—"

"—it isn't." He cut her off. "But so is surviving something that slowly wears you away."

"I'm afraid." She admitted. "I don't know who I am beyond the counter. And once I leave, there's nothing I know how to do. And I can't sit idly in that big house until my father gives me away to some merchant kid for marriage."

Wyatt shook his head. "But you do. When you aren't busy with the log book, or manning the counter, or berating old man Remy for not following hygiene protocols when making sweets—" Maysilee snorted "—when you're not forcing those responsibilities on yourself, I've seen you weave jewelries."

He was outing himself that he's been watching her like a real creep but he continued. "You make necklaces for your sister, you braid cords that would have impressed someone from District 4 with the number of techniques you know how to do."

Her hand moved to the necklaces that decorated her neck. "It's only a hobby. Just to keep my hands busy."

"Even better," Wyatt encouraged. "Who knows what you can do if you did take it seriously."

Maysilee's eyes burned brighter than the fire before it was doused again. "I thought that keeping this meant keeping her."

His reply was soft, a pleading for her to listen. "But you should also try to keep your sense of self. You're allowed to grow beyond their shadow."

She dipped her head low, blocking Wyatt's view of her face as her hair fell into a curtain that separated them—too long that Wyatt would have thought that she'd fallen asleep but then she swiped her hair behind her back, expression guarded.

"Sounds like you know a lot about that." She offered him the bottle of cognac again. This time, he didn't decline and took a sip. He needed something in his system to survive the way that Maysilee was looking at him.

"Atta boy," she chuckled as she watched him. "So, what's your story? Because it sounds like you'd do better as a guidance councilor rather than a peacekeeper for some back water town."

"Nothing interesting about me, I'm from District 3 and I have two older brothers."

Maysilee leaned back on her propped elbows, interested. "My family ran the underground gambling dens there. I calculate the odds for the bets we insinuate. I'm not proud of it, but it helped pay the bills."

"Interesting, I should bring you to Poker Night at the Hob."

Wyatt took out a coin from his pocket and started to fiddle with it, the surface reflecting the light from the fire as rolled it across his knuckles.

"When my ma died, she told me live my life. That's why I signed up. When my pa found out, he basically disowned me. But it was the only career opportunity I saw. I didn't have the funds to finish school so it was either that or spend the rest of my days at the factory assembling automobiles or collecting betting slips."

He shrugged. "And here I am."

"That you are," Maysilee replied. "Would you resent me if I say that I'm glad that you've been assigned here?"

To be honest, he was disappointed when he learned that he'd be stationed at District 12 but now, gazing into Maysilee's burning sapphires, he found himself that he was glad for his luck.

He shook his head no, causing Maysilee's grin to widen.

The power was out but electricity was in the air. He averted his gaze and cleared his throat. "It's late. I think we might as well try to get some sleep." He rose to his feet. "You get the bed. I'll sleep on the floor."

Maysilee followed suit and started to walk when her feet caught on the corner of the rug they were sitting on and stumbled. Wyatt caught her waist and on instinct, her hands flew to his chest to steady herself. His heart was ramming against its cage so hard he feared that she might have felt it.

"Wyatt," she breathed.

His breath hitched at their proximity as his gaze shifted to her lips and her wide eyes. He was again reminded that he was well aware of how her lips felt against his. And before he even realized what he was doing, his hand rose to cradle her jaw. They started to lean in—

A sudden gust of wind that slammed against the window sprang them apart as reality forced its way back in.

They were avoiding each other's eyes and after mumbling a quick 'goodnight', Maysilee burrowed herself under the covers and Wyatt contented himself with resting his back to the side of the bed. He couldn't believe at what almost happened and he had to remind himself what he was there for.

Wyatt spent the remaining hours staring at the fire as it died down, until the night was almost over— but there was no turning away from the undeniable.

Wyatt woke up to being smothered by strawberry scented hair. It took him a good few seconds to remember why he wasn't in his own bed back at the base. When he did, he carefully peeled his back off his sitting position and looked at the figure on the bed.

Maysilee looked peaceful as she slept with her hair splayed around her like a golden halo, almost angelic without the furrow in her brow. Her eyes slowly fluttered open and he pretended to be busy with folding the blanket that he used.

"Mornin'," she mumbled. He couldn't resist the smile that curled on his lips.

"What's so funny?" Maysilee rubbed her eyes.

Wyatt pointed to the corner of his mouth, Maysilee mimicked with her own. She was mortified to feel crusted drool.

Her cheeks reddened as she hastily wiped it away and Wyatt couldn't hold it anymore, he let out a laugh.

"You're no sleeping beauty yourself, you snore like a bear." She retorted that stifled his chuckling.

And suddenly, the almost-kiss last night surged to the forefront of his mind and she must have too because Maysilee stilled.

He cleared his throat. "About last night,"

"What about it?" Maysilee buttoned her coat.

A car honked outside and Wyatt peeled back the curtain to see an automobile parked in front.

"Your ride's waiting for you." He told her.

His shoulders slumped as he followed her downstairs. He grasped the cold knob.

"Wait," Maysilee placed her hand on his, stopping him from opening the door. "What was that last night?"

The words visibly hung between them—quite literally with the winter air.

Wyatt felt it again, her palms, firm against his chest, her warm mouth, just a breath away, and how he had almost forgotten himself.

He straightened his posture, as was expected of him.

"It was nothing."

Her brows knitted together. "Nothing?"

"The alcohol," he said evenly. "It was late and you were cold."

"And you?" She asked quietly.

He didn't hesitate, it was a reply he's been practicing in the hours waiting for sleep. "Just doing my job."

Something flickered across Maysilee's face, indecipherable like the feeling in his chest. "Your job…" She said like she was testing the words for the first time. "I see."

"Yes, ma'am."

The title was a clear blade that he wielded with clinical precision, drawing a clear line between him and her.

She searched his expression for something, a crack in his stoic mask, but he gave her none. he hardened himself the way he'd been trained to do. Peacekeepers aren't attached to anything except the Capitol. To offer their bodies with unwavering loyalty. Unfailing, unyielding.

Maysilee let out a laugh, dry and hollow. "Of course."

"Maysilee—"

But she has already twisted the knob and pushed passed him, the warmth she showed him last night gone entirely. She trudged through the snow that accumulated overnight but tipped her chin high as she approached the car.

The backseat window slid down to reveal Mayor Donner. If he was surprised to know that Wyatt spent the night with his daughter alone, he didn't show.

Wyatt stood rigid as the driver hurried to open the door for her. She did not look back when she got inside. The automobile pulled away, wheels crunching through ice, carrying with it the memory of everything that happened the night before.

Only when the car disappeared down the road did he allow his shoulders to drop.

The shop didn't open for days after he received news that Maysilee has come down with the flu. Because of this, he spent those days patrolling around feeling like there was a heavy weight on his chest.

Wyatt told himself that her sickness had nothing to do with him. Snow and cold were to blame—not foolish words.

Still, he walked the same circuit each morning with his posture straight and his gaze forward. Unfailing, unyielding. He repeated his sworn oath under his breath, especially when he catches sight of the three-story house at the end of the road. Sometimes, he would stare far longer than necessary and every time, his mind drifted to a certain blonde, somewhere behind one of those closed shutters.

"Just doing my job."

The phrase replayed endlessly in his mind.

But it was only partially true, no matter how much he tried to fool himself.

Because it wasn't why he'd watch the glow from the fire trace her cheek or why his breath hitched when she laughed or whispered his name nor why something in his chest is filled with so much hope when she didn't move away— until the smell of alcohol brought him back to clarity.

He was a peacekeeper and they weren't allowed to have any sort of relations, and out of all the people he'd fall for, it was the one person he was assigned to protect. His emotions are a risk to his job. He couldn't let it get in the way. He was compromising everything he's worked for.

He couldn't have any false hope too, just because she tolerated him, and it was most probably just the alcohol speaking because why would Maysilee Donner have any interest in him.

It could have been another person and nothing would change. He tried to reason with himself but something squeezed his heart and he dug into his pocket to caress the ribbon he snagged on the floor that morning.

He couldn't allow himself to want beyond his station, he would lose more than just her regard if he tried to reach for her.

Over the rooftop, the sun finally peaked through. The storm was over but its aftermath still lingered in his chest.

Wyatt tightened his grip on his baton and kept walking.

He was a soldier, he knew how to stand his ground in battle, even if it was with himself.

It was the day of the Harvest Festival when he finally caught a glimpse of Maysilee, an entire week after the blizzard.

From Wyatt has learned, there was a tradition held every year before any celebration may occur where the head of the district—the mayor—would walk in procession with his family to the mouth of the coalmine. Something about giving thanks to the labor that sustains the district and fulfills its duty to the Capitol.

But Wyatt knew what it was really about—everybody does. The black dust streaked on their cheeks, the ceremonial pickaxe, the helmet. It was entertainment for the Capitol and a reminder for everybody in District 12, they were on the same level as dirt and even the highest must descend for the Capitol all masked under the false pretense of solidarity.

But it was obvious that nobody really liked it, the mayor and his family who performed the humiliation ritual, the merchants being practically told that they were the same level as the Seam folk, and the Seam folk who felt like they were being mocked.

It was a disaster waiting to happen, even with the preparations done before hand. The tunnel where they would descend has been inspected numerous times for any danger, the peacekeepers lined at the mouth of the cave as human barriers between the ceremony and the folks, every possible risk has been accounted and from what he's heard, the last time a fatality occurred was over a decade ago, when the tunnel collapsed, burying the mayor's entire family, though there was a rumor that it was because they've angered the government.

It frustrated him that he couldn't do anything except stand on guard at the mouth of the cave as the procession began. He couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding, like the calm before the storm.

It took the Donners fifteen minutes to walk the length of the Justice Building to the coalmine.

Wyatt stood attention at the entrance, just beside the designated Capitol escort sent to observe and ensure that the ceremony occurs.

The Capitolite, a woman who's face was pulled back so taut by pins that encircled her face that they seem to be made of the same synthetic material as his boots.

Just when Wyatt thought that his ears were finally going to bleed from Drusilla's numerous complaints, the Donners appeared, like the sun rising over the horizon.

The mayor walked first, spine straight, and then there was Mrs. Donner with her lips pursed tight, he's never seen her before but she had the same stoic mask that Maysilee sometimes wore. Behind them was their two daughters and again, Wyatt was amazed at how much they look alike. If it weren't for their very different way of dressing, it was almost impossible to tell them apart at first glance.

Merilee wore a pink dress and was staring straight ahead as they walked, Maysilee beside her in a lavender dress looked almost angry and unlike her entire family who bore the expression of humility, she walked with her nose in the air. Though he was sure that it wasn't meant for the residents of District 12 but the Capitolite waiting for them.

The Donners looked the poster of the model family in their nice clothes, a stark contrast to their background.

Commander Scipio motioned for the peacekeepers—which including Wyatt—to step forward with the miner's helmets.

"Protocol," Scipio said in a flat voice.

There was a peacekeeper designated for each family member and as luck would have it, Wyatt held on to the helmet for Maysilee.

One by one, the Donners accepted the helmets and put them on. When it came to Maysilee, she hesitated for a second before taking hers. Her fingers brushed against his and it took everything in him not to shudder.

The crowd was quiet as an old man in miners garb stepped forward with an iron bowl with fine black dust.

The Marking.

Drusilla rolled her eyes as the old miner held up the bowl for her part. She looked every bit disgusted as she pressed two fingers into the bowl and drew dark streaks across the mayor's cheeks who didn't flinch.

Then came Mrs. Donner and Merilee with no complain in their placid faces. And when it was Maysilee's turn, Drusilla scowled at the man holding the bowl. "This jacket costs more than your entire life!" She said in a high-pitched voice, disrupting the tension of the ceremony. "If a single speckle of that gets on my dress, I'll be sure to make you pay."

The old man blanched and stepped aside.

Maysilee who was watching the entire thing right in front of her had a murderous expression on her face.

Drusilla scowled. "Watch your eyes, girl." Then pressed her fingers to her cheek, harder than necessary.

As Drusilla dipped her fingers into the bowl again to mark the other cheek, something flashed in Maysilee's eyes as her face pulled back then sneezed, hard. Black dust exploded from the bowl and to the direction of the leather-faced woman.

Drusilla's face would have contorted in anger—if it wasn't pulled back so tight. It was such a peculiar sight to see a person struggle with emotion. "Oh, you fucking brat!" She raised her hand to strike but Wyatt was faster.

He caught her wrist. She looked at him indignantly. Fortunately, his commander spoke first.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, we must proceed."

Drusilla's nose flared and deciding that she was done, smacked the bowl and left. Maysilee smirked as she eyed Drusilla saunter off stage.

Since her streaks weren't done, Wyatt took it upon himself and gathered on his finger whatever left over dust there was on the bowl.

Maysilee for the first time since that night, finally looked at him.

His thumb settled on her jaw as he brushed his forefinger over her cheek, never once straying. Coal against pale skin.

He burned where their skins touched, and he could have burst into flames if not for the clearing of Scipio's throat as he recited the words;

"All prosperity begins in darkness.

And we prosper because the Capitol permits it."

The family followed suit in a haunting melody.

From here on, the Donners were on their own.

Mayor Donner went in first and after the sound of pickaxe on stone echoed from the tunnel, he emerged with a lump of coal which he placed on a waiting wheelbarrow. Then Mrs. Donner followed, then Merilee. Their turns went smoothly.

Wyatt could picture the scene clearly in his mind as he was there when they were reinforcing the chamber with timber. A small stone platform at the center that held a metal plaque bearing the Capitol seal and below, the districts annual quota.

Now it was just Maysilee left before the mayor and his family will raise their blackened hands and only then may the festival begin.

Maysilee's lamp flickered as she took the ceremonial pickaxe from Merilee. His chest tightened but he forced himself to calm down.

Every possible risk has been accounted for. Maysilee will go down there and emerge, just like the others.

Her eyes drifted to him for a fleeting second before the mouth of the entrance swallowed her, light and all.

His eyes strained from not blinking but he didn't want to miss even a fraction of a second.

A minute felt like a lifetime for Wyatt.

He'd counted the distance from the entrance to the chamber— 15 meters. It would take twenty seconds at most for her stature to walk. He released a breath he didn't know he was holding when a strike resounded.

But it was too soon.

Something was wrong. Wyatt knew the difference between a strike on stone… and something else.

He strained his ears, his heart rate increasing with every breath. A scream tore from the tunnel and in a split second, the Earth rumbled beneath them.

The sound tore through Wyatt like a blade.

Without waiting for orders, he ran. He left behind the scene of panicked people scrambling for safety and plunged into the darkness, just as the entrance collapsed behind him.

"Maysilee!" His shout was drowned out by the sound of another blast.

Wyatt held on to his carbine as he followed the lamps knocked on the floor and deeper into the tunnel. His blood ran cold when he saw them.

There must have been another tunnel in the room other than the one he came in, only revealed with a detonated bomb. But his entrance was blocked by timber and boulders. He set to removing the barricade but he could see a man in miner's garb stood ahead, face smeared with coal and fury. In the center—

Maysilee with the pickaxe gripped with both hands.

"I was hopin' it'd be your father," his voice echoed. "But his blood'll do."

Maysilee didn't shrink back and swung the pickaxe in a desperate attempt, but there was only so much distance she could make between them in the enclosed chamber.

Wyatt's blood pumped to his head as he worked in a frenzy, barely acknowleding the gash on his palm from a particularly sharp rock.

The metal head struck stone with a sharp clang when the man narrowly avoided it. And before Maysilee could reset her stance, the man gripped the wooden handle and wrenched it from her grip. The pickaxe clattered to the ground just as Wyatt managed to squeeze past.

"Enough," the man caught her wrist and in the same motion, pulled her back against him , one arm locking around her shoulders. In his other hand, a knife flashed in the lamplight. He pressed the blade to her throat, not cutting but enough to make his threat clear.

"Don't," he warned as Wyatt stepped into view with his carbine trained on the man.

He stopped a few feet away and took in the scene in a heartbeat— Maysilee's strained posture, the miner's trembling hand on the dangerously angled knife.

The man pressed it harder, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled to her necklace, tainting them red.

His face was stoic but the end of his rifle trembled slightly from fury, but the man must have mistaken it for fear.

"Steady now, officer." The man chuckled. "You sure you know how to use that?"

He cocked the end of the barrel dead-center on the man's chest. "Let's test, shall we?"

"I said drop it or the blood of this girl here will water the ground."

How fast could he pull the trigger before the man moves his wrist?

He met Maysilee's eyes who's breathing has steadied. Then she acted.

She twisted her head sharply down and bit on the miner's forearm who gasped in shock. His hold faltered just enough for her to drive her heel down on his boot at the same time and push him off.

Wyatt's chest swelled as he stepped forward immediately. With a swift movement, he knocked the knife off his hand using the barrel of his weapon, the blade skidding across the ground and into the darkness.

The miner stumbled back, clutching his arm.

"Enough," he said in an unwavering voice as he trained the rifle at him.

The miner hesitated and stepped backward.

"Hands in the air," Wyatt ordered.

His eyes widened at the sight of the bomb as he revealed his hands.

"No one leaves this place aliv—."

His threat was cut short when a piece of cavern roof collapsed, separating them both and forcing Maysilee and Wyatt back to the tunnel where the man came from. Rock and debris continued to rain around them as Maysilee bent to pick up a fallen lamp.

Coal dust streaked her cheek, and her neck glistened with blood, but she stood tall. And when she locked her eyes with him, he thought that she has never looked more beautiful.

In that moment, the line between duty and desire has blurred so much, but what difference did it make? He cared for her either way.

A roar of rage resounded behind them and his grip on the carbine tightened. Maysilee held onto the barrel firmly.

"You're not going back there." It was an order but he could have sworn her lip trembled slightly.

He slung his weapon and ripped off his inner sleeve, tying the strip of cloth to her neck as gently as he could. "I go where you go."

She let out a sigh but then her arms started to shake as her adrenaline wore thin and the shock started to set in.

His hand traced the makeshift bandage that covered her wound until he cupped her jaw and the other settled on her arm in an attempt to calm her shaking.

"I was… I could've been…"

Maysilee's hands move to hold the center of his chest, where his heart that was beating hard and fast mirrored her own.

"You did a good job fighting back."

Maysilee shook her head. "Still, if you didn't come…" The thought of that outcome was enough to make her hyperventilate.

He willed her to look him in the eye.

"I'll always come for you." He promised.

Her chest rapidly rose and fell with her every breath. And surrendering to his heart as he gripped the back of her neck, he descended upon her.

Maysilee's hands slid to his throat where it settled over the frenzied throbbing of his artery, pulling him closer.

When they separated, they were both gasping for breath.

It was impulsive and extremely reckless and should have been theirs alone, but the light that beamed into their faces revealed another peacekeeper who has seen more than enough.

They emerged just as the chamber collapsed behind them, burying with it the resentment and anger of just another person in their country's long list of victims.

The mayor reached Maysilee first as he pulled her into his arms, hands trembling as he checked her face for any wound before the sight of blood that seeped through the cloth around her neck made him gasp.

"I'm fine," she insisted though her voice was hoarse.

But the mayor paid her no heed as he gestured behind him to a physician, but not before Maysilee was hounded by Merilee and Asterid who's faces were streaked with tears, into a hug.

Maysilee was ushered into an automobile, flanked on both sides by her mother and father. She looked at him over her shoulder one last and it was after he gave her a reassuring smile did she allow herself to be led in the car. Unlike the last time, his lips were still warm from the memory of their brief kiss.

"Callow," he turned at the voice of his commander. "A word."

Cold washed over him as they returned to the base.

"You abandoned your post."

"The mine was collapsing," Wyatt replied evenly. "And wasn't my assignment to guard the mayor's daughter?"

"Not that time it wasn't." His commander retorted. "And you were not ordered inside. That is a strike one."

His commander's gaze sharpened and he knew what would be addressed next.

"You are also aware of the non-fraternization policy."

He paused before answering. "Yes, sir."

"Peacekeepers aren't allowed to form any personal attachment as it compromises judgment." His words were clipped, as though he was reading it off a script.

“You entered that mine without authorization. You engaged an unstable hostile.” The commander’s voice remained controlled. "And you expect me to believe that your actions were unaffected by personal feelings?"

He didn't argue because he knew that it was all true.

Commander Scipio has seen it too and sighed heavily. "You are not to feel." He reminded Wyatt. "You are expected to act within command structure. The moment you allow emotion into the equation, your loyalty to the Capitol is compromised."

He extracted a thin file from underneath his desk and the sound as it slapped on the table cut through the air.

"You will be transferred to another district. Effective immediately."

His breathing faltered at what he heard.

Compromised. Transferred. Immediately.

"Consider it leniency." He leaned back on his chair and his gaze softened, to what almost looked like pity. "You're smart and efficient, Callow. You'll do better in another district away from… distractions. Someday you might even make Commander."

But it fell into deaf ears as Wyatt's mind raised a thousand thoughts per second.

Compromised. Transferred. Immediately.

"Psst. Wyatt." His gaze snapped to Marcus on the doorway as he packed his meager belongings. Fatigues, spare clothes, winter overcoat… and the ribbon he would absentmindedly rub in his pocket sometimes. The edges were fraying but he couldn't let it go.

"We're headed to the Hob for a drink. With the things that happened today, goodness knows we deserve it." Marcus said.

"I'm not in the mood."

"No worries. I wasn't inviting you." Then as he was leaving, he turned back to Wyatt. "Oh, and by the way, there's a package for you near the garage."

Wyatt frowned. "I don't think that's mine." The president himself would acknowledge him first before his pa ever reached out to him.

"Wyatt," Marcus said again, firmer this time. "Go. Get. Your. Package." Then he winked and was out before he could even argue.

He grumbled as he walked to the garage, but willed his legs to move faster.

Wyatt's steps faltered when he saw the figure with their back to him near the door. But he would know that shade of blonde anywhere.

"Maysilee."

At the sound of her name, Maysilee faced him.

She matched his stride and in no time, they're wrapped in each other's arms.

"Are you okay?" Wyatt asked when they pulled away and he touched the bandage around her neck. "You shouldn't be here."

"Your friend Marcus, he told me that you're being sent away." She pursed her lips in a thin line. "Tomorrow."

Wyatt always thought that he never formed any camaraderie with any of his comrades, so he was surprised to hear that it was Marcus who told Maysilee of the news. It was another stone that would weigh heavily on him when he leaves.

"Were you really just going to leave without seeing me?" Hurt was written all over her face as she said it.

Wyatt looked away. "I though it'd be easier… for us both." Because he if saw Maysilee, he feared that he might do something reckless again and never leave—even if it costs him his life.

"They're sending you away because of me."

He shook his head and smoothed the little braid that adorned her hair. "No, it's not you. It's because I broke protocol." He replied with a calm voice but his abdomen tightened from hurt.

She stepped closer, until they were close enough for him to feel her warmth. "And if it happens again…?"

"It won't."

No because he wouldn't choose her again, but because he wouldn't be there.

"But would you do it differently?" Maysilee asked. "If you knew the outcome?"

He didn't even pause. "I would do it all again, in a heartbeat." His answer stole her argument from her and her eyes shone. "I was trained to be objective and I achieved just that. I have no complaints. Except that—"

His eyes shut. "—except that, I wish I could have been with you longer."

Maysilee pulled him by the lapels to connect her lips to his.

"Be with me then," she muttered against his lips. "Just tonight."

He didn't refuse.

They walked deep in the meadow until they reached a cabin near a lake. In his entire time there, he didn't think that such place existed.

"This is where I used to go whenever I needed a place to hide," she explained as she held his hand. "Nobody actually knows who owns this, my friend Asterid's boyfriend says it was free to use as long as we don't take anything."

He also learned that Asterid was the reason why Maysilee was at the Hob the first time they met. They have snuck out to drink for some release from their usual lives.

He chuckled at the memory of her kissing him in a drunken fit before she threw up on him. He had to kiss away the mortified look on Maysilee's face as they recalled the memory.

It was still too risky to light the fireplace but it was tolerable enough as they snuggled underneath a pile of shared blankets on the sofa with Maysilee settled against him as she unbraided one of her necklaces and weaved them around his coin.

He rested his chin on her shoulder with his arms wrapped around her as he watched her work. He could tell that something was bothering her when she released another sigh.

"That was the seventh time this hour," he noted. "What's wrong?"

Maysilee shifted to face him.

"Wyatt, I…" she turned her head away to face the unlit fireplace.

Wyatt had to tilt her face to meet his gaze with tears lining her eyes.

"Arnold Lipp."

At his confused expression, she explained. "Arnold Lipp has asked my pa for my hand in marriage. It was why they came to fetch me on the morning of the blizzard."

His heart shattered then. He was aware that arranged marriages still happened, especially for merchants to make sure that the business stays within their class. But he never thought that this applied to the Donners too. Especially to Maysilee who never seemed to be swayed with conformity.

"It was why I haven't left the house— and also because I was still sulking from your answer."

"I never meant any of that," he said.

"Yes, I know that now. But what difference would it make? You're still leaving and I'm being auctioned away to a person I barely know."

He wiped the her tears and kissed her forehead to soothe her despite the crumbling of his heart.

"Should we just run away?" Her breath was warm on his chin.

"What?"

Maysilee pulled his face back to her. "Or maybe we should just stay here," she gestured to the cabin. "Grow old together."

They both knew it was futile, there was no place they could run to and they would have to return to their lives when day break came. But tonight, they could only dream.

Wyatt smiled and nodded. "Alright. Let's stay here."

She kissed him.

It was both slow and sad, each trying to memorize the feel of the other's lips. They shifted their position so that his back was to the sofa Maysilee was on his lap, her knees digging into the cushion on either side of him.

His hand wrapped around her waist as hers slid up along his collar until they rested on his shoulder. His eyes never strayed from her as if she might disappear, intending to imprint this memory in his mind; her constellation of freckles, the cupid's bow of her lip, how her eyes wandered over his face as she did the same…

"I love you," he said, he didn't think he could go another day without letting her know.

"Wyatt, you're going away." Her voice was almost pleading.

His grip on her hip tightened. "And I'll love you anyway,"

Maysilee descended on him and sighed as their kiss gradually deepened, like they had all the time in the world.

The world outside seemed so far away. No duties, no impending marriage, no orders waiting at dawn. Just Wyatt and Maysilee and the warmth shared between them.

Eventually, breath forced them apart.

"I'll wait for you," she mumbled against his lips. "I'll find someway to break free from my arrangement."

"That's almost two decades," his voice broke.

She shook her head softly. "Time will pass anyway."

Hope surged in him but he didn't know what to make of it, nineteen years was a long time and he couldn't let her wait that long.

"Maysilee," he tried to reason with her as he rubbed the small of her back. He would spend most of his life in service and there was always the possibility hanging over his head that he might get killed. "Baby, you don—"

"—I love you too." She declared, sucking out every fight from him. "And I don't care how long it is. As long as you promise me that you'll come back." She kissed him, hard. "Just come back to me."

Wyatt was a soldier and he knew when he was fighting a losing battle. His resolution crumbled.

"I will. I'll come back to you."

They sealed their promise with a kiss, long and drawn out, until time itself was irrelevant.

He laid back down on the couch with Maysilee on his chest as she traced the necklace she gave him.

"Something to remember me by."

The train departed at ten on the dot. There was a heavy feeling in his chest as he stowed his duffel before sitting on the same seat he was in, almost a year ago.

He studied his token weaved with a leather cord . He pressed it to his lips as he remembered the last thing she said when they made their final goodbye.

"Come home." She told him. "Come home to me."

Wyatt seared that promise into his mind's eye as the train departed from the station, leaving behind the only girl he's ever loved.

His girl from District 12, Maysilee Donner.

Weeks turned into months but Maysilee stayed true to her word and waited for him.

She received letters from him regularly once a month brought to her by Marcus. Wyatt has been assigned to District 4 and he wrote to her about what he did, though she could tell that he sometimes only shared the less dangerous stories about his job.

It took Maysilee sending him a long rant in letters to get him to talk. But he did, eventually. He talked about how he had a whole room to himself because his snoring has been complained so much. How they were served with so much fish he thinks he might grow scales. The weather, how you could taste the salt in the air just by sticking your tongue out.

Wyatt always ended his letters with 'I love you'.

She could tell what he was feeling just by looking at his penmanship, when he was excited, his letters tended to become squiggly as he rushed to write or the heavier press of his pen when he wrote his 'I love you's', like he was trying to imprint his feelings.

She wrote him about her everyday too, as much as she could fit in the paper back-to-back. She told him that she broke her engagement by making a deal with her pa that she would finally stop operating the sweetshop (but she has another thing in mind, she'll tell him soon)), Asterid and Burdock getting married, her father winning over most of the miners by managing to get his appeal approved to shorten work hours and raise wages. She told him that she found the family of the man that orchestrated the bombing during the Harvest Festival, Calloway Chance, he left behind a wife and four children.

Though she didn't tell him that once a month, she'd anonymously send a basket of supplies in front of their porch.

Three years later and the arrival of his letters became later and later, one every three months, then half a year. She overheard her pa about riots in District Four that keeps escalating in violence. Several peacekeepers were pulled out from District 12 and were sent to 4—Marcus included.

She stopped receiving letters entirely then.

One night, she woke up in cold sweat and her heart beating out of its cage.

She snuck in her father's office the following morning and caught a glimpse of the television; a dam exploding. People flying in the air like rag dolls. Something shiny hovering in the air from one of the peacekeepers with jet-black hair…

Several casualties, both civilians and peacekeepers with multiple still being accounted for.

She fell to her knees then.

Maybe it was the red string that connected lovers being cut, or the body of a peacekeeper with an all-too familiar build faced down and limp, unmoving and covered in blood—but it was then that Maysilee knew, something terrible has happened to Wyatt.