Chapter Text
For a moment, when he woke up, he almost forgot what day it was. A warm summer day, sunlight dappling across the dust-coated windowsill, sending warm beams over his thin blanket. Songbirds in the nearby forest, waking up District 7 for another hard day’s work. The morning was quiet, the only sound being Suga downstairs preparing breakfast, perhaps toasting the remainder of the bread their Section Lead had snuck them a few days ago, when a few of them had stayed late helping drag the remaining blackwood logs to the transport vehicles to reach the weekly quota before curfew hit.
But then, lying atop the thin straw mattress across the room, Ryuu woke up with a gasp, a thin layer of sweat on his brow. Tobio blinked, and the morning haze was gone. It was Reaping Day. How could he forget?
He lay there for a moment, unable to say the usual morning greetings, instead exchanging a silent look with Ryuu before getting up and dressing. Reaping Day, according to the Capitol, was a festive occasion, the chance for one young man and woman, more like a scared and undernourished boy and girl, to participate in the Hunger Games and bring pride to their District. So it was mandatory to dress well. The best he had was a threadbare white shirt from his father, one of the few possessions left after the fire consumed their home and his parents.
“Breakfast!” Suga’s voice echoed from the kitchen, alongside the sound of the creaking front door on its rusted hinges opening and closing. Daichi was back. He had spent the night at his brother’s house, one of their sons had caught a bad cold, and the only medicine they could afford was the herbal remedies they could make from pine and plants scattered along the forest’s edge. But it was Reaping Day, so of course, he would come back to be with his own family.
Tobio quickly washed his face with cold water from the bathroom bucket, running a hand through his hair once before walking downstairs, sitting on a wooden stool that had always seemed to be missing one leg.
“Morning, Tobio.” Suga greeted with a smile, but today it didn’t reach the corners of his eyes. Instead, a warm mug of Birch tea and a bowl of rice porridge were placed in front of him, alongside a light kiss atop his head. Tobio wanted to greet back, but that same silence lingered within him, so all he could do was nod.
“Are Tadashi and Chikara awake yet?” Daichi asked, taking off his mud-trodden boots at the door.
“Just got them up,” Ryuu said, sliding into the stool next to Tobio. “Tadashi took a bit of persuading…” Usually that would be followed by a knowing shake of the head or an amused smile, but today’s solemnity took over them all, leaving a heavy silence in the air.
Tobio ate breakfast quietly, mind running a mile a minute. He was 15, and he didn’t know how many times his name was in the bowl to be reaped. After his parents died, he needed the Tesserae to get by until Suga and Daichi took him in.
Even then, there was barely enough to leave everyone with a full stomach twice a day, so he continued to take extra Tesserae when he noticed they were running low on flour and oil or other essentials. He tried to believe that the others didn’t know he had been doing it, despite the sad and oftentimes angry looks sent his way when their single kitchen cupboard was no longer bare. But nobody asked him about it; they couldn’t change what he had done, after all.
Suga and Daichi aged out of the Reaping 2 years ago, and Chikara and Ryuu would age out this year. Out of the thousands of names in this year’s bowl for male Tributes, it was highly unlikely that either of them would be reaped. He and Tadashi still had 4 years to go, including this one, 4 more years to fall under bad luck…
“Stop overthinking, it’ll be fine, like always.” Daichi ruffled his hair. “It won’t be any of you.” Tobio wanted to match the resolve in Daichi’s eyes, but the slight waver in his tone and the shadow over his eyes made him look away with a frown.
“Stop frowning, Tobio. Your face will get stuck like that, y’know!” Chikara greeted them, thanking Suga for breakfast before hastily eating his meagre portion. “Gotta look good for the cameras, after all.”
“Fuck the cameras,” he muttered under his breath, a smack to the back of his head soon following.
“Don’t say that out loud,” Suga scolded in a whisper, “you don’t know who could be listening. Especially today.”
“... Sorry.”
A squeeze to his shoulder told him all was forgiven, just in time for a pale-looking Tadashi to join them. But he clearly wasn’t hungry, and despite all the encouragement from Daichi and Chikara to get him to eat, all he could manage was a few mouthfuls of watery porridge and a sip of Birch tea. Never one to waste food, Ryuu finished the rest.
“What time do we have to leave?” Tadashi asked, not looking up from the brown water in his mug.
“Soon. You all need to get signed in, and you know that takes a while. Daichi and I will be right at the front of the adults’ section.” Suga assured, before he and Daichi went upstairs to get ready. Even if they wouldn’t be under the Capitol cameras’ spotlight, everyone had to pretend that Reaping Day was the celebration of the year.
“What if-”
“Shut up, Tadashi. It ain’t gonna be any of us, you’ll see.” Ryuu stabbed his spoon into the now-empty bowl, the dull thud of wood on wood extra loud in the sombre kitchen.
“But what if-”
“We’ve talked about this already,” Chikara interrupted. “We can’t think about it being any of us. It won’t. And if, on the minuscule chance that it is, we promised…” He paused for a second, throat bobbing before he took a sip of tea, “We promised that we wouldn’t volunteer for each other. We’re all too important helping out Suga and Daichi here.”
“It’s not like any of us has good odds anyway,” Tobio stated quietly, standing to wash his dishes.
Ryuu laughed. “Out of all of us, you have the best odds, and ya know it.”
Really, what odds did Tobio have? District 7 had only a handful of Victors, more than the poorest Districts like 11 and 12, but still nothing in comparison to the Career Districts 1, 2 and 4. All Tobio knew was how to climb trees, how to carry logs, how to avoid getting into trouble with Peacekeepers, and how to read. A luxury, that he was 15 and still in school, but nobody could win the Hunger Games by simply being able to read and write.
He was made for a life of logging and lumber, that’s it. To wake with the sun, to have eternal splinters in his hands, and work hard to repay Suga and Daichi for their kindness. That’s it. A nobody boy from District 7, who was bad at talking and worse at making friends, would never win the Hunger Games.
“Ready?” Suga asked, another attempt at a smile on his face, despite how white his knuckles were holding Daichi’s hand.
They get up, dishes placed in the sink to be cleaned later when they all return home for a blissful day of rest, having escaped the horrors of the Hunger Games for another year. Outside, the bright blue sky and fluffy white clouds mocked them, supporting the Capitol in their efforts to make the Games a celebration of unity and peace for Panem. Tobio glared at the clouds before a light shove from Ryuu had him joining the crowd of other families in their death march to the District Square.
Along the way, Shoyo showed up with his little sister Natsu at his side, for once his face grim as he spoke quietly to his just-turned-12 sister on how to behave during the Reaping. Behind them was their mother, face withered as tree bark, and Tobio couldn’t imagine what she must be feeling. Any of the parents. Tobio would never have kids, never.
“Alright,” Daichi’s voice cut through his spiralling thoughts. “Calm expressions, no crossed arms, and stick together.” He gestured to Chikara and Ryuu, then to Tobio and Tadashi. “We’ll see you in an hour.” He said it with such conviction, like he could force that belief into reality, so it was all Tobio could do to hug him and Suga before joining the line of 15-year-olds to check in. He barely flinched as they pricked his finger, his bloody red fingerprint almost a seal of death as he followed the flow of children towards the Pen. Said nothing as Tadashi’s hand gripped his shirt.
His eyes remained on the distant forest, following the treeline as far as he could see until bright lights flooded his view and the Capitol’s projection screens turned to life. The District 7 Escort appeared in hideous clothes as always. It looked like he tried to blend in with the trees, random strips of green and brown fabric covering his suit. To Tobio, it looked like someone had thrown up on him.
“Welcome, District 7! This year, we celebrate the 68th Annual Hunger Games!” The Escort clapped loudly, an embarrassing lone echo in the District Square.
“As you know, the Hunger Games are an important part of life in Panem! It is a time to celebrate the power of the Capitol and how it provides for all citizens of our wonderful nation! But it is also a chance for someone lucky to win power, glory, and eternal fame! Who will be the favoured Tributes from District 7 this year?”
The question lingered in the air, as if expecting everyone to share the same excitement and suspense as he felt. All Tobio felt was a slow numbness that enveloped his body, but he forced himself to try and focus.
The Escort droned on for some time before the usual video that explained the Dark Days and the vital nature of the Hunger Games was played, loudspeakers broadcasting the Panem Anthem throughout the District. The same video year after year. Considering the amount of effort the Capitol put into making the death of 23 children each year into a spectacle, they could at least update their propaganda.
“And now! Time for the Reaping! As always, ladies first!”
Tobio watched as the Escort headed to the glass bowl on his left. With a ridiculous flourish of his gloved hand, he dove into the overflowing collection of small, white paper strips. After some swirling and rifling, he pulled out a single strip. Whichever unlucky girl would be dragged into the arena this year.
“This year’s female Tribute from District 7: Yachi Hitoka!”
No. Tobio’s head turned to the section of the Pen where the girls aged 14 were all shaking and crying as they shuffled apart for a tiny girl with a blonde bob to emerge, walking with wide, glassy eyes to the stage. She jumped with a cry as two Peacekeepers came up behind her, making sure she didn’t run off. Tobio could almost hear how hard she was shaking.
“Well, come on up! What an honour you’ve received today!” The Escort flashed a too-white grin at Yachi, who did nothing to hide her crying as she looked over to her mother, collapsed in the arms of her friends.
“How do you feel?” The Escort asked, shoving his microphone in Yachi’s face.
“... I-” Yachi’s voice cracked as another wave of tears overcame her, as if she knew her death was inevitable. A small, frail, 14-year-old girl, sentenced to a cruel, lonely death.
Next to him, Tadashi was also crying, unable to hide how his heart was breaking at the sight of their friend looking so alone and scared. Tobio couldn’t comfort him even if he tried, his body stiff and mind numb as he watched the Escort walk to the glass bowl on his right.
“And now, for the boys!” As if eager to reap more agony and despair from District 7 for the pleasure of Capitol audiences, he gave another flourish before hastily pulling a paper slip from the bowl. His heeled footsteps echoed throughout the District Square, each one a death sentence for the unlucky Tribute.
“This year’s male Tribute from District 7…” The Escort grinned, finding pleasure in the held breaths in the Square. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as gloved fingers delicately unfolded the paper strip. Such a fragile thing, yet so powerful. Next to him, Tadashi was shaking all over. In the line in front, Shoyo was looking left and right, as if trying to memorise the face of every boy in District 7.
He could almost feel the tension reeling off of the 18-year-old boys a few sections behind, off of Chikara and Ryuu, who were so close to safety. He could feel Suga and Daichi’s eyes flitting between all of them in turn, hands clenched together, knuckles taught and white, eyes unblinking. And Tobio himself, he-
“Kageyama Tobio!”
… Oh.
He was going to die.