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You first met Wyatt Callow many, many months ago after sneaking past the fence separating District 12 from the wilderness. You were acutely aware of the consequences, but you knew that they only applied if you were caught. Besides, the games were punishment enough.
The soft strums of a guitar pulled you in like a siren’s song that day. In a way, the chords were melancholy, doleful, and beautiful. You had never heard such a thing before, because nobody could afford a guitar in District 12, specifically the Seam's people. They were more worried about feeding their family. Immediately, you recognised this mysterious, guitar-playing person as Covey.
The Covey were a fascinating bunch of people, and many in 12 were in awe of their musical talent, including you. Some coveys even performed in certain parts of the district, in bars or at particular events. You distinctly remembered seeing one Covey girl, with a hint of red in her hair, play an accordion at a gathering.
You let your ears guide you through the soft grass of the meadow, where flowers and weeds tickle the skin of your legs. The wilderness stretched for miles, making the barren land of District 12 seem minuscule in comparison to its beauty.
A boy with dark hair and a soft face sat there in the field, his fingers plucking at the strings of his wooden guitar. He looked almost ethereal. His body was framed by the floral accents, and the green, dark eyes focused on the music, and the afternoon sun was casting him in a breathtaking light. His size was fairly average, but his body was definitely defined. You assumed he was forced to work in the mines, like many of the boys in this district.
He was dressed in a fitting, white button-up with a black vest on top, and he had brown pants on. The sight confused you at first, because the Covey were associated with bountiful amounts of colour in their clothing. Maybe you were missing something.
In short, you were in awe. You were half convinced that you had stumbled upon a celestial being with a remarkable talent for music, or maybe you had died, and this is what heaven looked like.
Your presence did not go unnoticed, however. The boy’s head snapped around at the sound of your boots crunching the grass below, and the sound of his guitar halted. You immediately snapped out of your trance, eyes going as wide as saucers.
"Hi…" you had muttered, heart racing in anticipation as you were caught red-handed.
He stared at you for many moments, his expression difficult to read.
"Hi," he finally replied, eyes barely meeting yours.
You two stood there awkwardly, unmoving like deer caught in headlights. The silence was deafening, and you felt your embarrassment growing by the second.
"You're very good at that," you stuttered out a compliment with a bashful smile, brushing your hands over your too-tight pants. You were desperate to draw attention away from how odd and unrefined you seemed. That would not be a very good first impression. Suddenly, you were painfully aware of your dishevelled appearance. Sneaking out was not a walk in the park.
The Covey boy stared at you in silence before a faint smile crossed his face.
"Thank you." He nodded his head. "I'm Wyatt." He introduced himself quietly, not making a big gesture out of it as he smoothed his fingers over the strings of his guitar. Maybe he was nervous too, you thought; that would make two of us.
It was safe to say that after this, you two had grown very, very close. from sneaking into the meadow together to Wyatt even teaching you to play his guitar. With your time knowing the boy, he had always been the kind to keep to himself. He never opened up fully to anyone before you came about. He told you all about the covey and how he learned music. He even told you old folktales and stories about other Covey members.
There were some things he was rather hesitant on telling you about, though. Whenever you talked about the Hunger Games and the past victors of District 12, Wyatt's expression almost seemed… mournful. You could only wonder what he was thinking.
Currently, you are sitting between his legs on the grass, his instrument in hand. The wood of his guitar was engraved with small carvings of animals and flowers, which seemed to be painted over with bright colours. Wyatt's hands were placed over yours, guiding your fingers on where to strum and pluck correctly. You felt the weight of his body pressed against your back, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t distracting.
You played a somewhat coherent chord with his help and glanced over your shoulder to look for Wyatt's approval. A small, proud smile appeared on his face, yet he continued to adjust your fingers here and there. His hands were larger than yours and quite warm. His fingertips were calloused from what you assumed was the guitar’s doing, but they felt so soft against yours at the same time.
"Try again,” he urged you quietly, dark eyes flicking to yours. You held his gaze for seemingly too long, because he looked away shyly after a moment. The sight of that amused you.
Resisting the urge to grin, you turned your attention back to the instrument and ran your fingers over the strings, producing a much prettier sound this time.
"I understand why you do this now,” you chuckled, turning your head to look at him again. Now, however, he was already looking at you.
"You're already better than me,” he joked with a low tone that made a shiver crawl through your body. He always kept his voice below a certain level, as if restraints were put on his volume.
You shook your head and laughed, turning your gaze towards the guitar. "No way,” you protested.
Wyatt didn’t answer immediately and instead just stared at you. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes flickered down towards your lips before he looked away completely. Your heart picked up in speed.
On a whim, you lean closer to the dark-haired boy. Your lips were now just a hair away from being pressed together.
However, Wyatt flinched back a few inches. You immediately felt the guilt come rushing in. Maybe you were under the wrong impression; maybe he didn’t truly feel the way you did towards him. Maybe all of this was under a friendly gaze. maybe he-
Your thoughts were quelled with the soft press of lips against yours.
The kiss lasted for a few seconds before you both pulled away, almost at the same time. The two of you looked at each other with wide eyes and flushed faces. Wyatt was the first to move, ducking his head down and clearing his throat.
His guitar lay forgotten on your lap as you moved your head to kiss Wyatt again. Your hands cupped his cheeks, thumbs swiping over his skin gently. He kissed you back, his hands planted on both sides of him awkwardly.
When the two of you moved away from each other again, you both returned to the staring-at-each-other-and-saying-nothing state.
"Was that okay?” Wyatt muttered. A slight shiver escaped your body as you nodded your head. You could still feel his lips on yours, as if he were still kissing you, and it was making your head all fuzzy.
You turned your body back around to your original position, facing away from Wyatt while holding his guitar. Your fingers never touched the strings again, but you needed an excuse to hide your blushing face.
Wyatt leant forward and rested his chin on your shoulder, his brown eyes fluttering shut as he basked in your warmth. He looked almost peaceful like this, like he was years younger than eighteen.
In this moment alone, you found yourself appreciative of Wyatt's guitar—because without it, you never would have heard those chords echoing through the meadow, which led you to him, and you most certainly would not have had the opportunity to feel his lips against yours.
Wyatt suddenly moved to retrieve his guitar from your grasp. You were confused at first, watching him closely as he adjusted the instrument in his lap. You turned yourself around to face him as he began to play a soft opening chord.
Your eyes lit up as you recognised the song he was playing. The hanging tree, he called it. It was one of your favourites to hear him play. You've heard the song hummed and whistled around the streets of District 12, and you even began to learn the lyrics yourself. However, hearing Wyatt sing was much sweeter.
His voice was deep and rich, like the dark chocolate you were only allowed to have on special occasions. You couldn’t help but lean closer to the boy as he sang, hanging onto each of the lyrics as they flowed from his lips.
Once he strummed the final chord and ended the song, you grinned widely and clapped.
"You sound better every time I hear you,” you teased, hands clasped in your lap as your applause died down.
Wyatt smiled sheepishly in return and tilted his head down. "Thank you,” he replied softly.
You both sat in silence after that, letting the mockingjays above repeat Wyatt's song over and over again. Your chin moved up towards the sky, watching the birds fly overhead.
When you looked back down, Wyatt was already gazing at you, but he didn’t glance away this time. Instead, he gently placed his guitar besides you both and leant in for a kiss.
You returned it as soon as his lips met yours. The kiss was much longer than before, and Wyatt had finally mustered up the courage to put a hand on your knee. His thumb gently stroked the fabric of your pants as his lips moved with yours simultaneously. The way he kissed you, the way he caressed you, it was all so gentle—like he was protecting a small animal.
Wyatt's hand, the one not on your leg, came up to cradle your face. He pulled you closer to him, craving your warmth and everything you had to offer. You had no idea how much and how long he has wanted this.
When you broke apart, you two took another period of silence to stare at one another. He looked at you as if you had hung the moon and the stars yourself. You couldn’t believe how vulnerable he seemed.
Looking deep into Wyatt's dark eyes, you were sure that you were right where you wanted to be. deep in the meadow, side-by-side with someone who was truly worth keeping.