maddy 🍋

THE THUNDERSTORMS HAD been and gone, leaving behind a humid aftermath that made it hard to focus on anything other than the suffocating heat oppressing your senses.

Thankfully, your father hadn’t been around too much after creating bonds with the people down at the church, meaning he wasn’t there to police your outfits and tell you not to be so irresponsible with your dress sense.

Your mother never cared too much about that kind of stuff, she believed that it wasn’t up to other people to dictate how you want to dress, so when she suggested you wear a bikini for the day, you were only slightly taken aback.

She helped you tie the strings behind your neck and at the middle of your spine, smiling at the sight of you.

“You have a beautiful figure, honey.” She complimented, patting your shoulders lightly before leaving you to finish dressing.

You decided to pair the red and white gingham set with a pair of denim shorts and a white shirt as a cover up to wear whilst you walked to your chosen spot.

You would’ve been out in the fields somewhere, where only your mother or neighbours would end up seeing you, but still, you felt a little better about dressing modestly to get there first. Also, you were 99% sure that Alfie was lingering around today, having not had any plans and been ordered to make himself busy by his dad, and the last thing you needed was for him to catch you in your skimpiest outfit yet.

That would come with an endless amount of teasing you weren’t sure you had the emotional capacity to deal with. You knew he meant it all in jest, but sometimes you really questioned whether or not he found your lack of general life experience genuinely amusing.

You could already feel yourself getting overwhelmed and frustrated with the offensive heat by the time you’d gotten to your spot. With the tiniest amount of attitude, you threw our book to the grass and huffed excessively.

Taking a moment to glance around, you made sure that no one’s eyes were on you specifically (which was a slightly dumb move because you were the only one occupying the field) before reaching for the hem of your shirt and beginning to pull it up and over your head.

Immediately, you felt some relief by wearing less clothing, but the sun was still strong on your skin, which was deliciously soaking it up.

Taking your shorts off felt even better, because denim in this type of sweltering heat was never fun.

From his bedroom window, Alfie watched everything happen, and he could’ve sworn it all went in slow motion.

The gradual, teasing reveal of more and more skin as your clothing rose before falling to the ground was having such an intense affect on him, he had to sit down. Still at his window, sat on top of an old couch his father had given to him when you were redoing the living room.

The sight of you undressing down to a bikini that couldn’t have been anymore you was one hundred times better than any type of porn he’d ever consumed, and on top of that, it gave him a more visceral reaction too.

The bulge in his boxers was getting increasingly harder to ignore, especially when his print began showing through the fabric of his grey jogger shorts.

He was supposed to be helping his dad haul stuff around out the back, and he’d only come inside for a quick drink and change of clothes because his original t-shirt was soaked through with sweat, but now he was spending his time doing much more exciting things.

He didn’t want to be inappropriate, because he deemed you as this sort of sacred being that he didn’t deserve to touch, let alone think about in the manner in which he was.

The best thing was, was that he knew how you felt about him. That journal you’d left in the field a couple weeks ago had been retrieved by himself, and against better judgement, he’d read through your entries, growing more and more ecstatic as his eyes scanned over what you had to say about him.

Good muscles, attractive face and wanting to be lifted by him were just some of the things he’d managed to remember like it was the back of his hand.

In his mind, that bikini didn’t exist anywhere except on his bedroom floor. As much as it suited you, he couldn’t deny that the sight of you bare in front of him was better.

He tried to ignore it and hold back, he really did, but the fizzing bubble of need in his stomach was growing bigger and bigger by the minute. The longer he kept his eyes on you, the harder he got, and he didn’t have long until his dad came wandering and shouting at him to get back to work.

He allowed his thoughts to trump his senses, and hooked his thumbs into the waist band of his shorts and boxers, tugging them both down to his ankles.

The first stroke had him groaning in relief, his head tilting back towards the ceiling before he set his sights on you again; the slope of your back as you laid on your front, the curve of your ass, half covered by your bikini bottoms, and the length of your legs swinging back and forth. Occasionally, the ball of your foot would bounce off the meat of your bum, causing a rippling shake of skin that had him sandwiching his lower lip between his teeth and quickening the pace of his fist around his cock.

For a split second, he thought of you and what you would be like. Your hand replacing his, full of fumbling movements and unsure glances up at him to make sure you were doing it right, but whether you were or not wouldn’t matter to him, because it was you, and that’s all he had on his mind.

He thought of that dainty, gold cross that routinely rested between your collarbones, and the way that it might move if your breasts shook just a little too much. Or maybe you’d finally take it off for good. Whatever you did, it was guaranteed that he would enjoy it.

Thoughts of your mind swiftly transcended into thoughts of your mouth instead, and that was when he really found himself in trouble.

Normally he was quite good at concealing his pleasured noises, but this afternoon he was all grunts and groans as his hips bucked up into his fist.

He took the precum that was pearling at the tip and slid it down his cock, envisioning it as your saliva in a desperate attempt to cum quicker.

He was usually one to take his time and soak up the euphoric rush he got from pumping his fist back and forth, but he did have things to do, and you weren’t going to be lying there all day.

With a swipe of his thumb over his tip, rubbing it gently and groaning while picturing your tongue, he came into his palm, spurting over his fingers with a heavy breath.

Never in his life had he cum that quickly, at least not since he was a hormonal teenager. And although he was trying to finish as fast as possible so his dad didn’t question his extended absence, he still found himself shocked at how the thought of you was the cause of the premature mess in his hand.

On shaky legs, he stood, tugging his boxers and shorts up with his clean hand before traipsing into the bathroom to wash his hands.

It was perfect timing really, because his dad shouted for him then.

“Alf, mate! What you doing?!”

Shit, he cursed in his head.

He rushed back into his bedroom, grabbing a spare shirt and throwing it on before jogging down the stairs.

“Sorry, got caught up,” Alfie muttered through pants.

“Right, well, go and ask Reader if she knows where her dad wants the old food troughs being chucked.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf, son?”

“No, no.” Alfie shook his head, clearing his throat and nodding, “Alright, let me go ask.”

The thought of having to approach you after he’d just gotten off to the thought of you made his stomach churn a little, because on top of that, was the knowledge that you were laying in next-to-nothing, and most likely had sweat droplets rolling down the swells of your hips and breasts.

That was a sight that Alfie would surely collapse at.

You were blissfully unaware as he walked up to you, your mind occupied with the world of four sisters and their differing life stories.

A sudden ‘Oi!’ startled you out of that world, and back into reality, where the grass was tickling your skin and the sun was offensively shooting down onto your back.

Except it wasn’t anymore, because there was a large figure providing you with shade, his shadow looming over you.

You yelped, slamming your book shut and reaching for the shirt you’d worn out there, holding it to your chest to cover yourself, despite the fact that the very nude length of your legs were still on show.

He chuckled at your movement, but didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

“What you doin’ all that for?”

“Alfie …” You muttered, cheeks starting to heat up.

You were having a really peaceful day up to this point, and you didn't need him or his teasingly flirtatious comments to ruin that.

“You look good, I like the bikini.” He commented, eyes flickering over your body — or, what was on show of it. “It suits you.”

Why the heck did you have butterflies in your tummy running wild, and why the heck were you struggling so hard to form a response.

In the end, you managed to give a stuttered thanks, that only made his chuckling increase.

“Anyway, do you know where your dad wants the old food troughs going out? We got new ones in for the pigs so the old ones need chucking.”

“What?”

He was far too calm and collected for your liking, and here you were, starting to feel slightly ill just from talking to him in such an immodest state.

“Do you know—“

“N-No, I heard what you said, um … no, I don’t, sorry.”

He waved you off, “‘S alright.”

You gave him an awkward smile, the sight of him towering over you and looking down at you like this causing something within you to churn. It wasn't in your stomach, it was much lower than that, and quite frankly, you didn’t even want to consider the type of psychological effects he was having on you.

“What you reading?” He suddenly asked, choosing to sit himself down beside you.

“Um … Little Women?”

“Never heard of it.” Alfie laughed softly, “Wanna tell me what it’s about?”

As you spoke, you ended up lowering the shirt from your frame, leaving it to the side again. You picked up the novel again, turning to the page where there was an illustration of the four March sisters, and began explaining the differences in their stories.

His eyes were intensely zoned in on the side of your face, absorbing everything to said and hanging onto your every last word. If he was going to be completely honest, he was not nearly as passionate or intrigued by the story as you seemed to be, but just listening to you talk with so much emotion and fervor had the corners of his lips upturning.

“You’ve read this before then?”

“Oh, yes. Lots.”

“Why? If you already know what happens, why read it again?”

“Are you telling me you’ve never rewatched a movie or tv show?” You smirked, tilting your head at him.

A grin came onto his face, wide and sincere, “I mean, yeah, but books are a little different, no? You have to actually be interested in it to finish it. Shows and stuff you can just watch in the background.”

“I guess.” You shrugged before shoving the book in his direction, “You should read it.”

“Cheers, but I’m not a reader.”

“O-Oh.” You faltered, lowering your arm and leaving the book in your lap.

“Sorry.”

“Well, there’s a movie.”

“There is?”

“Mhm. It’s very good. We have it on DVD if you want it.” You hummed.

“Is it on Netflix?”

“Mmm … I think so? I don’t have it.”

Alfie gasped dramatically, “You don’t have Netflix?”

A giggle escaped your lips, child-like and innocent in a way that fulfilled a sense of nostalgia you were missing, “No, dad says we shouldn’t be paying for silly things like that when there’s real life people that need our money and help.”

Alfie hummed, “I suppose that’s true. Mature, as well.”

“Have you ever thought about being Christian?”

He shook his head, “Not really. I mean, when I was little, I thought about God and stuff, but … nah. Not for me, girl. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You ever thought about not believing? Atheism and all that?”

You thought about it for a moment and opened your mouth to reply before swallowing it down and shaking your head, “No. I grew up on it. God’s always been there for me.”

Alfie hummed, nodding as if he didn’t entirely believe you.

You looked away for a second, just to catch a glimpse of your dad’s car pulling into the dirt track leading up to your house.

You shot up at the sight, scrambling for your clothes and shoving them on, immediately feeling resentment towards them as the heat became unbearable again.

“You not allowed to wear that in front of your dad?” Alfie asked, wetting his lips with his tongue.

“It’s just that he thinks it’s immodest— which it is! But … it was too hot today.”

“Little rebel, ‘ent you.” He smirked, nudging your shoulder.

You smiled bashfully in response, tilting your head down and tucking your chin to your chest, until you perked up again at the sound of your name being called from a distance.

“Reader, come for dinner!” Your mum shouted for you.

As you stood, Alfie followed, still taller and towering.

“Um … I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, “I’ll come by once I’ve watched Little Women and let you know my thoughts.”

“Okay, but be nice, because it’s one of my favourites.”

He laughed heartily in response and nodded before watching you walk away, a look of longing and something else more mature.

Something that probably would’ve had you scrambling away like a skittish mouse.

A BLAZING FIRE crackled between you along with the silent knowledge that the entire arena was barren bar the two of you.

The grass beneath you was still a little damp from the harsh rainfall that had occurred just hours before, and you’d both laid your raincoats down as a protective sheet between your bodies and the mud.

The smoke from the fire floated high into the sky, polluting the twinkling of stars. It was a sign that your loneliness symbolised safety — to an extent.

You made eye contact with Arthur across the flickering flames, saying nothing but everything all at the same time.

There were a number of conversations that needed to be had right now, but neither of you were brave enough to start them.

Bravery.

That’s a funny thing.

Before these games, you would’ve said you were the bravest person to be a product of District Two, but now, you weren’t so sure.

Being face-to-face with death itself earlier, watching as Gauge held a blade to the neck of someone you’d surprisingly grown to care for deeply, really changed your whole perspective on things.

You didn’t know whether to regret your alliance with Arthur, or be grateful for it. Though he’d saved your life on multiple occasions over the past couple of days, he was also the reason you’d held yourself back. You should be the winner by now. You should’ve slid a knife through his gut when you’d first bumped into him and called it a day.

But you hadn’t.

And now you were here, sat across with him in the strangely intimate setting of a campfire.

Arthur’s lips parted with the preparation of speaking, and you could already guess along the lines of what he was about to say.

What do we do?

Do you have a plan?

Should we wait ‘til the morning?

All of which were questions you didn’t have an answer to, and that was a predicament you hated being in.

You were supposed to know everything, to have a strategy for everything, but now you were at a crossroads, where every possible option to the complication at hand left your heart feeling weak and your mind in a scramble.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked, a little startled by the different nature of his speech.

“What?”

“… Are you okay?” He repeated, “This is everything to you, no? Being one of the last two?”

Yeah, but not like this, you wanted to say.

You opened your mouth to reply but fell empty.

Settling with a light shrug, you tucked your knees to your chest, locking your arms around your legs and resting your cheek on them.

Because of this, your next words became muffled.

“It feels a little different.”

“Yeah,” He hummed, “It does.”

You didn’t even have to ask what he meant, because although he had never been as eager and driven to win these games for the same reason as you, you were now both in the same situation, and you wondered if you’d ever feel as seen as understood as you did right now, sat across from the boy who was supposed to be your enemy.

Then came the question you’d been dreading.

“What are we going to do?”

With a disgustingly weak whisper, you replied, “I don’t know.”

This was the most vulnerable you’d ever felt.

Nevermind bawling your eyes out sat on his lap after hallucinating awful things about your deceased brother, this moment right now took the cake.

There was something more heartfelt about this very moment that made crying in front of him seem like such a small moment. That was unwilling, you hadn’t meant to break down into such a state, but right now? Every word you said, every microexpression you made, it was all purposeful.

You could’ve lied straight to his face and told him that you had a plan, you could’ve told him that tomorrow you were going to suggest a brawl where whatever happened, happened. But you didn’t. You were laying yourself out in front of him and admitting defeat.

Part of you now didn’t even want to return home, because the embarrassment of having to face your father, after the disgrace you’d made of yourself within this week, was enough to make you willing to sacrifice yourself for Arthur to win instead.

“Well, we have to think of something.” He said, his voice just about audible with the fire crackling between you. “We’re the last two people left, right?”

“Yeah.”

“… Should we just wait it out?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean?”

“We just … don’t kill ourselves or each other. The gamemakers will send something after us eventually.”

Again, you shrugged, “Or we could fight each other.”

A light smile crossed his face, “You’d win.”

I know, you replied mentally.

“Okay, let’s make a pact.” His smile turned to a grin as he shuffled around the fire to sit beside you, “We let the gamemakers take us out. We don’t sabotage each other, we don’t betray each other. We just … help each other survive until the end.”

The thought ran through your head.

No alliances, kill everyone on sight, and never show any weakness; All of these rules that you’d conjured up and pledged to stick by before entering these games had flown right out of the window, so what was another one? The whole point of these games was to eliminate your opponent by whatever means necessary, and whenever you got the chance.

By agreeing to this pact, you were abandoning the sole foundation of the games, and what they meant to the Capitol.

With an appeased smirk, you leant forwards, sticking your pinky finger out in his direction.

A smirk that mirrored yours overtook his face as his eyebrows raised, “Pinky swears?”

“Uh, I’ll have you know that this is a very serious ordeal.”

Hearty laughter came from him, his face screwed up in amusement and his head tilted back slightly, causing you to giggle.

Arthur connected his pink finger to yours, hooking them together tightly.

It lingered for a while, even when you both pulled back, the memory of his touch still remained, like the tingling sensation of pins and needles, only this feeling wasn’t annoying, and you didn’t wish for it to leave.

Just as you went to recline back, the national anthem of Panem blared around you, causing you both to look up at the sky and take in the sights of the final dead tributes.

Elli, Gauge, Gadget, the girl from Nine, and the boys from Ten and Twelve.

You didn’t recall the canon going off for the girl from District Nine, so you assumed she must’ve died while you were unconscious, but a part of you felt a little disheartened. She had been the only one besides Gauge who had clapped for you when you conquered Arthur on the sparring mats during training.

Once the display of taken lives was over, you let your head rest back, lying on your side with your arm folded under your head.

“Reader?”

You hummed in response, turning over so you were facing him, peering around the fire.

“I … I really like you, and whatever … whatever happens tonight or tomorrow … I believe that you deserve to win. Truly.”

You smiled gratefully at his words, “Thanks, Arthur, but you deserve to win too. Your sisters should get to see their brother again.”

“And your family should get to see you again too.”

You clicked your tongue and tilted your head, “I think they could probably live with me.”

It went quiet for a little bit, grasshoppers chirping around you until he broke the silence.

“I couldn’t.”

You really and truly had no idea what to reply to that.

No one had ever been so open about their likeness towards you, especially not in a way where they professed their need to have you in their life.

Arthur was acting like you were his lifeline, like everything he had back home would fall apart if he was to lose you tomorrow.

You felt that he was being a bit dramatic, because to go back to normal would be easy. He would surround himself by his siblings, go swimming or fishing, cook crab for someone that might actually appreciate the delicacy, and he shouldn’t have to give you so much as a second thought.

You tried to laugh it off, “I think you could.”

He only shook his head, adamant and stubborn, “It would be hard.”

“Maybe. But you’d still be able to do it.” You shrugged before rolling over for good and letting your eyes fall shut.

It took a while for you to fall asleep, with the tension of what was to come and the knowledge that there was really nothing stopping Arthur from killing you in your sleep, but once you did, it was blissful.

He never woke you up, even when it was technically your turn to be on watch, and he kept his eyes glued to your sleeping form the entire time.

You ended up strewn out on your back at one point, and the licking glow from the fire illuminated your softened features.

The seemingly permanent furrow of your brows was gone, and along with it went the downturn of your lips. Instead, your face was relaxed. Peaceful. He appreciated the sight, because even when he had you asleep in his arms the night prior, your expression was still one of distress.

But this? This was new, and it was something he really didn’t mind getting used to.

If only there was time.

He knew that you were going to win.

Regardless of what happened during the day, you would win. He would make sure of it, and if you didn’t, he was going down with you.

Panem could live without a victor, but he couldn’t live the rest of his life knowing that he’d failed his number one goal of even being your friend in the first place.

The moment he’d seen the determined smirk on your face from being the selected volunteer to represent your district, he knew that he wanted your acquaintance. Not just because you could help him survive, but because you were intriguing.

Everyone else saw you on a surface level, but he was able to look deeper than that.

You weren’t stoney and cold to him. You were complicated, a rocky volcano with a heated, hidden core that no one had even bothered exploring. He had. Maybe not outwardly, but he’d been analysing every little bit about you for the past three days, and you were so much more than just an angry, head-strong woman with a thirst for blood.

You were brittle, and as much as you tried to shun it, you needed guidance in an emotional way. He had been happy to provide you with such, he just hoped he’d done so in a substantial way that you could rely on him for the rest of your life, even when he wasn’t there anymore.

Arthur didn’t remember drifting off to sleep, but he remembered not feeling anxious about it. Realistically, there was no need for him to be on edge. It’s not like another tribute could come out of nowhere and ambush your camp.

They were all gone.

He reclined next to you, not touching, but hovering near by.

He didn’t know why.

Maybe in case you needed him?

The memory of you clinging to him ever so tightly as your chest wracked with the heaviest sobs he’d ever heard was one he’d never forget, and he wanted you to know (subconsciously or not) that he was there for you.

You were startled awake by the sound of an awful, metallic, grating sound, and just as you came to, it faded into the most dramatic banging crash of your life. You hadn’t even had the time to think about or question the way your limbs were entangled with Arthur’s because your body moved on instinct.

Jumping up from the floor, you had your knives at the ready, head flicking around in every which way.

Looking around you, all you saw was demolition and destruction. The fortune tellers box had been smashed in, and the weird doll inside was set ablaze. Across the way, the cornucopia had collapsed in on itself, and just behind that, the drop tower had become a crumpled form of its original self.

It was astounding how much power the game makers had over just about everything.

You were 99% sure that if they wanted you dead right now, they could just light a fire at your feet and call it ‘fate’ and the Capitol citizens wouldn’t question a single thing about it.

Miraculously, Arthur had slept through it all, but you weren’t about to let him sleep through this.

There was a low, animalistic growling coming from the density of trees behind you.

“Arthur,” You hissed, kicking his back with your foot, “Arthur.”

He groaned, going to roll over, but you pressed your foot into his side, halting his movements and causing him to wake.

“Wha—“

“Stand up. Slowly.”

He did as you said, taking the sword he’d earned by disarming and killing Gauge into his grip and standing beside you.

The pair of you had absolutely no time to consider packing up your things before the growl became a roar and you were both taking off.

“What is that?!” He shouted.

“I don’t know, but keep running and shut up!” You yelled back, pumping your arms faster and faster, pushing yourself to your limits.

Your heart was thundering in your chest and your lungs were burning from the exertion put onto them.

The fact that you’d just woken up and were already running for your life was stressful enough, but you had another person to care for and check up on, because Arthur was quick, but he wasn’t quicker than you.

“Arthur, c’mon!” You exclaimed.

“I’m trying!” He heaved.

You tried to slow down, at least then if he got attacked you were close enough to be in range to help.

Surprisingly, you found yourself latching onto his hand and dragging him forward. Never did you ever think you’d be willingly touching him, but here you were, making sure he didn’t die.

You’d like to think you were doing it to save your own back and ensure that he wasn't a liability to your own life, but that would be a lie.

You really did care about Arthur, and to have him die in front of you, knowing that you could’ve helped, would be your worst nightmare.

Just then, he was snatched away from you.

His fingers flew from your grip, momentarily pulling you with him but the momentum of force on his body was worse. His back hit the ground with a dull thud, and you watched in horror as the biggest cat you’d ever seen, full of thick fur patterned with black stripes on an orange base, roared in his face.

You went to fire a knife at it, but you caught the sight of gleaming green eyes from the bushes and lowered your weapon.

Arthur was flailing for his sword, and just as he managed a hand on it, the tiger sunk its freakishly sharp teeth into his leg.

A loud cry of pain came from his lips, and just as he brought the sword down into its head, you shouted at him to stop.

“What do you mean stop?!” He screamed out. “It’s biting my foot off!”

“It’s a baby!”

“It’s not! Look at the size of it!”

“It’s mum is right there!” You screamed out, pointing into the distance.

“What am I supposed to do?!”

You looked around frantically, trying to find something, anything, that might help, but you were at a loss.

The attractions had become rumbled heaps of metal and scrap, so there was nothing useful within them, and you didn’t exactly have the time to scavenge around.

It’s mouth opened wide and frightening again, about to take its killing strike at Arthur’s neck, but at just the right time, he thrusted the sword up into its mouth.

Everything seemed to slow down as the tiger fell flat and limp to the side, Arthur’s sword sticking out of its head, akin to a unicorn horn. You felt your blood rushing in your ears, and your heart hammering even louder than that.

“Arthur, we’ve got to go.” You panicked, rushing to your knees beside him and hauling him up to the best of his ability.

There was a disgusting bite mark in his calf, large fang marks sending straight through his flesh, not to mention his bones were sticking out at completely wrong angles.

You wanted to be sick at the sight, but you had no time to waste.

That other tiger was about to pounce and avenge its child, and neither of you were in any type of state to deal with that.

“My leg!” He wailed, looking down at it.

“We don’t have time to worry about it! We need to go!” You snapped at him.

The stalking eyes of the predator moved around the foliage, sneaking through hidden gaps in the leaves, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. You held no doubt in your mind that its heart was weeping at the loss of its baby, and you in no way, shape or form wanted to be around for the lashout of that.

Arthur was hobbling, and if you thought he was slow before, he was at a sloth’s pace now. He leaned the majority of his weight on you, while whimpering and exclaiming every time he had to use his injured foot.

You couldn’t be angry at him, but that didn’t make the situation any less aggravating.

“Up the carousel!” You noted, as it was the only building that didn’t face the fate of obliteration.

The moment you reached the metallic disk, the tiger began bounding towards you both.

“Go go go go!” Arthur shouted, putting his hand out for you to have a booster.

“Arthur, how will you—“

“Stop wasting time, go!”

You didn’t want to leave him behind, but he was right.

The more time you spent arguing over who got to the roof of the carousel first, the less time you had to actually escape the problem at hand.

You gulped audibly, reluctantly putting your foot in the palms of his hands. He winced as he balanced his injured leg on the floor, and used his only well-working one to stand and push you up towards the sky.

With a grunt you latched onto the edge, using your upper body strength to haul yourself the rest of the way.

You ignored the pain in your hip as you landed awkwardly, and immediately dangled your front half over the edge, holding your hands out so he could be pulled up by you.

“Come on!” You exclaimed, eyes flickering between him and the swiftly approaching tiger.

As high as he could, Arthur jumped straight up.

Luckily for him, your reflexes were great, and your grip was even stronger.

A triumphant, but not cocky, smile took over your face as his hands latched onto yours and you began the intense effort of tugging him upwards.

You strained, making loud groans as you felt his heavy weight dragging your arms down.

“I’m pulling you with me.” Arthur realised, “Hey, let go.”

You shook your head adamantly, adjusting the way you were sitting so that your feet were planted firmly into the surface of the roof. However, it didn’t help that that surface was at a curve.

You let out a scream of frustration as you found yourself struggling to lift him.

This was your expertise.

Arthur was good at the aspects where your wellbeing was involved, you were good at the aspects where physical strength was involved.

So why weren’t you doing what you were supposed to?

If he could save you numerous times, you could do the same for him.

“Come on, Reader. Come on.” You whispered to yourself before tugging harder again.

You felt him pull up a little higher, making you gasp in shock and relief, but that’s when it all went wrong.

As another scream of pain came from him, so did additional weight.

You yelped as you nearly went over the edge, but thankfully your raincoat got caught on an uneven piece of structure, keeping you from toppling over.

The tiger had caught up to you, and had latched itself onto Arthur’s other leg.

“Reader, just let go!”

“No!” You shouted, trying to bite back the tears and will yourself to keep straining and trying.

“It’s okay!”

“I can do it!”

Arthur let out another shout of agony as claws lodged themselves into his back.

“No.” You sobbed, holding on loosely at this point.

You were no longer hauling his body up, but you were hanging over the edge, your hands still holding onto Arthur’s wrists tightly. He wasn’t holding yours back. He was ready for you to let go and seal his fate, but you weren’t.

You weren’t ready to say goodbye.

“Reader, you did it! You win!”

You wailed loudly, much like a toddler would do had they not got their own way, “I don’t wanna win! I wanna be with you!”

Arthur smiled sadly at that, giving you a little nod of acknowledgement.

You could barely make it out through the blurring of your vision, but it was there, and it stung harder than any words ever could’ve.

“Hey, Reader.” Arthur choked out, trying to swallow back his own blood, “Please let go. It really hurts.”

“I know but I can make it better!” You cried, “I can, I promise!”

He tried to wriggle his wrists free of your grip, but that was hard to do due to the searing pain in the rest of his body as the tiger used him as a human scratching post.

“Arthur, please.” You sobbed awfully, the sound of it catching in your throat, “Please, I don’t wanna let go.”

You sounded like a five year old.

Seriously, had you not been in this dire situation, you would’ve been utterly humiliated at the behaviour you were exhibiting.

“You have to. So you can win.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You hiccuped, “What about your siblings?!”

“Say hi to them for me.” He coughed, his own blood splattering out of his mouth and down his chin.

You stared in horror, mortified at the sight in front of you.

“It’s okay, Reader. It’s okay.”

Gradually and reluctantly, you let your finger slip free of Arthur’s.

At the last second, you tried to grasp on again, but it was too late, and he was falling through the air and clattering back onto the grass.

Instead of watching (like you had with every other tribute in this arena) you turned away on your hands and knees, dry heaving and trying to get your breath back, but all that was ringing in your ears was the sickening crunch of Arthur’s bones and the tearing of his flesh. He wasn’t shouting anymore, nor was he crying, but that didn’t make it any better for you.

That wretched canon sounded above you, and it was no longer a symbol of resilience and thrill for you.

You returned to that fresh position you were in just two days ago, with your hands over your head, clawing at your scalp while your knees were to your chest. There was nothing to slam your head against this time, and there was no need for it either, because this wasn’t in your head.

This was real life.

You’d just let your ally, someone you’d put all of your trust in, fall to his death, and even though you’d tried to stop it, you still felt at fault.

You should’ve held on for longer. You should’ve been stronger.

That’s what it was.

You weren’t strong enough.

All those years in extensive training and for what? For you to give up so easily?

A celebratory noise replaced the canon. It was loud and wind-chimey, sort of like something you’d expect to hear if you won an arcade game.

“You win!” A male voice exclaimed, clearly computer generated.

It was a mockery.

A joke made at your expense.

You didn’t want the money, and the power, and the glory.

You didn’t want to sit on a throne in the victory village for a year before someone else stole your title.

You wanted Arthur.

You wanted Arthur, the only thing you’d ever truly wanted more than to win these games, and it was that very thing that had ripped him away from you and torn him apart piece by piece.

Scrambling, you lowered yourself over the edge.

The tiger had disappeared.

To where, you had no idea, but that didn’t matter.

What was left of Arthur was a horrific sight, both legs mauled and chunks of his sides missing.

You broke down into harsh sobs all over again, curling yourself over his body and letting your tears fall into his skin.

“Wake up.” You cried weakly, “Please, Arthur, wake up.”

There was no response, as expected, though a part of you was silently hoping that your desperate pleas would will him to rise again.

“I can’t do it without you. Please.”

A loud whirring came from above you, and the trees in the stretching forest began waving and splitting to one side.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look, because it didn’t matter.

Nothing was more important than caring for Arthur right now.

Several footsteps sounded around you, getting louder.

“Ma’am, step away from the body, it’s time to go back.”

“No.” You sobbed, shaking your head, “No, I can’t leave him.”

“Ma’am—“

“Take him with us, please!” You shouted, finally looking up.

You could feel Arthur’s blood sticking to your face from where it had been touching his body.

“Please. We can fix him at the Capitol.”

The two soldiers that stood before you shared a look before one of them marched towards you.

“No, no, I can’t leave him.” You shook your head adamantly, “Don’t make me go!”

His arms wrapped around you from behind, hauling you up with ease and a strength you wished you had twenty minutes ago.

You screamed and kicked and thrashed in reluctance and disobedience.

What you weren’t anticipating, was for them to do something about it.

A sharp pain was felt in your neck, making you cry weakly and try to turn away from it.

In response, your body became drowsy, and your vision blurred even more so, not taking into account the tears that had accumulated as a result of your emotional agony.

The last thing you saw before your vision cut out completely was the blood staining your hands from Arthur’s body.

You never wanted to wash them.