#burihal

move in day. ah've hud roommates before; ma brother, fir a start, friends from school oan a residential school trip fir a week back in leith. but this feels different. ah keep ma heid doon as ah cross the threshold ay the room. ah actually have quite a quiet step so when ah see the back of a heid sat at one of the adjoining desks in the middle of the room thit disnae stir when ah enter (note tae self, fuck this setup and, ah look aroond, tiny squat of a room), ah let go of the duffle bag in ma hands and roll ma backpack oaf ma shoulders oan the floor. thud. thud again. ah check ma smile is still oan and offir oot ma hand. start on the right foot, likesay.

— hiya. ah'm yir uh, yir roommate. mark. ah'm seein stars. please don't let this be some weird fucker.

' just so you know, i told henderson you were throwing up. ' she rolls her head against the brick over to him. her hair gets caught and she swats it back into place, then eyes up the notebook.

a boy goes missing in the woods⸻it's a story they're used to by now. he'll be known as a legend by his district but for only a year, until the unfortunate next has a chance at following his path, meeting death at the door. for only a second katniss can hear him running past her, feet carrying through the tall grass and spiny track between the trees, likely running around another experiment from the capitol. he can't be helped. she can't help him. it's now in the near distance, sure, but his screams of agony could be heard. it lingered and made chills run down the pained curve of katniss' spine, wanting tears to flood the baseline of her lower lids. she couldn't do anything to protect him. the boy was younger than her, that much she knew, could remember his face from earlier⸻was it a week ago? a month? she promised not to forget him once they were in here; maybe she's no better than the next, assuming his demise before he ever had a chance of proving himself. but she's knows how these games goes. the time has gone by and she's too exhausted to make peace with it. it's only a matter of time before the canon explodes. katniss is desensitized by now, her body won't shake from fear, the tears will fail to come. they're heavy - lidded now, full of exhaustion, she doesn't know how much longer she'll make it. 〝 peeta ﹖ 〞 they're teenage messiahs speaking prayers through the dimming glint their eyes, broadcasting their pleas to the cameras above. she looks up, sees the lens, assumes this may be it. she's a fighter, she knows better than to assume who is at her side is there to assist instead of hunt her down like cattle. his touch felt familiar, gentle. whatever he's saying she can't make out. maybe it's her own name, or an attempt to get her to run; maybe it's vital information. head cants, slowly and in fear, and she can make out the matted mess of blonde hair against his sweat covered forehead. she notices his eyes and hopes in her soul this isn't an hallucination meant to strike her down for good, she's came so far.     〝   ⸻ peeta﹖ peeta ﹗   〞 she has enough strength to grab onto him, one hand at his wrist and the other a bit higher, grabbing the material of his jacket. she can feel mud smearing against her fingertips.     〝   peeta.   〞

peeta catches her before her knees decide whether they're still interested in holding her up or not and for one awful second, he thinks she's looking straight through him. past the mud on his face, blonde hair stuck wet against his forehead, past peeta entirely and into whatever the arena has put there behind him.

' hey. hey, no... ' his voice comes quieter than he means it to, softer than a place like this allows. where everything that's worth hearing usually ends in a cannon. a hand catches her elbow and the other one settles against the back of her neck. ' it's me. ' peeta. again, louder this time, and something in his chest twists all painful and sore. ' yeah. ' a short-winded laugh escapes him, all relief, all nerves. ' yeah, you've got me. '

her fingers tighten around his wrist; mud presses beneath her nails. peeta doesn't try to loosen either hand, but his eyes are already elsewhere. over her shoulder. between the trees. the screaming has stopped so his body goes rigid, ears perking up as he listens. nothing but trees and shrubbery moving somewhere where a tribute wishes it wouldn't and the sound of both of them trying not to breathe too loud.

until a cannon tears through the arena. peeta's eyes shut for half a second. that's all the boy gets. half a second before they have to start surviving him. peeta's hand goes from her neck to her shoulder. ' katniss. ' he's already turning them, putting himself beside her rather than in front of her because of course she'd hate that. his fingers find hers for half a second, squeeze, then let go. they may have to run. whatever was chasing the boy could still be there, and peeta doesn't want to find out whether it considers two tributes better than one.

(he knows exactly whose face they will see in the sky tonight. the boy who'd run past them. the one neither of them followed. the one who'd still been alive while they stood here listening.)

peeta swallows. ' okay. ' it comes out wafer-thin. he clears his throat, eyes fixed on the trees.

' okay. ' there's no relief in the word. only the horrible knowledge that whatever was happening out there has finished.

rue lets out a short laugh that doesn't sound much like one at all but, hell, we'll go with it. ' yeah? '

she picks at the skin around her thumbnail instead of looking at jules. ' because people say shit all the time, jules. they say i'm here, then they leave. they say i won't tell anyone, then suddenly everybody knows. they say i love you like it's a weather report. changes every couple hours. '

wow, this seems accidentally charged. rue worries another strip of skin free and it stings when the air hits. ' people always mean it when they say it. that's the fucked up part. they're not usually lying. ' a humourless shrug. she presses the raw thumb against her lips and taste blood before wiping it absently against her hoodie. ' they just... mean something different tomorrow. '

peter blinks, dragged back into the room so abruptly it almost feels physical, like reality reached through the fog, caught him by the collar, and hauled him back into it before he could fall any deeper. ' yeah. ' his eyes find mj's again. ' i'm just trying to solve problems that don't exist yet. '

one shoulder lifts in an apologetic shrug, a ghosted crooked smile pokes it's weary head out and gives a wave. hi, my name's peter parker. or spiderman. or peter. or spiderman. or— well, i guess it just depends on who's asking.

' my brain likes to assume the worst case scenario's already halfway through happening. ' he lets out a quiet breath through his nose. ' so i start trying to get there first. map out every exit, every mistake, every version where somebody gets hurt. if i can just... if i can think through every possible way things could go wrong, then i might be able to finally catch the one that actually does, you know? '

' christ, we're not getting in that fuckin van again, are we? it stunk in that death trap. i'm not climbin back in there unless you provide a hazmat suit. ' survival instincts of a crayon by the way.

' friend ... pal. fuck, we get on. what more can i say? you want me to buy a dictaphone or something? ' valerie turns notably more intense. ' you want me to? '

— aye, awright. ah say it easy, but there's still thit wee smile pullin at the corner of ma mouth. wrong instinct. always the wrong instinct. somebody comes at me wi murder in their eyes an some broken part of ma brain decides the funniest thing in the world is windin them another quarter turn. like if ah can get somebody angry enough they'll forget whatever it wis they were feelin before. sometimes it even works.

she looks fuckin miserable.

heat's radiatin off the tarmac in waves. the car's clearly no goin anywhere. folk glance over as they pass, doin thit thing strangers do when they smell the trouble but dinnae want to have any part of it. ah've worn thit look before. the one painted on camille. that trapped-n-furious about it look, like the world's shrunk to the size of your own skull n every noise is somebody scratchin the inside of it.