#ilguna

There has never been a more disappointing moment in your life than watching yourself get reaped for the Hunger Games a second time in less than a decade. Only this time, it was for a Quarter Quell. Which was destined to be your own personal hell.

The way your lips pulled up in disgust at the sound of your name, not at all amused by the Capitol’s antics. When you looked off, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of making eye contact with the camera, your face had been reflected back at you, due to a projection on a nearby building.

It was highly gratifying to know the entirety of Panem would see the irritation, and they’d never be able to edit it to make your reaction some other way. Even if they were to try and cut your expression out later on if you were to win, it would never fit. 

You barely got reprimanded for it after. All your escort had to say was that it wasn’t very lady-like. As if there was a more graceful way to take the news you’d be fighting for your life again. You couldn’t help it when you asked her what the appropriate response would’ve been. Should you have thanked her?

She didn’t give you an answer, either because she couldn’t think of one or she knew if she were in your shoes, she would’ve broken into tears the moment her name had been called. Especially since she knows what it entails and just how brutal it can be.

From then on, you did your best to steer a wide path from her for the rest of the Capitol week. The last thing you needed was her correcting manners, when you could be dead within the next two weeks. 

The week was far from what you thought it would be, not that you were expecting it to be easy. You knew there would be a lot of familiar faces, but it took until the Tribute Parade for you to realize what you were dragged into. You had to interact with other victors as a tribute that you’d met as a mentor. Several of your friends found themselves in the same position you were in.

Not to mention, your boyfriend had been reaped, too. 

Finnick couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears that followed. When you saw the way the stylist had dressed him for the Capitol—you were inconsolable. He thought it was because you were scared, causing him to swear up and down he would protect you. When really, you were terrified if you’d make it out alive without him, and you’d be forced to live with his ghost.

The Capitol had you trapped, something they were never able to do before.

When you were announced the winner of the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games, you promised yourself you’d never let the Capitol get the best of you. If you could control it, you’d always stay one step ahead, sometimes two if you could manage it. It’d worked out so far, right up until that point.

You were sixteen when you won, and seventeen when you returned for your first year of mentoring. President Snow tried to negotiate a deal with you, but you’d already heard the rumors of what it meant. All the victors back home in Eleven warned you about what he would want from you, what it would mean going forward.

They weren’t wrong, and while you were ready for everything he had to throw at you, it was hard to keep a grip on your future. He threatened your family, only for you to tell him most of them had died due to the illness that was going around. Anyone still alive wouldn’t be for much longer.

He threatened your friends, all of which you’d lost following your Games. As glorious as the victor life is in the Career districts, it’s less so in District Eleven. And while the whole year of rations should’ve lifted a lot of spirits, it hardly worked in your favor. There weren’t a lot of congratulations to go around.

So, President Snow threatened your life.

You stared him in the eye as you gave him a shrug, telling him he was more than welcome to give it a go. Your quality of life had significantly decreased already, what else could he do? 

Nothing. Nothing was the answer. 

It was probably the first time a tribute has ever pulled one over on the president without having their hand slapped immediately after. Seeder was convinced he’d have something coming for you, but you were left alone. Maybe it was because he knew the Quarter Quell would be coming, and he’d have you then.

Well, he was right. The wishful thinking that you’d be able to escape them forever worked for a handful of years. As time grew on, it became harder to keep it that way, and when the Quell had been announced, you gave it up altogether. President Snow knew it was a matter of time before he’d get you under his thumb. And he had you good. 

The arena has been and always will feel like it’s targeted at you. You’re sure everyone thinks the same when they rise out of the podium, but your misfortune so far has been immeasurable compared to the others.

The jungle was no exception. 

You tried to regain your footing when it came to being a step ahead, by remembering how deceitful the arena had been for Haymitch. You figured it would be the same way, just by looking at how the arena had been sectioned out. 

The concentric circles seemed purposeful, with the way it had been the Cornucopia, the water, the beach and then the jungle. The only part that didn’t make sense were the twelve spokes that shot out from the center, but you shrugged it off, thinking the Gamemakers needed to add ground for the tributes who weren’t strong swimmers. 

The lightning, fog and monkeys should’ve been your clue as to what was happening, except you were too busy fighting for your life to be drawing up theories. So you can imagine your surprise when Katniss announced the arena was working like a clock, and that’s what Wiress had been attempting to communicate the whole time you’d reunited with the second half of the alliance.

It made sense for the next couple hours, the group of you had gone to the center to see it all play out. Then the Gamemakers spun that goddamn Cornucopia, confusing you all again. None of you had any idea on where to go, so you took a gamble on one of the spokes and decided to wait on the beach until one of the hours gave away what time it was.

At some point during this period, you thought you’d check out the jungle while you found a place to relieve yourself. Finnick wanted to go with you, but he got pulled away by Johanna when she began to argue with Katniss again. You promised him you’d be careful, and went off.

You don’t think you made it twenty feet in before you were swallowed by the dirt. It was as if you stepped into quicksand, only it was dry and you sunk much faster. You barely managed a scream before you were breathing in the jungle’s dirt. 

It felt like you were stuck in the ground forever, trying to claw your way out, holding your breath, but it couldn’t have been longer than a minute or two. By the time your hands broke the surface, Finnick and a few of the others were there, searching for you. As soon as you’d been spotted, they tugged you out and several feet away from where you’d been eaten.

You were choking on dirt while gasping for air, feeling the crunch of the soil between your teeth, the way it stuck to the back of your throat. You couldn’t help it when the first sob came from you, tears washing away the filth that was stuck in the creases of your eyes.

Finnick held you, rocking you as you cried into him. You couldn’t stop, you knew if they’d shown up a few minutes later, you’d be dead. Just another victor to be remembered but never forgotten. Anyone would’ve reacted the same way you had, even Johanna.

However, if you knew President Snow would capitalize off this moment, you never would’ve shown how vulnerable it made you. You would’ve just shaken off the experience and pushed through.

Instead, Snow exploited it. 

It was planned that at the end of the third day in the arena, what was left of the rebel alliance should meet at the lightning tree. Whoever was left in the area after the arena exploded would get rescued and brought to a safe place. The main goal was to make sure Katniss was there, since she’s the face of the rebellion. Everyone else was expendable. 

It worked out fine in the beginning, but the plan went to shit when what was left of the Careers tried to attack you, Johanna and Katniss while you were executing Beetee’s instructions. The three of you got split up, and while you were off fighting Enobaria, the arena went black, which meant the hovercraft would be appearing at any moment.

When you did get to the tree, it was far too late. The hovercraft had come and gone, and you were left to fend for yourself. You found you weren’t the only one left behind, because Johanna and Peeta showed up shortly after, accusations flying everywhere. 

It didn’t matter what you had to say to either of them, because you all wound up in Capitol custody. And all the pent up anger Snow had been containing was released on you for the next couple weeks. 

It was a good thing the rebels from District Thirteen rescued you when they did, because you were beginning to crack. Just a few more hours and you’re sure you would’ve started telling the Capitol anything and everything they wanted to hear—even if it would’ve been lies.

You’re just glad the people of Thirteen have been understanding of your situation so far. They’ve been so patient when it comes to interacting with the refugees—a bulk of them coming from Twelve. From what you heard, it’s been flattened by the bombs from the Capitol, following the abrupt ending of the Quarter Quell. 

You’ve slowly started integrating into their lifestyle after being in the hospital. The head doctor has finally allowed you to move into a compartment with Finnick, which means you have free reign of the building. You’re returning to normalcy, even if it’s taking forever.

Your favorite part about your newfound freedom is that you’re able to sit at a table with your friends, again. You never thought you’d be able to enjoy their presence after what happened in the Capitol. But it seems as if the doctors don’t care about the intermingling of the victors.

“How was your time in the Capitol?” Peeta asks you, stone cold serious. “Did you enjoy it?”

Although, maybe they should.

You stare at him for a long moment, not sure how you’d like to respond. You didn’t know Peeta super well prior to the Games, but he was always courteous in passing. If this is how the Capitol has left him, you can’t even begin to think of what they might’ve done. 

You’ve noticed that he’s lost his sugar-coating. Everything he says seems raw and unfiltered, which you can come to appreciate in the future. As of now, he needs to be reminded that sensitivity isn’t a weakness, even if the Capitol has taught him otherwise.

“Did you?” You shoot back at him. “I distinctly remember you crying for your mother, but maybe I’m mistaken.”

Peeta lets out a short laugh, a half-smile on his face. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about the Capitol so soon.” Finnick interjects, reaching over to rub your back. He raises his eyebrows, expression gentle as he watches your face. “It’s not the greatest subject.”

“Why not?” Johanna asks, mouth full of food. “Peeta and I can talk about it, right?” She nudges him with her elbow. Peeta gives a mechanic nod, causing your face to twist. “We’ve come to grow as best friends.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Peeta murmurs, looking away.

“Johanna, don’t tease him.” Finnick tilts his head. He stops rubbing your back, instead moving to hold your hand to squeeze it.

“I’m not.” Johanna says simply. “Would you rather me tease (Y/n)?”

“No.” He tells her, tone hard.

“Yes, absolutely.” You nod. “What do you have for me?”

She eyes Finnick, gauging whether or not it’s worth what Finnick will do to her. She must decide it isn’t, because she crosses her arms and leans forward onto the table, shrugging her shoulders. 

“Oh, come on.” You groan. “No snark? You’re going soft on me.”

“I would, but I’m mildly afraid of triggering Peeta in the process.” She says.

Peeta rolls his eyes, which is so unlike him that you can’t take your eyes off of him. 

“Okay, fine.” Johanna says. “Why do you always have Finnick walk in front of you? You never hold hands and walk side by side anymore.”

You look past her to the concrete ground, and all you picture is the ground opening up, a dark pit waiting for you underneath. It’s pretty self-explanatory on why you act the way you do. You thought she was more observant than this.

“The arena.” You tell her. “The sixth hour.”

“That’s it?” Johanna asks. “You let the jungle get the better of you?”

Finnick clears his throat, shaking his head at her. “Was the blood rain easy for you?”

“It’s not that the jungle got the better of me. Do you know what it’s like to be encased in dirt?”

“I do. We currently are.” Johanna waves her hand in the air.

Your face twists, eyes squinting at her. “What do you mean?”

She opens her mouth, raising her eyebrows as if it’s obvious. “Where do you think we are?”

“District Thirteen.” You say, not getting it. “Where else would we be?”

“Are you fucking with me?” Johanna asks. 

You two stare at each other for a minute. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Johanna. What do you mean we’re encased in dirt?”

“District Thirteen is a bunker.” Peeta tells you plainly. “Everyone knows that.”

No—no, not everyone knows that. You didn’t know that. You’ve been underground this whole time? You thought… you thought that Thirteen was just some building hidden in the woods, too far for the Capitol to reach. You never would’ve guessed it’s a bunker.

You can feel your heart begin to beat in your chest, room elongating due to the new information. You grip your silverware tightly in your hand, knuckles turning pale, swallowing hard.

“(Y/n)?” Finnick asks, trying to pull his hand free.

Your hands pop open, fork clattering against the metal table, fingers beginning to shake. You’re going to get trapped down here. The bunker could explode at any moment. It’ll be much harder to escape a cement chamber than it was to crawl out of dirt.

You can feel the air rapidly passing between your lips, a hand placed on your chest, which seems to grow tight with every passing breath. 

“Honey, breathe.” Finnick tells you, combing your hair out of your face. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ll never get out.” You gasp, shoving your food tray away from you.

You suddenly get to your feet, tripping when you try to step over the bench. You find yourself staring down at the floor, the same one that was opening up earlier. The only thing holding you up are your hands and knees, which are shaking so hard you can’t even see straight.

“(Y/n)!” Finnick shouts, sounding drowned and faraway.

Your hand forms a fist, which you slam against the ground, as if it’ll let you out of the nightmare. You’re stuck, though. You’re back in that box, body twisted in awkward angles to let you breathe, staring into the pitch black—into the unknown.

“Let me out!” You scream, bending your arms to push off. Nothing moves. Nothing ever moves. They won’t let you out, not until they’ve decided you suffered enough. You could be here for the next ten hours if they felt like it.

It’s always a box, and it’s never big enough to let you breathe.

“(Y/n), let’s go.” A voice says, grabbing onto your arms, pulling you to your legs.

You stumble, feeling the sweat dribble down your forehead, reaching out to stabilize yourself. Finnick’s face is in yours, too blurry to focus on. He’s saying something, trying to pull you along, but your knees have locked in place.

He just sweeps you up into his arms, hurrying out of the room.

“Please don’t take me back there.” You cry.

“I won’t, (Y/n).” Finnick places a swift kiss to your forehead. “I’m here. I’ve got you.” 

He takes you into the elevator, doesn’t bother shutting the safety door, and presses the button that will bring you straight up without stopping. When you reach what you perceive as the ground floor, you’re met with multiple unwelcoming faces.

“Please, she just needs to be outside.” Finnick begs, pushing through them. “She can’t be in there right now.”

“Let them through!” A voice calls, a man in black armor waves Finnick on.

He wastes no time, running through the space, straight to the nearest door. He backs through it, shielding you from the initial sunlight. As soon as it touches your skin, you break.

Finnick lets you down to your feet, only to watch as you collapse in the grass, crawling a few feet away from the door, sobbing into the Earth. You take handfuls of it in your hands, ripping the roots free from the soil, throwing them away.

Two weeks. 

You’d basically spent two straight weeks in a box. The only time you were let out was to relieve yourself, and then you were locked back in. It didn’t matter how much you screamed, how much you begged, how much you pushed against the walls. You could never leave. 

The spots that had been appearing over your vision are finally disappearing, but the lightheadedness isn’t. You lift your hand in Finnick’s direction, and that’s all he needs before he’s cradling you against his body, trying to console you.

“I’m so sorry.” He tells you, lips pressed to your hair. “I promised to protect you. I told you nothing would happen.”

“You never could’ve known.” You tell him, fingers tight against his jumpsuit. “He’s been trying to get me for years.”

“I know.” Finnick sniffs, holding you tighter. “I tried to stop it. I never wanted him to have you."

You sit in silence for a long time. He rocks you, humming a tune he learned from Katniss, gently massaging your head. You watch as the trees behind him seem to return to normal, no longer so far away. And there's a dull ache in your fingers from how hard you've been squeezing them.

"I need help." You murmur to Finnick.

"With what?" He asks, pulling away to see your face.

"I need to see the head doctor, don't I?" You ask, lips trembling.

Finnick brushes the sensitive skin on your cheeks. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, honey." He tilts his head to look at you better.

"I wanted to be fine." You tell him.

"And it's okay that you're not." He says. "Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Haymitch and I got help while we’ve been here. And we knew it was only a matter of time before you’d follow in our steps.”

Your face twists. “What do you mean it was a matter of time?”

“You started doing things that weren’t like you.” His eyes fall away. “You won’t go into small rooms. You touch the tips of your feet to the ground to make sure it’s solid. You ask people to walk in front of you. You stop in doorways to look inside rooms before deciding to go in.”

Your lips wobble, hearing your mannerisms repeated back to you… You can feel another round of tears coming, building in your eyes. When Finnick looks up to see your reaction, his face softens. He cups your face in his hands, shaking his head.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“We’ll get you help.” He tells you, wiping away the tears that fall with his thumbs. “Just like we did for Annie. You’ll get better.”

“But I’ll never be the same.”

Cedric is by far the most competitive person you’ve ever met. Which is funny to some people, considering you wouldn’t expect that sort of nature out of a hufflepuff boy like him. He likes to be the best, it’s how he earned himself the title of Captain of the quidditch team. And if that wasn’t enough, he’s also the seeker.

So, when the Triwizard Tournament was announced, you watched Cedric’s eyes light up as if he was told he was going to be given a vault of gold for his next birthday. The way he looked at you across the Great Hall, the cheeky smile on his face. 

All he needed was a little bit of encouragement from his best friend—you. As soon as Dumbledore allowed you to talk freely, you left the ravenclaw table to go join him. You remember slamming your hands down, leaning over with a grin on your face, “This is your calling, Ced.”

“My name’s going in tomorrow night.” He said. “And I’m going to win.”

If you’d known how quickly you’d get overshadowed by the people around him, then you might not have encouraged it so publicly. Or maybe, you would’ve held on a little bit tighter to one of the few people you’re friends with in your year. 

It’s no secret you’ve struggled to make friends with the other students at Hogwarts, including within your house. It turns out, ravenclaw is pretty judgemental when you work out problems differently than the rest of them. No one ever wants to take the chance of getting low marks, which is why they follow the tried and true path, rather than something new.

It doesn’t matter how many times you prove them wrong, no one wants to listen to the reasoning behind why you do spells and potions the way you do. Besides the Professors, but you have a feeling it’s because they’re stumped on why you’re able to make it work. How come you can stir a potion one time too many and still end up with the same result as the rest of the class?

Having little friends has never bothered you, though, not when they’re so close. You’ve known Cedric for a long time now, which is why he’s your best friend. The Weasley twins and Angelina introduced themselves during your fourth year, which has opened a whole realm of possibilities.

It allowed you to meet Harry, Ron and Hermione, except they’re two years below you.

Anyway, ever since Cedric’s name was pulled that night, he’s been a magnet to anyone and everyone. He’s always had a lot of friends, but you don’t recognize most of these faces. Each time you try to hang around them, they find a way to push you out.

It’s only gotten worse since he won his fight against the dragon.

Which has led you to hang around Fred and George more often. As entertaining as they are, their antics haven’t been able to cheer you up lately. And it has everything to do with the Yule Ball. 

When it was announced, you had a feeling you were going to be doomed. Professor Flitwick was required to give the ravenclaw house a speech on behaving yourselves during the ball. When he tried to give you a few pointers on how to properly dance with someone, most of the boys were too immature to participate.

You were left alone on the bench, watching as the other girls got the opportunity to learn. All you could think about at that moment were the few boys you know, and how none of them were good enough for you. If you’re going to be asked, you only want to go with one person. 

And he’s been surrounded by girls since the announcement was first made.

“Come on, (Y/n).” Angelina whispers, leaning forward. “Let me find someone for you.”

“I’m fine, really.” You tell her, “I don’t have to go to the ball.”

“You can’t just miss out on it.” She reasons. “I know you’re going to regret it.”

You press your lips together, shaking your head. “I don’t want to go unless it’s with him.”

Angelina pauses, turning to look behind her, toward where the hufflepuffs have gathered to study together. Cedric is there, of course, surrounded by Hannah and Ernie. They’re the two blonde students that have been beside him since he got his name drawn. 

“Has he asked anyone yet?” Angelina asks, turning to look back at you.

“I have no idea.” Your shoulders sink. “I haven’t talked to him since before the first task. I keep getting pushed out.”

She nods, the look in her eyes grows distant for a moment, and then she looks dead at you. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She twists on the bench to face Fred and George. Instantly, their attention is on her. “George, will you make a scene and ask (Y/n) to the ball?”

George looks at you, a smile peeking at the corners of his lips. “Why?”

“Angelina.” You hiss, shaking your head. “Not here.”

She pushes you away, ignoring what you’ve said. “I want to force Cedric into asking her.”

“Jealousy.” Fred and George nod, agreeing with her choice. 

“Stop.” You beg. “Snape will kill us.”

“I thought you said you trusted me.” Angelina says, giving you a pointed look.

The sound of a bell booming comes over the room, signifying the end of class. Maybe Angelina knows you a lot better than you thought she did. She knew the end of the hour was coming, and took into consideration how you’d feel if George interrupted the class to ask.

A sigh escapes your lips. “Go ahead.”

“Say no.” Angelina tells you with a smile, giving a nod to George. Two wicked smiles appear on the twin’s faces, just before Fred springs up to stand on the bench. “Attention, everyone!” He shouts, the room hushes.

You can feel your face begin to warm at the attention. This causes George to let out a laugh, standing up to hold out his hand, “(Y/n), will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Angelina has turned to see Cedric’s reaction. It must be good, because she elbows you, wanting you to hurry up.

You shake your head, “I’m sorry, George.”

The twins pretend to be offended, telling you that you’ll know where to find them when you change your mind. With a wink, they’re off, leaving you and Angelina in the class.

You begin to pack up your books, stacking them on the table. “I hope this was worth it.”

“You should’ve seen the look on his face, (Y/n).” Angelina tells you. “Oh bloody hell.”

“What?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder.

Cedric is coming down the row in your direction, none of his friends following. You swallow hard, shoving your books into your bag. 

“I didn’t think he’d react this fast.” Angelina laughs. “Good luck.”

Your jaw drops, watching her hastily get up to leave. You make a grab at her, but she’s gone, brushing past Cedric on her way out. You close your eyes, taking a moment to collect yourself.

“(Y/n).” Cedric says, “Do you have a moment?”

“Sure.” You agree, pulling your bag onto your shoulder.

The two of you start toward the door in silence. You cross your arms over your chest, eyes on the ground. “Where’d all your new friends go?”

“They left to go to class.” He says. “They could be your friends too, (Y/n).”

“No, they can’t.” You tell him. “I’m not welcome in your circle.”

His face twists, tilting his head slightly, “What does that mean?”

“It means that I get pushed out each time I try to go over to talk to you.” You give him a look. “You haven’t noticed?”

He doesn’t answer. You can feel your heart sink to your stomach, this is exactly why you didn’t want to handle it. You just wanted to see if Cedric would come to you on his own time.

The two of you shuffle to a stop.

“It’s fine, Cedric. I get it, you’re busy with the tournament.” 

“No, (Y/n), it’s not that.” He shakes his head. “I have noticed, I just thought I upset you somehow. I’ve been trying to figure out what it is. I’m sorry, really. I didn’t realize they were like that.”

You eye his face, trying to figure out if he’s telling the truth. 

“I’ll stop talking to them. I’d rather have you, anyway.”

You sigh, “Thanks, Cedric. I’ll catch you later?”

As you take a step to go, he reaches out to grab your arm, “Wait, one more thing.”

You turn back to him, raising your eyebrows, “What is it?”

He lets go of you, reaching to rub the back of his neck. “George asked you to the ball?”

You shrug, “It’s nothing.”

“Did you say no because you already have a date?” There’s a crease between his eyebrows.

You open your mouth, and then close it, shaking your head.

“Good, because I’ve been trying to plan out a perfect time to ask you to go with me.” He tells you with a smile. “So, (Y/n), will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

You can’t help the way you stare at him. You were sure he had already asked someone by now, especially considering how important his title is. The Triwizard champions are the first to dance at the beginning of the ball. To wait until the last minute to ask is stupid.

But this is what you wanted, isn’t it? It’s just that you weren’t expecting for it to actually happen.

“Yes, Cedric, I’ll go with you.” 

A familiar victorious smile lights up his face, “You make me nervous sometimes, you know that? I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

“I was hoping you’d ask me.” You admit, face becoming hot again. “I was sure you’d already have a date by now.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, how could I? I’ve liked you since we started at Hogwarts together. It wouldn’t feel right to go with anyone else.”

Your lips part, “You’ve liked me?” 

He laughs, “When you blush it’s the cutest thing ever.”

You make a face at him, turning away to press the back of your fingers against your cheeks. “Don’t mess with me, Cedric.”

“I’m not, I’m being serious.” He says, “You’re the only girl I want.”

--

Every so often, the mentors in District One will get a bug up their ass about the amount of victors there are. It usually happens when districts outside of the Careers will get a winning streak on tributes. They believe that if they let it go on too long, then you’ll never be able to get the upper hand back. As if you don’t have two overflowing neighborhoods in Victor’s Village.

When they do this, a changing of the guard happens. Whoever is mentoring at the moment is switched out with a more recent victor, in hopes a fresh mind can change the tide. The last time this happened was six years ago, when you replaced Cashmere four years after her win.

Despite the fact that One had gotten three victors in less than five years, they decided there needed to be a change of pace. They wanted to be able to dominate the arena year after year, their goal was to strike fear in the hearts of the competition. 

And who better to put in charge of that position than you?

When you were first told you’d be taking over Cashmere’s position, you were excited to teach the tributes a new way of playing the Games. What they were taught back home would get them to the final five, of course. But if they took it to the level you did when you won, it could guarantee them the crown every time.

Cashmere must’ve known what you were planning, because it didn’t take long for her to pull you aside. She warned you to keep your opinions about the Games to yourself. If you wanted to make friends with the other mentors in the Capitol and have successful alliances, then you’d lock your lips and smile if you had anything controversial to say. She told you none of the other victors would agree with what you would have to say.

And if your ideals ended up translating into your mentoring style, it wouldn’t be long before Snow requested for you to be replaced. You needed to be on your best behavior at all times. 

As much as you wanted to stick it to her, you promised Cashmere you’d tone it down. 

These past couple of years have been testing your patience, though. It takes a lot of self control to smile at people when they’re stepping on your toes. Especially your own tributes.

There were hundreds of better candidates to send into the arena this year, but the older victors wanted to try a new strategy. Instead of staying with the tried and true method of the best performing students, they picked them based on age and looks. And it shows.

Glimmer is almost completely incompetent. You’ve never met a girl from your district so oblivious to the consequences of her actions. She thought bringing a poisonous ring into the Capitol as her token would go unnoticed. She would’ve been arrested, if it weren’t for you. You spent an hour pleading her case, saying she had no clue it would turn into a spike once twisted. It got confiscated. She’s lucky you didn’t strangle her to death, the least she could’ve done was warn you.

Then there’s Marvel, who you had more hope for. He scored a nine, which is a point higher than Glimmer. He did fairly well during the interviews, with the help of Caesar. But then the night before the Games, he told you he was going to let Cato–the boy from Two–be the leader of the Career pack.

Honestly, what were the mentors expecting from you? A miracle?

It doesn’t take a genius to know when a tribute won’t make it very far. If you asked around, most would tell you they can be written off as soon as the Reaping and are redeemable only when their scores stand out. In your opinion, you need to wait for the first day of the arena.

If they set themselves up for survival, there’s a good chance they’re going to outlast the rest. Like the girl from District Twelve, for example. She pulled a flashy move by volunteering for her younger sister, but tributes volunteer every year. It’s more important she was fast enough to grab a backpack and flee the Cornucopia before she got caught.

You’d trade your two tributes just to have her. She knows how to follow a trail of water, and set up snares to keep her fed. It’s really too bad she’s got a drunk as her mentor. 

Your eyes drag over to Haymitch Abernathy. He’s sitting at a table all by himself on the far side of the Betting Room. There’s a plate of food in front of him, which he hasn’t touched once in the hours you’ve been down here. His glass, on the other hand, he’s filled with red wine three times.

He struck gold this year, it’s the best pair of tributes he’s had in a long while. And they’re going to go to waste because he can’t stay sober. If Katniss Everdeen were your tribute, you would’ve worked her to the bone. Not that you would’ve had to, since her stylist came out swinging with the parade costume.

Once you saw her score, you were convinced nothing would bring her down. Then came her tribute partner at the interviews, like a gust of wind, blowing out the glowing flame. Why Haymitch would let him confess his feelings like that is lost on you. Katniss will never be able to shine again on her own, because now she has a ball and chain connected to her ankle at all times.

You yawn loudly, placing your chin on your open palm. “This has got to pick up soon.”

There’s not many tributes from the Career pack left in the arena. Bravura, the boy from Four, died on the first day during the bloodbath. Four days later, they managed to chase Katniss up a tree. Their plan was to wait her out, but she has an ally from Eleven that pointed out a tracker jacker nest.

After Katniss cut the branch it was hanging on, it hit the ground and exploded. In a matter of seconds, they were swarmed. Tippet, the girl from Four, and Glimmer were dead before they could leave the camp they set up. Everyone else managed to escape, including Katniss. 

When you saw her take the quiver of arrows and bow off of Glimmer’s body, you were a little speechless. Glimmer was mediocre at it, and she’d been training with weapons for her whole life. What would Katniss be able to do with it?

Four more days later, leads you to yesterday, when Katniss and her ally from Eleven went to scope out the pile of supplies the Careers had managed to set up with the help from the boy from Three. They repurposed the explosives that are used for the podiums the tributes come out of on the first day.

With it being a minefield, you had to know a certain sequence of steps in order to get to the center. And instead of taking the time to learn those steps and benefiting off of it, Katniss used that bow and arrow to shoot a bag of apples. All it took was one hitting the wrong spot and the entire pile of supplies were gone.

The boy from Three got his neck snapped by Cato since he let it get blown up. Marvel and Clove, Cato’s tribute partner, managed to talk Cato down from starting a hunt right away. They wanted to wait for the Fallen to see if a third death would be confirmed.

When only the two from the day showed up in the sky, it was decided they’d begin searching right away. This forced Katniss to spend the night in the bush she ducked down in. 

They haven’t found Katniss or that girl from Eleven yet, but you’re sure they’re going to come across one of them.

“Eager to go home?” Finnick asks you, tilting his head slightly. “You know they’d never send you early.”

“I’m well aware.” You murmur back.

There’s an unspoken rule in the Capitol when it comes to Career mentors, and it’s that you never get to go home early. Both of your boyfriend's tributes have been gone for days now, and yet a train won’t bring him home until a victor is announced. It’s all about the press you bring to the event.

“What are your plans for tonight?” Finnick asks.

Your eyes flicker to the big screen, checking in on what Katniss is doing. She was up in a tree for the longest time, waiting for her ally to come to one of the few meeting spots they’d agreed upon. Now, she’s almost at the third location.

“Assuming my tribute doesn’t die, I would love to go out to dinner.”

Finnick has a small smile on his face, “You know I’ll take you anywhere.”

You drop your hand from your chin, leaning in close. He closes the gap, pressing a warm kiss to your lips. You scrunch your nose at him when you back away. “I wish you could take me home.”

As Finnick opens his mouth to speak, a four note whistle draws your attention. It’s the same tune the girl from Eleven taught Katniss, it’s supposed to be their signal. Katniss recognizes it immediately, following the trail of birds singing it with a smile on her face.

The moment she whistles it back, a scream pierces the air. The Betting Room goes cold and quiet, uncomfortable from a child’s cry. Katniss takes off running, heading right for her ally.

“Katniss! Katniss!”

“Rue!” Katniss calls back. “Rue! I’m coming!”

She breaks into the clearing, chest heaving from the sudden exertion. Rue is on the ground, entangled in a heavy rope net. She barely reaches her hand through one of the holes before the camera shifts, revealing Marvel.

Before he stops to think about how this will go for him, he shoves the spear through Rue’s body. In an instant, an arrow is lodged in the side of his neck, eyes bulging from his head. He drops to his knees, fingers crawling across his skin before he yanks the arrow out.

A heavy sigh leaves your lips as you sit back in the chair. Marvel begins to drown in his own blood, it won’t be long before there’s a cannon. Katniss waves her bow around, looking for any other members of the pack. It takes Rue telling her three times that there’s no one else before she hears her. 

Katniss falls to her knees, sawing at the rope with her knife to free Rue. She takes a moment to stare at the wound on her ally, and works out pretty quickly that this is not one she’ll be able to heal. She sucks in a shaky breath.

Rue reaches for her hand. “You blew up the food?”

“Every last bit.”

“You have to win.”

“I’m going to. Going to win for both of us now.”

A cannon blasts, signaling the death of Marvel.

“Maybe we’ll rain check on the dinner.” Finnick says.

“It’s what I get for being hopeful.” You force a smile, looking back at the screen.

The worst part about your tributes dying are the interviews that come after. It doesn’t matter who you are or what district you come from, you’re required to make a statement on the teenagers you’ve brought with you. Usually, it’s pretty easy to say a few good things about each of them. 

This year, it’ll be a little more difficult. 

Rue asks Katniss to sing, and since it’s her final request, Katniss agrees. It’s a short song, about halfway through Rue shuts her eyes. By the end of the song, her cannon has sounded. And when you look over at the Odds Board, her face has been greyed out. 

Katniss doesn’t clear the area right away. She flips Marvel onto his face to take his backpack and retrieves the arrow from his neck. She does the same with Rue, being careful when she adjusts her cut the pack off.

She gets to her feet, wandering away from the clearing just far enough to find a patch of wildflowers. She picks them, one by one, until she’s got an armful. Then she heads back to Rue, and begins to decorate her body with the delicate petals.

“She’s going to get her district in trouble.” You cross your arms over your chest. “If she keeps this up, the Gamemakers will kill her before she makes it to the final count.”

“Not with Peeta still being alive.” Finnick murmurs. “As long as he’s still kicking, they’re going to play up that star-crossed lovers act. They’d be stupid to not take a bite at it, especially since everyone in the Capitol is talking about it.”

“I guess that’s true.” You murmur, “But Katniss hasn’t seen Peeta since that night at the tree.”

Nor has she seemed to care about what happens to him in the arena. All it took was her finding out he had joined the Career pack, and her opinion about him changed. You could tell based on the way she looked down at him at the tree, and the fact she hadn’t bothered to warn him about what was coming.

The whole dynamic between them seems to flip flop. They were marketed together as a pair of friends, and then he goes to confess his feelings for her on the final night in the Capitol. Turn around the next day and he’s—what? Changed his mind about how he feels about her. 

Either way, what Katniss is doing right now with the flowers is unheard of. You’re surprised the Gamemakers have shown it for as long as they have, considering the ideas this could spark in some of the outlying districts. It spells out trouble. 

Katniss presses three fingers to her lips and then holds them up in the air for a moment. When she’s done, she walks away without turning back. As soon as she’s far away enough, a hovercraft appears above the clearing to collect the two bodies.

You let out a sigh, “Well, I’ve got to go.”

“What time does the first interview start?” Finnick asks.

You look at the time, it’ll be nightfall soon. “Two hours, but I’ve got to get ready for the cameras. And wake Gloss up.” You push to get to your feet, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

“Of course.” Finnick agrees, lifting his chin in your direction.

You smile, leaning down to press one more kiss against his lips.

—

If you thought Haymitch was an idiot before, he’s really done it now. He’ll be lucky if Snow doesn’t kill him the second they land back in District Twelve after the shit his tributes pulled in the arena.

It all starts with Katniss pulling that move with Rue. By decorating her body, she sent some message to Eleven by accident. In less than an hour, she was gifted one of the specialty breads. By the end of the night, a full riot had broken out in District Eleven in protest of losing a tribute so young. 

You found out what was going on through Caesar during your interviews with Gloss about your tributes. At first, he’d mentioned it in passing before moving on to a bigger question. You weren’t sure what he was trying to say, so when you circled back, he clarified.

Katniss Everdeen had stirred up quite the trouble in the Capitol and districts alike. 

In that moment, you were incredibly grateful the victors from home didn’t have the foresight to select better tributes, because you couldn’t imagine the nightmare that could be set on you. The Gamemakers are not beyond setting up your tributes to cross paths with troublemakers. They’d done it these Games alone, with the wall of fire that drew the Career pack and Katniss across each other, which lead to the tree.

Well, instead of engineering some mutts to take down the Twelve tributes, they decided to take a different approach. Finnick was right when he said the Gamemakers would want to see where the star-crossed lovers would take them. They just did it in the worst way possible.

Claudius Templesmith announced a rule change, orders from Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane, himself. There could be two victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games if they come from the same district.

That’s all it took for Katniss to care about what happened to Peeta again. A day later, she found him camouflaged into a rock by the river bank with a nasty wound on his thigh that Cato had given him days prior. Katniss took care of it and found them shelter for the night.

The next evening, another announcement was made about a feast at the Cornucopia—an event that’s used as a final push for one more bloodbath. With the remaining six tributes all needing something to keep them alive, it’s hard not to be drawn in to get it. Especially since Peeta needed medicine, or else he was going to die from an infection.

On the day of the feast, only one tribute died. The girl from District Five hid in the Cornucopia and ran out to grab her backpack as soon as it was available. Katniss tried to grab hers next, but got pinned by Clove, who would be killed by Thresh—the boy from Eleven—minutes later. He left Katniss alive, but only because she took care of Rue.

The next four days wouldn’t be anything fantastic. Thresh got killed during a storm, and the girl from Five died trying to eat poisonous berries that she watched Peeta pick. With three tributes left, Katniss and Peeta went to go find Cato to end the Games, and were stopped when mutts appeared. 

After a fight at the Cornucopia, Cato was thrown to the wolves, and left there overnight, leading you to this morning. Katniss finally decided it was time to put him out of his misery, after letting the Capitol eat up his final images. 

They wouldn’t collect Cato’s body, though. They waited for Katniss and Peeta to remove themselves from the top of the Cornucopia before another, final, announcement was made. The previous rule change about allowing two victors had been revoked. Only one victor would be allowed to go home.

And in classic troublemaking fashion, Katniss suggested she and Peeta eat the same berries that killed the other girl. Which forced the Gamemakers to allow both of them to go home together.

You’ve been pissed about it all afternoon. 

“Both of them should’ve died.” You tell Finnick, hoisting your bag onto your bed. 

You really need to stop buying clothes in the Capitol, but you can’t help saying yes to people when they ask. None of them would ever be able to afford these pieces, and you’ve got more money than you know what to do with. The least you can do is buy them a dress that’s been out of fashion for half a year.

“The Capitol needs a victor.” Finnick takes a seat at the corner of the bed.

“No, they don’t.” You shake your head. “Maybe in the beginning. The districts need a victor, it’s the only hope they have.”

“What’s the harm in having two?” 

“What’s the harm in having five?” You counter, turning to look at him. “Twelve? Seventeen? How about all twenty-four of them refuse to fight and threaten to kill themselves with berries?”

“This won’t make a difference in the grand scheme of things, (Y/n).” He says. “It’ll all be back to normal next year.”

“It’s all going to spiral out of control. And next year is a Quarter Quell, there is nothing normal about that.”

Finnick hums, “What do you think it’ll be?”

“A punishment.” You carefully fold the last dress to fit in the bag.

“Come on, (Y/n).” He’s losing his patience.

You take a breath, pausing for a moment to think. “It could be anything. I’m really hoping it’ll be the last victor I have to get before I’m done.”

Finnick stares at you, it feels like an eternity before his face twists, “Right.”

At the tone of his voice, you realize the mistake you made. “It’s not like that. We both know it’s going to happen sooner or later.”

“It doesn’t have to.” Finnick gets to his feet. “Not if things change.”

It’s your turn to stare at him. “How?”

He’s making his way to the door, “Those tributes from Twelve are on to something.”

Your lips part, he can’t be serious, can he? Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark have a better chance at getting themselves killed from their own stupidity than changing the Games forever. You’ve seen it before—they’ll stick their foot directly into their mouth and cause more problems than what they’re worth.

Panem will talk about them up until their Victory Tour, but once the announcement is made about the Quarter Quell, they’ll be old news. If the Seventy-fifth is anything like the Fiftieth, their outrage will be directed elsewhere. After that, it’ll be a matter of time before Snow kills both of the Twelve tributes under the table.

“I don’t think so.” You tell Finnick. “Are you leaving? I’ll be gone before the afternoon rolls around.”

“I think that’s for the best.” Finnick snaps, leaving you standing there, alone.

--

Every time you step into the Betting Room, it feels like you’re stepping into an active warzone from how disgusting it usually is. For an elite group that lives their life in luxury, they sure know how to destroy a beautiful sunroom. When it opens early in the morning, it smells fine and it’s in pristine condition. By the time the afternoon comes around, the entire place is reeking of body odor and vomit. 

It’s your least favorite place to be in the Tribute Center, which is why you avoid it as much as you possibly can. It’s taken you a couple of years, but you’ve got your timing down to the minute on when you should be here. You always stick around for the first couple of days in the arena, since that’s when tensions are at its highest.

As soon as you’re in the clear, you won’t be caught dead in the Betting Room unless there’s an emergency with your tributes. There’s absolutely no reason for you to spend two weeks surrounded by people you don’t like. You’re helpless when it comes to your tributes most of the time, anyway.

They’re not dumb enough to get themselves in a situation where they’re hurt, hungry or dehydrated. Which means the time you spend here is wasted. You could be making connections elsewhere, but instead you’re required to be here for at least ten hours throughout the week.

And if you’re being honest, which you usually are, you wouldn’t mind being here if it weren’t so awful. The issue you have lies beyond the smell and the way the room looks, though. It has something to do with the fact that you’re not able to be down there and be left alone. 

If you were to try to have a relaxing afternoon, you’d likely be interrupted about a dozen times in just an hour. It doesn’t matter who it is, it could be by potential sponsors of fellow mentors. Either way, they’re trying to cut a deal or pry any secrets they can out of you about your private life.

It’s extremely irritating, even on a good day.

If you want to make a deal for the sake of your tributes, then you’ll get up and get the work done yourself. Otherwise, you let the Games play out how the tributes want them to. It’s not your fault if tributes from other districts get themselves in a sticky alliance with yours.

Beyond that, people can be so nosy nowadays, and they’ll sell out to the Capitol if it means they’ll get a boost while they’re mentoring. Which is why you keep a strict lockdown on what people know about you. They already got more than enough insight on your life during your Victory Tour.

All in all, the Betting Room is a miserable experience, no matter what way you try to take it.

You sit back in your chair, arms crossed over your chest as you observe the Career pack. So far, the Seventy-First Hunger Games has gotten off to a slow start, there weren’t a lot of deaths during the bloodbath, which means it’ll be a matter of time before the Gamemakers intervene. 

This year, the arena’s a forest. The Cornucopia was placed in the middle of one of the many fields they have throughout the woods. From what you can tell so far, it’ll be a good environment to survive in if there’s plenty of water sources and a reasonable amount of animals.

Your tributes will have it easy this year, which makes you incredibly jealous. When you won five years ago, the Gamemakers were just starting to go through a phase of throwing tributes in weird arenas. A couple of trees is nothing compared to an abandoned city.

“Have you reached your quota yet?” A voice asks.

You tilt your head back, finding your mentoring partner, Thorne. “I have for today, but I was going to sit here for a little while longer so I don’t have to tomorrow.”

He lets out a laugh through his teeth, shaking his head. “I thought Lyme was kidding when she said you hated this place.”

“You like it?” You ask him, raising your eyebrows.

“No, but I don’t despise it nearly as much as you do, apparently.” He leans on the table, tilting his head to read the journal you have open.

You turn it so he can read it better. “Did Lyme catch you up on the note-taking?”

“Is this high school?”

You roll your eyes a bit. “Trust me, I don’t like doing it, but we’ll get our heads bitten off by the Academy when we get back if we don’t have something to give them.”

Thorne reads over what you have written down so far, face twisting. He pushes the book back toward you, “Can’t the leaders just write this stuff down?”

“We get more insight.” You tell him, resting your chin on your hand. “We have upfront access to the betting odds and whatever.”

He squints at you. “But how are you supposed to keep an eye on that if you don’t spend a lot of time here?”

You shrug, “I’ve gotten good at it. I come in the morning to see where they’re at, and then I come right before closing to make sure odds haven’t changed. If anything big happens throughout the day and I’m not here, then I’ll stop in for a moment. It’s really, really easy to do.”

“Do they know you do this?”

You smile, “They do, actually. And I told them that if they have a problem with the way I mentor, then maybe they should be here instead.”

Thorne makes a face, “You know they’ll never do it.”

“Which is why I get away with it.” You place your pen in your journal, folding it shut. “I think I’ll talk to some of our sponsors before I go. That way if anything happens while I’m gone, you’ll be set up.”

“Meeka and Amias will be fine. We’ve just barely started.” Thorne says.

“It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” You tell him, getting to your feet. You nudge the journal in his direction. “I’m leaving this with you, I’ve got a meeting with our escort to talk about our tributes and sponsors.”

“Do you want me to write in it?” He asks.

“Only if it’s something significant. You can read through it if you’d like to get a better idea of what you’re looking for.” You pat him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

You wander away from Thorne, looking around the room, trying to spot a group you’d appeal to. You’re sure you could approach anyone and end up with a few extra dollars in your pocket, but that’s not exactly what you need. You need someone that can stick around through a few sponsorships.

You find a group in the corner, dressed in the latest trend, expensive bags hanging off their elbows, skin shaded unnatural colors. As soon as they notice you’re interested in them, they wave you over. This is where you spend the next hour and a half of your life.

It wasn’t your intention to stand here this long, you thought you’d be here for maybe another thirty minutes, but you got carried away. They were really interested in what your tributes are like and how they spend their freetime. Once you started talking about their home life, it was all over from there.

You don’t regret a single minute, though, because it got them to commit to being sponsors. 

You start toward the exit of the Betting Room, since you really need to get moving now. Earlier, you’d saved yourself enough time to have lunch before the meeting, but you’ve got less than fifteen minutes to get yourself across the building. It won’t be the end of the world if you’re a few minutes late, you just know the escort will never let you hear the end of it. 

“I always knew you were full of yourself.” An irritating voice says, you stop where you stand, turning to look over your shoulder. “But I didn’t think you’d stoop low enough to steal sponsors.”

Finnick Odair. 

“I wasn’t stealing your sponsors.” You tell him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Finnick motions behind him to where Thorne is, surrounded by the group you’d been talking to. It seems like they’ve migrated to him on their own, which you’re sure he’s thrilled about. Being stuck in a conversation with them for longer than a couple minutes is his version of hell.

“They went over there on their own.” You shrug.

“Right after you spent the last hour talking to them.” He raises his eyebrows.

You stare at him, not entirely sure what he wants out of this conversation. If he wanted to continue to have them as his sponsors, then maybe he should’ve gone over there to say so. Why would he wait until you were leaving to tell you they belonged to him?

“Well, you weren’t over there.” Your arms drop back to your sides. “You’re a pretty lousy mentor if you’re letting things go like that.”

Finnick scoffs, “After what happened last year, you shouldn’t be calling anyone lousy.”

“I was at a disadvantage.” You tell him, eyes narrowing.

It’s true, even the Capitol officials were saying they’d never seen a sickness go through a district that fast. By the time the reaping came around, most of District Two was sick, including the victors. The tributes who were chosen were beginning to show signs they’d caught it, too. The only reason why they didn’t fully come down with it is because the Capitol administered medicine as soon as you stepped foot on the train.

You were given quite a dose, yourself. 

You were the only victor well enough to be sent to the Capitol to mentor, everyone else was just starting to recover. They couldn’t afford for you to be coming down with some illness you could easily pass on. Which meant you were forced to mentor by yourself for the very first time.

On top of that, the pair of tributes that had been reaped did not want to listen to the advice you had to give. They wanted to make the decisions for themselves, they didn’t really care about what you had to say about the Games. A part of you wanted to give up on them because you were exhausted, but you knew it would make you look bad.

You fought tooth and nail for them to look decent during the tribute parade. You kept telling them to score high during training, otherwise sponsors were going to suck. And it honestly felt like a miracle had taken place when they got through the interview without accidentally insulting the Capitol in some way.

He makes a face, “And that’s an excuse? The rest of us run around here with one mentor all the time. You, my friend, saw what it was like to lose your privilege.”

You glare at him, “It’s not a privilege to have two mentors. It’s not my fault everyone else’s tributes can’t tell the difference between their ass and a hole in the ground.”

“Just like yours?” Finnick asks back. “I’m sure it eats you up inside that a girl who lost her mind won the Games and not your stupid pedigree pets.”

You point a finger at him. “You forget my tributes are the reason why she couldn’t think straight at the end.”

“She was still able to swim herself to victory, wasn’t she?” Finnick is smug. 

You grit your teeth. You don’t like Finnick, not even under different circumstances. Ever since you met him, he’s been nothing but rude. You’re not sure what happened in order for him to treat you this way, but you’re fucking sick of it.

There’s only about a years difference between you two. You won the year right after he did, you were sixteen, which made him fifteen at the time. And the following year, you were able to talk to him as a mentor. Or rather, you didn’t, because he came up to you, talking about some nonsense while you were in the middle of an important conversation with the escort.

You looked at him, confused and disgusted. He stunk like fish and saltwater, and looked like he’d barely dragged himself out of bed. His hair was a mess, his clothes weren’t matching, and if you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought he was another lowlife trash from your district.

But he couldn’t have been, because you two were in the Capitol, where luxury is a first and everything else falls into a neat line behind it. So, you weren’t entirely sure why a boy like him was approaching you, who looked the exact opposite. You looked like your life was put together, while he was just starting to get a hang of it.

You didn’t like the situation, so you ignored it. You went back to the conversation you were having before he came around, pretending as if it never happened. He left, you got what you wanted, and you never spoke about it. In fact, you don’t speak to each other at all unless it’s mandatory. Even then, you make your mentoring partner do it for you.

“That’s the only thing she could do, since she’s so braindead.” You tell Finnick.

“You know, maybe if you hadn’t been so caught up in what you looked like last year, your tributes would’ve been more inclined to listen to you.”

Your hands ball into fists, anger dripping inside you. Before you can put a thought behind your actions, your knuckles are already aimed for his nose, fully intending to break it to teach him a fucking lesson about appearances. 

Finnick doesn’t realize what’s happening before it’s too late. Your fist makes his head whip to the side from the amount of strength put behind the move, but nothing else happens. There should be pain throughout your hand, you know what it’s like to punch someone—something—because you train at home with a bag. There’s no ache when you flex your hand.

You watch as Finnick reaches up to touch his nose out of habit, which hasn’t moved in the slightest. You should’ve broken his nose from the force alone, and there’s not even blood to back you up. With the way he’s prodding his skin, the area isn’t even tender, it didn’t even hurt.

Your lips part, staring at him in shock. The entire room has gone still, as if they’re afraid any noise will trigger another attack. Finnick stares right back at you, hand slowly lowering, the gears turning in his head. 

This piece of District Four trash cannot be your soulmate. The thought of spending the rest of your life around this asshole makes your blood boil. You waited twenty-one years to meet the love of your life, and it’s him? And the only reason why you found this out was because you punched him and it didn’t do any damage?

“This is bullshit.” You tell Finnick.

He looks down at your hands, eyes widening when he realizes they've formed fists again. He takes a step back, shaking his head, mouth opening to speak, but you won’t hear it. You don’t want to hear anything he has to say.

You back toward the doors that will lead you out of the Betting Room, only a few more steps away. Right as you slam through the door, you can hear your name being called behind you.

—

Well, it seems like your sudden violence yesterday afternoon was enough to get everyone off of your back. You haven’t been approached once after what happened, and it feels like it’ll stay that way until the trip is over. 

For now, Thorne has agreed to keeping your sponsors straight as long as you keep track of the tributes. All you have to do is tell Thorne what you need and he’ll take care of it, not that you think you’ll have to.

Since you’ve been effectively banned from the Betting Room, and sitting in the Two apartment is less than ideal, you decided it would be best if you picked a nice spot to have lunch and watch the Games. 

It’s been pretty mundane so far, you doodle in the journal, you sip your drink. You’ve been picking at the food on your plate for the last thirty minutes because you’re hungry but not enough to actually eat. The avox came around a little while ago to see why you weren’t eating and you had to tell him you were going to be here for a while and he didn’t have to worry about you.

You draw circles on one of the napkins you can spare, watching as your tributes travel from one side of the arena to the other. They’re hunting, as they always do. It’s typical for the Career pack to look for other tributes the first couple of days of the Games, they do it while they have the energy to. 

Although, they’d be able to do it for longer if they got a re-up on supplies every couple of days. If they’re well-fed and rested, then that makes it easier for them to keep going, but they usually get a second chance at supplies during the second bloodbath, anyway. By then, there’s not many tributes left. The ones who are still alive are either on the brink of death or they’re ready for the long haul.

You reach for your journal, flipping it open to the page you were writing on earlier today. If you were able to give the Career tributes an extra backpack of supplies at the end, then they’d be able to hunt one more time and end the Games without risking an event from the Gamemakers. 

You stop writing mid-sentence, eyes flickering up to see why someone is standing over your table. At the sight of Finnick, your face contorts. He’s got his hands on the back of the chair across from you. “That seat is taken.”

“Really?” He asks, turning to the table closest to you. He grabs the chair, placing it next to you. “I’m sure this one isn’t.”

“Get away from me.” You sigh, going back to writing in the journal.

Finnick sits in the chair he’s stolen. “We should probably talk about what happened yesterday.”

“I don’t think so. I’m fine pretending as if it never happened.”

He laughs, “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

You put the pen down, flipping the journal shut to give him your full attention. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Maybe kissing one of the many hundreds of girlfriends you have?”

“Nope.” He smiles. “No one to be kissing. Maybe soon, though?”

You squint your eyes at him. “And you say that I’m full of myself.”

“You are.”

You make a face at him. “I am not.”

“You don’t remember how we met?” Finnick asks, shaking his head.

“Yes, I do. You came up behind me, interrupted my conversation, only to ask me where I got all this honey.” You motion to your body.

“You were wearing a gold colored dress.” Finnick says with a smile. “I was trying to flirt.”

“Well, you’re a fucking idiot for thinking that would work.”

“I was sixteen.” He says back. “Of course I was. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was what put you off.”

Your eyes narrow, looking him over, trying to decide if he’s being genuine or not. He might be trying to get information out of you to use as leverage. If you agree to forgiving him, then he can claim you had a change of heart because you realized your true feelings about him or whatever. 

“Really, (Y/n), I’m sorry.” He says.

You relax a little, “I suppose I can forgive you.”

Finnick raises his eyebrows. “That’s it? It was that easy?”

You press your lips together, shaking your head.

“I’m kidding.” Finnick says. “I would like to start over, if you think it’s possible. We don’t have to agree to anything in the future, we can just let fate take it as it goes.”

You bite your cheek. “We live in two different districts.”

“That hasn’t stopped soulmates in the past.” He says.

He’s right, there were a pair of victors who realized they were soulmates a couple years back. The boy was from Six and the girl was from Three, they were friends working on a project for the Capitol. He’d accidentally swiped at her with a knife when he was trying to hand it over, it glided right over her skin, not a scratch on her. 

The Capitol recognized they were soulmates, and since the boy didn’t have any living family, they allowed him to move to District Three under the condition he continued to work for them. They’re both still alive, neither of them mentor anymore. 

“It wouldn’t be that simple for us.” You tell him. “I have family, and you’re the Capitol Darling. We’ll be lucky if Snow doesn’t kill me just so he can keep you for a little while longer.”

“He won’t kill you, but he’ll definitely have a talk with you.” Finnick says. “Are you willing to try, then?”

To you, there is nothing more painful than having feelings for a boy and waiting years for him to like you back.

Finnick Odair has been your best friend since you were young teenagers. You met him the year after he won the Hunger Games, when the district forced him back into school for at least another two years. Usually, when someone wins the Games, they’re exempt from schooling, but since he was only fourteen, the mayor pushed for him to get two more years.

His parents approved of the idea, and against his will, he was placed back into a classroom with his peers. It was difficult for Finnick to go back to a normal environment after suffering in an arena for almost three weeks. Everyone could see this, which is why they tried to accommodate him and the newfound attitude he had.

The tough exterior was an act, it was pretty obvious to you. While you hadn’t been friends before he was reaped, you’d still been around him quite a lot. You shared the same classes and went to lunch around the same time. Finnick was the light of the room before, not the dampener he’d turned into.

You couldn’t blame him, you think you would’ve gone crazy if you were in his shoes. The way the people around him steered a wide path, and if they didn’t, it was like they were walking on eggshells every time they had a conversation with him. How did they expect him to return to normalcy if they didn’t treat him the same way they did before?

He couldn’t, and he wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t been assigned project partners your sophomore year in your history class. The first couple of days you worked together, Finnick seemed distant, he wasn’t very interested in having conversations with you unless it was to swap information.

As the days went on, he realized you didn’t mind what happened to him. Or, at least, you didn’t hold it against him in some weird way. And while there were moments where you didn’t know what to say and were afraid to bring up the Games, it didn’t really affect him.

He didn’t mind, not when it came to you and your curiosity. You would talk to him about almost anything that came to mind. You got to know him. You found out he was learning to surf in his freetime, he said the waves allowed him to clear his head. He hated doing it in the morning, but liked the way it gave him a fresh start to the day.

He told you he likes it better in Victor’s Village than he does in his childhood home, and it had something to do with the space. Finnick could hide away in his room and even the loudest of his siblings wouldn’t be able to disturb him. He likes the quiet, especially after the Games.

He liked to talk about the Capitol, but only on his own accord. He told you what it was like to step foot on the train and how luxurious it was with the velvet and the large private bedrooms. The seven course meal with foods you could never imagine tasting in your wildest dreams. There were expensive fruits and vegetables and drinks and delicacies that he couldn’t put a name to, even if he tried.

Finnick said every strand of hair on his body was ripped off, besides what was on his head. You saw him dressed up at the Tribute Parade of course, and the preparation for it was straight out of his nightmares. He told you how odd it was to be around the other tributes, knowing what would happen in just a few days.

He didn’t give you details beyond that point. You already saw his score, and guessed he had to be fairly talented to get himself a nine. And the whole interview was televised, Finnick tried his best to be personable on stage. Caesar helped out a lot though, Finnick always gives him credit for boosting his popularity.

It got to the point where every time you stepped foot into the classroom, Finnick would sit up when he saw you. He enjoyed your company—looked forward to it, even. And when the end of the project came around, he told you he wanted to hang out with you outside of class. Whether that be at the docks or either of your houses.

You couldn’t say no, Finnick was fun to be around. By the time the two of you turned sixteen, you’d fully formed a friendship no one could come between. And for you, a one-sided love.

You were convinced his feelings about you would change over time and he would want you as more than just his friend. It’s becoming clear that time is never going to come, you have to move on from the situation, even though you’re far from ready to. 

You’ve liked him—loved him—for almost nine years now.

Part of this is your fault, you know it. You’ve had nearly a decade to tell him how you feel, but you didn’t know how to tell him after so long. Should you just come out and say it? Do you bring him somewhere private first? How do you approach such a sensitive subject?

You never knew if it was ever the right time to mention it, either. With everything that goes on in the Capitol with him, he always seems to shut down the idea of being in a relationship. You know why, he’s told you in explicit detail what they do to him. Which is why you thought it would be too selfish, too gross, to tell him you feel the same way about him as they do. 

So, you’ve kept quiet about your feelings, settling for sending him messages without words. You bake his favorite foods, you buy him clothes you think he’ll look good in, you take time to compliment him and include him in everything you do. Which are things you do, anyway, but you’ve taken it to another step in hopes it’ll catch his attention.

Well, it hasn’t. Your efforts these past few months have done nothing besides make you realize that you can’t do this forever with him. You’ve already spent a good number of years waiting. If he doesn’t want you, that’s fine, you won’t hold it against him, but you’re not going to sit around anymore.

Which is easier said than done. You do practically everything with Finnick, there’s not a moment in the day where you two are away from one another. You’ll sit at each other’s houses, you’ll run errands around the district, you’ll visit Mags and Annie, you’ll sit by the docks.

The only time you’re not with him is when you’re working, and that’s because he needs time to work, too. It’s usually the most miserable hours of your life, sitting in a clothing store with no customers. You’d find yourself doodling on a piece of paper, designing clothes you don’t have the talent to sew, yourself.

The past three weeks have felt more like a punishment for you than it is for him. If you’re not at home, reading and tidying up, then you’re working. You’ve picked up more hours in hopes you’ll stay distracted with busy hands. It’s not working, not that you truly believed it would.

You’ve volunteered for a number of community projects, mostly simple stuff. You follow an assistant of the mayor around town with a group of people while she tells you what needs to be done. You repair cracked walls, paint faded buildings, plant flowers and trees and bushes in places that look bare.

That part is nice, making the district look better. But as soon as the clock strikes six, you’re back to being alone. You have to find ways to keep yourself entertained that don't include your best friend. Who you’ve been trying to demote, also. 

You have a few childhood friends that you’ve reconnected with, they fill Finnick’s spot a lot better than you thought they would. They’re new and refreshing, which makes for unpredictable conversations and different experiences. They’ve pulled you so far out of your comfort zone, you don’t think you’ll ever go back. 

They make it easy to form new habits.

You stop at the entrance of your neighborhood, staring blankly at the gravel road ahead of you. You wish you were even half as rich as some of the people in District Four. The families on the better side are able to afford cars, making travel easier from home to work or even the train station. You’d give almost anything to not have to walk an hour in the heat everyday.

Still, you drag your feet home. It’s not that far down the road, you’re just tired of walking, is all. As soon as your house is in sight, it’s like your legs want to give up on you. 

You stick your key in the door, twisting the knob and using your bodyweight to push against the wood. It’s an old house, there’s a lot that needs to be updated. The floors have become uneven after all these years, which makes the door scrape against them whenever you come home or leave.

The good news is a groove is being worked into the wood, so it won’t be long before the door has its own perfect path to open and close. 

You step inside the house, reaching down to pull the shoes off your feet. There’s an uneasy feeling in your stomach, warning you to check out your surroundings. Your eyes flicker up, and land right on the man you’ve been avoiding these past couple weeks.

Finnick is standing in your hallway, wearing a white linen shirt you bought for him last summer. It was right around the time he was complaining about being cold on the beach in the mornings. He wanted something that wouldn’t be too heavy, so you bought him the shirt since it’s long-sleeved and thin.

Speaking of the beach, he must’ve just come from it, because his hair is stuck to his forehead and dripping. Where did he put his surfboard? Did you miss it on your way in?

“Hey, Finnick.” You murmur, pulling your other shoe off. You toss it in the corner behind the door. “I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”

“I haven’t seen you in almost a week.” He says, tone on the verge of accusatory. 

A wave of guilt washes over you. You know, you’ve been blowing him off every time he’s tried to make plans with you. “I’ve been busy with work and friends.”

“Your schedule never used to look like this.”

“I needed a change of scenery.” You tell him.

Finnick nods, turning around to walk to your living room. You lift your bag, placing it on one of the hooks on the wall, following after him. As you get closer, you begin to see an array of colors. It isn’t until he steps out of the way, are you able to get a full view of what he’s laid out in your house.

Flowers, vases upon vases of them, covering almost every surface. In between them are gifts, chocolates and jewelry. Your face twists, lips parting as you look at Finnick. “What is all of this?”

“It’s an apology.”

“An apology for what?” You ask, fingers brushing over petals. “This is crazy.”

“For not seeing it sooner.” Finnick says. “I didn’t realize—” He shakes his head, eyes falling to the ground. “I didn’t know. I was so used to you being close to me that I didn’t know what I was missing until you were gone.”

“Finnick—”

“Mags had to tell me, she saw it before I did.” Finnick lifts his shoulders and then drops them. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t say anything?”

You press your lips together, shaking your head. “How could I when you told me you could never see yourself in a relationship?”

Finnick’s face falls. “I didn’t mean you.”

“You just said you didn’t know—”

“No—no I knew I had feelings for you. I didn’t realize the extent of it, not until you were gone and I was missing your voice, your touch, your presence.” He sighs. “All of it was gone at once and I was forced to live without it. And I can’t, I don’t want to.”

You shake your head. “So?”

Finnick motions to the flowers around him. “This is more than just an apology, it’s also a proposal.”

Your face scrunches up, “What?”

The summer heat has finally decided to catch up with District Four it seems, and it only took until mid-August for it to do so. It’s not gentle by any means, either. All you’re doing is getting ready for the day, and it feels as if you live in a tin can smack-dab in the middle of the desert. 

This house is small enough as it is, the last thing you need to be baked alive in it. You think your mother is on the same train of thought that you are, because she’s opened every single window in hopes that a breeze will roll through. 

You find her in the kitchen, fanning herself with a thin book, boiling a pot of water on the stove to loosen up the metal for the hooks that are laid out across the dining room table. You would just use a torch to make the hooks easier to bend, but you weren’t cleared for a permit since the house is flammable, and it’s in a fairly nice neighborhood.

So, you have no choice but to use water, even though it’s more time consuming. Between you and your mother making hooks, it’s getting harder and harder to make the Peacekeeper’s deadlines on time. It would be just a little bit easier if you had one more person to help, but then you’d be given a bigger workload.

“How long are you planning on being out for today, honey?” Your mother asks, pausing her fanning long enough to look your way.

“It shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours.” You tell her, gathering the bags of hooks to place into your tote bag. “Just a few errands to run and I’ll collect what I need for my hooks along the way. Once I drop them off at the docks, I’ll come straight back.”

She nods, “PLease be careful when you speak to the Peacekeepers, you can’t afford another warning.”

“I will be.” You say, turning your back to her. 

You pull the tote bag onto your shoulder, rolling your eyes. It’s not your fault the Peacekeeper’s are a bunch of sensitive wimps—none of them can take a joke. All you did last week was tell them that you may or may not see them the following day to make the drop.

This resulted in several Peacekeepers being sent to your door in the morning to escort you straight to the docks to deliver your hooks. When you tried to tell them that you weren’t being serious, you were met with a citation, but really it was just a warning. If you get another one, then you’ll be taken into custody until they think you’ve learned your lesson.

Talk about ridiculous, right?

“Love you, mom.” You murmur, opening the front door, hand reaching to push the screen door out of the way before you even see it.

“I’ll see you soon, honey.” She says back, her footsteps fading away.

Your hand comes into contact with cloth, hand squishing into whatever it is. You yank your hand back, as if you’ve just touched the hot stove, eyes peering around the door. 

As soon as you see who it is, your shoulders drop, worry leaving you in an instant. Your face twists at the sight of Finnick, leaned up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face. You begin to dread what the rest of your day is going to look like, if he’s here already.

Usually he has enough courtesy to give you a headstart before ruining your afternoon.

“Please, not this today.” You groan, pushing past him to get out of your house. You pull the front door shut with a slam, heading down the steps without waiting for him to say anything.

“Good afternoon.” He muses, following behind you. He must not shut the screen door, because you can hear it squeal as it swings back into place. “You don’t want me here?”

“I wouldn’t mind as much as I do if you weren’t so annoying. How long were you waiting out there for?” You ask him.

“Long enough to hear your mom ask you to be careful.” He says, taking long strides to catch up with your pace. “Which she won’t have to worry about, because I don’t plan on leaving your side today.”

“Of course you don’t.” You sigh, adjusting the bag on your shoulder.

He ignores your comment. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

“I’ve spent all week trading for fishing lure while you were in the Capitol, so I’m picking it all up today.” You tell him.

“What’d you trade them with?” He asks. “If you’d waited for me—”

“I don’t need you to negotiate for me, Finnick.” You shake your head. “I’ve been doing this since we were in school, I know how to get what I want without being scammed. Besides, I didn’t have time to wait for you, the Peacekeepers wanted the new hooks as soon as possible, and you weren’t here when the request came in.”

“How long ago?”

‘A week and a half ago.” You reach into your bag, pace slowing to go up to the first house. 

“You still didn’t answer my question on what you traded them for.” Finnick comes to a stop, back to the door so you have to look at him.

“We paid for some of them, and on some of the others I offered specialty hooks.” You tell him, going up to the house. 

The man that lives here answers the door after the first round of knocks, a smile on his face. You hold a polite conversation with him, while you unravel the cloth that covers the hook you made. He wanted it purely for decoration, since he’s been long-retired from being on the boats. He gave you the rest of his lure for free, no strings attached.

“Have a good afternoon.” You tell him, waving before you go back down to Finnick.

“How much did you pay?”

You really hate it when he gets on a roll with the questions. You’re not sure why it matters how much you paid for the lure, in the end you’ll be making a bigger profit with the Peacekeepers. And people don’t really have a need for lure when the Capitol provides good hooks for them in the first place. They just want something for them so they’re able to afford an extra meal.

“Not much.”

“You’re making more than what you paid, right?”

You stop walking, turning to Finnick. “Do you really take me for an idiot?”

He stares at you. “No.”

“Then why are you asking me questions like that?” You tilt your head. 

“Because I don’t want them to take advantage of you, (Y/n). You do a lot for the docks, whether these people know that or not.”

“I’m aware of that. And I don’t care if they appreciate my work. I’m just doing what I have to in order to survive. It’s not a huge deal.” You tell him, starting to walk again. “I’d rather prick my fingers a hundred times with the barb than have to deal with the boats.”

“You wouldn’t have to deal with either if you let me take care of you.”

Your face scrunches up at the thought. Once for the fact that he just said that to you, and twice for the idea of being supported on his Capitol money, which you despise. He earned his dollar of his money by beating the Hunger Games at such a young age, you’ll admit that.

But you’ll never come to terms with the person the Capitol has turned him into. 

The old Finnick—the one you grew up with before he got reaped—would never have said half of the things he does to you. His flirtatious comments are constant, they’re everyday, and they’re borderlining disrespectful. You’re not sure how many times you’ve told him to quiet it, and he never listens.

He’s not laying it on as thick today, but that might have something to do with what you said to him before he got on the train in July. You’d met him at the station after the reaping to wish him luck, because he’s still your friend, and he made a joke about taking you to the Capitol with him and showing you what luxury is.

You felt disgusted at the suggestion, because he should know that you’d rather be at the bottom of the ocean than in the Capitol. You backed away from him, and with a shake of your head, you told him that you’d never go there, much less with him. You left the train station after that, not bothering to give him the goodbye you usually do.

You hate the fact that he’s required to mentor the tributes. You think it’s a good idea, because Finnick broke the record for the youngest victor, but the person it turns him into… it’s just gross. He used to be friendly, funny and courteous, and a couple of years ago he changed. 

There were no signs, one year he went to the Capitol to mentor, and a month later he came out this insufferable Capitol brat. It only got worse when he mentored Annie Cresta, causing her to win the Games two years ago. Ever since, he’s been cocky, as if the world owes it to him.

You’re sick of dealing with it. Especially when it lasts for months, and by the time he seems to be getting better about his attitude, it’s Hunger Games season again. The cycle is never-ending.

“That’s nice, Finnick.” You mutter, pace quickening, as if you’ll be able to leave him behind.

“What?” He asks, as if he’s clueless. “It’s true. If you were with me, you’d never have to worry about half the things you do.” He begins to catch up with you. “There’d be dinner on the table every night, you’d have access to hot water in the winter, you’d be able to buy anything you want. You could’ve woken up in an air conditioned house today.”

“While that all sounds nice, I don’t want a life like that.” You tell him, eyes on the ground.

“Why not? Everyone wants a life like that.” He throws his arms out, you can tell by his shadow. “And I want to give it to you.”

“Because that means nothing to me.”

“Nothing?” Finnick asks. “So you’re telling me you don’t like the necklaces and jewels and—”

“Finnick!” You shout, irritated. You stop to look him dead in the eye. “What you’re doing isn’t working on me. I will never fall for the facade you put on for the Capitol.” You place a hand over your heart. “It’s all an act, and you need to give it a rest.”

Finnick’s face has dropped. “(Y/n), I mean everything I say.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel like it.” You throw a hand out. “Your lines are rehearsed. How many other girls have you talked to like that and believed it?” 

“I don’t talk to other girls, (Y/n). I’m not interested in them.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

Finnick stares at you for a long moment. “What can I do to prove to you that I do actually want you.”

“You can’t figure that out on your own?” You roll your eyes. “How long have we known each other? Have you ever listened to anything I’ve said?” When he doesn’t speak, you wave your hand. “Just go, Finnick. I’m sick of this, really. I got stuff to do and you’re slowing me down.”

Finnick looks down at the dirt, making a face. “All right.”

You watch as he walks off in the direction of Victor’s Village, looking like a kicked puppy. As soon as he hangs his head, you close your eyes, tilting your head back to take in the sun. You have half the mind to call him back and apologize, but you are running behind.

You turn to continue down the street, heading for the next house. You really hope he doesn’t give up entirely because of what you’ve said, you just want him to listen to what you’re telling him. 

It’s not like you don’t enjoy his company, because you do. He’s your favorite person to hang out with when he’s not being uptight. You think that if he were to ask you to be his girlfriend properly, you’d say yes, but you want it to be real. This doesn’t feel real, with the expensive jewelry, the money, the constant presents. It’s insane. 

You try to be quick to get done within the next hour, paying several people back for their kindness. You barely make it in time to the docks before they shut down for the rest of the day. While the Peacekeepers trust your handiwork, their Head Peacekeeper likes to inspect the hooks to ensure they’re good quality.

You’ve never had a hook sent back.

You tuck the money from the Peacekeepers into your bag, taking your time heading home. You’re sure mom has lunch ready, and most of her part of the work creating the hook has to be done by now. You’ll just need to attach the new lures and sharpen the barb.

When you make it home, it’s late afternoon. The front door and the screen have been opened to their max capacity to allow fresh air to enter the house. You pass right through the doorway, thinking nothing of it, until you come to a stop in your kitchen.

Finnick is leaning against your countertop, inspecting a hook you made last night. “Have you two ever considered opening up a shop closer to the dock? That way you don’t have to walk as far.”

“We have, but it’s expensive next to the dock. We know we’d probably make the money we need, but we can’t know for sure.”

“Have you considered a pop-up?” 

“A stand?” Your mom asks, considering it for a moment. “No, but I’m sure if we tried, the Peacekeepers would deny the permit, like they’ve denied everything else we’ve requested.”

“I’m home.” You tell them, mood fading. “I thought you went home, Finnick.”

“I did, but then I came here to wait for you.” Finnick says. “You should go and put on something more loose and comfortable.”

“For what?” You ask, setting your tote bag down by the door.

“Don’t worry about the details.” Finnick smiles. “I’ve got it all planned out.”

“I don’t have the time. I’ve got hooks to do.” You shake your head.

“Oh, leave them.” Your mom says, winking at you. “I’ll take care of it. The stove has been burning hotter lately because of the heat, I was able to get most of my work done. I’ll get you started.”

“I can’t have you do all the work.” You reason.

“(Y/n), you need a break.” She tilts her head down at you. “Go get changed. You can enjoy a proper day off for once.”

“Mom.” 

“Now, (Y/n).” She tells you.

You look at Finnick, a little upset by the fact that he’s ruined your plans for the rest of the day, but you know better than to argue any further with your mom. You pass them to go to the back of the house, where your small bedroom is. You swing the door shut with a single push, sitting down on your bed as you stare into the closet.

He said something more loose and comfortable—but you’re already wearing that. A regular shirt, a baggy pair of pants that once belonged to your father. You wish he’d given you more details.

You stand back up, mindlessly swiping through your tops before you stumble upon a tank top with thin straps that you haven’t worn in a while. You pull it off the hanger, throwing it over your arm as you turn to the small pile of jeans and shorts that line the wall. You crouch down, picking through them, finding a nice pair of light blue shorts that’ll reach your mid-thigh. 

You change quickly, throwing your previous clothes into the hamper, retying your shoes. When you join your mom and Finnick back in the kitchen, they both seem pleased with your choices.

“I’ll see you later this evening, honey.” Your mom tells you, touching your shoulder. “Finnick will take good care of you.”

You look at Finnick, who has a brighter smile on his face. He hands you your tote bag, which is no longer empty, like it had been when you dropped it off by the door. Now, there’s a neatly folded thin blanket inside. 

“Where are we going?” You ask Finnick, weirded out.

“Nowhere you haven’t been before.” He tells you, motioning for you to leave first. “Thank you, Ms. (L/n).”

“No problem, Finnick.” She waves.

The walk with Finnick is mostly quiet, not a lot of conversation is exchanged. You feel the need to apologize for what you said to him earlier, but you were just expressing how you felt, again. If he would just listen to you, then there wouldn’t be a need to be so straight-forward.

He brings you to the beach, under one of the few palm trees, where he lays out the blanket from the tote bag. Which reveals a couple of snack boxes underneath, containing fruit, crackers, spreads and juices. You stare at Finnick, wanting to tell him you’re not interested in experiencing the Capitol, when he completely takes you off-guard.

“Welcome to our first date.” Finnick laughs, “Sit, please.”

“A date?” You ask, pulling off your shoes to sit on the blanket. “Usually you have to ask the girl out first.”

“I would’ve, but you were already mad at me. That’s why I asked your mom for help.” He smiles. “Sorry, by the way, but I couldn’t let you be after what you said.”

You can’t help it, now. “I’m sorry, Finnick, I just—”

“You don’t have to apologize, I get it. Your mom explained it pretty well, actually.” He sits beside you, popping open the lids on the boxes. “I know where you’re coming from, and I know most of it is because of a rumor.” 

You nod, agreeing. 

“It started in the Capitol.” He tells you, shaking his head. “And as much as I hate it, I can’t escape what they say about me, so I’ve stopped trying. But I want you to know that I don’t talk to any other girls. You are the only one I talk to, because you’re the only one that’s stuck by me after my Games.”

“I’m your friend, Finnick.”

“Not everyone saw me that way.” He says. “They either stuck around because I was rich or left because I was a Capitol darling—a status I can’t help. They labeled me that way.”

“Oh.” You murmur.

He pauses for a moment, looking out at the water. “There’s a lot that happens in the Capitol when I go every year, and it’s partly why I act the way I do, and I’m trying to work on it.” He then looks back at you, taking your hand. “But I’m serious when it comes to my feelings about you, (Y/n). I really do like you, and I would like you to be my girlfriend.”

You stare at him, heart pumping in your chest, “I would love to, Finnick.”

The hospital is in complete disarray. There’s so much shouting and movement that you can’t focus on just one thing around you. You watch a doctor, a volunteer, a loved one, a nurse run from one side of the room to the other, scrambling to gather their bearings. 

An emaciated woman with shaved hair and scabs is pushed on a gurney, heading toward a private room. It’s Johanna, you recognize her immediately. She always has that scowl on her face, awake or sleeping. You warned her the expression would stick if she weren’t careful. You’d be gratified you’re right if she weren’t in such a bad condition.

Katniss starts to move away from the group of you, heading for a room with a young man sitting on a stool, stripped down to the waist. Gale Hawthorne, of course. He was the first person to volunteer when the rescue mission was finally approved. Katniss has been worrying herself sick over whether or not he would make it back. 

Well, they did, thankfully.

She makes it to the doorway before she’s blocked by a nurse who is shaking her head, pointing for her to back up. When Katniss makes no move, the door is slammed in her face, wood rattling against the frame. 

“(Y/n)!” A shrill voice shouts, causing you to turn quickly. You’re met with the sight of Annie, she’s barely gotten into District Thirteen’s jumpsuit. The doctor behind her is just finishing the top button when she pushes him out of the way. “Finnick!”

You go to her, a wide smile on her face, arms held out in her direction. “Annie!”

Finnick is right behind you, a hand on your lower back and he guides you to her. She jumps off the bed she’s sitting on, barreling down the open space until she slams into the both of you. You can almost feel the wind leave your lungs on impact, but you can’t help the laughter that escapes you.

You squeeze her tightly, rocking from side to side. The relief finally hits you, tears springing in your eyes. Annie’s your best friend, you knew her before she was reaped, and after you were brought closer together. There are moments when you’re not sure if she feels the same, but it’s times like now when you realize you’d be a fool to think otherwise.

“I’m so happy to see you!” You laugh, giving her a good squeeze before you back away. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” She nods. “Good.”

“They can’t reach you here, Annie.” Finnick tells her. “You’re safe.”

She nods, looking behind her. Her doctor is standing nearby, a device in his hand. “We have just a few more tests to run, and then we’re done.”

“We’ll stay with her.” Finnick says, taking your hand to bring you with them. 

You follow, watching as Annie scoots herself onto the bed. The doctor goes back to doing a series of tests on her. Your eyes wander the hospital, which seems to slowly be collecting itself. Haymitch and Katniss are no longer by the door, so you’re guessing they found their way to Peeta.

He’ll be the one you visit next. The two of you grew to be pretty good friends prior to the Quarter Quell. It turns out you two have a lot more in common than it seems. You might’ve grown up in two different districts, but if you put your backgrounds on paper and ask someone to put it to a face—they’d never be able to. 

Everyone was devastated when you saw him on television for the first time. As the weeks grew on, you were sure you’d eventually watch him die. He was withering away, right before Panem’s eyes, and it made you sick knowing Snow was getting exactly what he wanted. 

He was killing morale.

Right as you turn back to look at Finnick, offering him a smile, a scream pierces the air. Annie slaps her hands over her ears, burying her head into her knees. You turn, holding on to Finnick as you look behind you. Chaos has erupted, several doctors and nurses run down a hallway and don’t return right away.

“We need help!” A voice shouts.

You let go of Finnick, hand falling to your side as you go to see what it is. You’re blocked off by a nurse just before you’re about to see what it is. She pushes you back by your shoulder.

“I’m here to help.” You tell her, going to push again. 

“We’re on strict orders to keep all victors away.” She says. “Please, take a step back.”

A bed driven by an assistant comes flying by, going straight to the commotion. You wait to see what’s happening for a moment, before you begin to back up, thinking they have it under control. That’s when Haymitch comes out from around the corner, eyes wide. 

“What is it?” You ask.

He turns to you with raised eyebrows, mouth open as he shakes his head. Finnick appears by your side, hand reaching for yours. You let his fingers intertwine, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“Peeta—he just. One second he was fine and the next he was strangling her.”

“What?” You ask, the nurse scurries down the hallway at the news. You step forward to get a look for yourself, finding a medical group gathered together in front of a door.

You watch as Plutarch steps out of the room, shaking his head. His eyes lock on the three of you, motioning for you to go over to him.

“Come on.” Haymitch says, you follow behind him.

“This is one of their techniques.” Plutarch says, looking back into the room.

You’re finally able to get a glimpse, and it’s far from what you were picturing when Haymitch told you what happened. Peeta’s still on the ground, unconscious, while Boggs stands over him, giving orders to other soldiers beside him.

Katniss has been hoisted onto the bed that was being pushed. She’s got a collar around her neck to keep it in place from causing anymore damage. She seems to be awake, Primrose is right beside her, holding onto her hand tightly. Her lips are moving, so you’re guessing she’s telling her what’s happening.

“What did they do to him?” Haymitch asks.

“It’s called hijacking.” Plutarch tells you.

Katniss is wheeled out of the room, her eyes finding the four of you briefly before you’re taken from her line of sight. She’s being brought deeper into the hospital, where all the machines are.

“Hijacking?” Haymitch repeats.

“It’s when they use the tracker jacker venom to manipulate his memories.” Plutarch looks at the concrete floor. “This is what they must’ve been doing while he was in their captivity. The torture likely got worse after the warning he gave us.”

“So, what? Snow made Peeta hate us?”

“Likely just Katniss, but we won’t know for sure until the venom’s out of his system. It could take from hours to days, depending on how much had been pumped into him.” He says, shaking his head.

“What’s going to happen to Katniss?” You ask.

“She’s going to have her throat examined, to make sure that there wasn’t any real damage done.” Boggs says, coming out of the room. They have Peeta in handcuffs, dragging him by his arms down the same way Katniss was brought. “He had a tight grip on her.”

Haymitch shakes his head, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I wouldn’t either.” Boggs says. “They’re going to take him to one of our isolation rooms. They’ll have a few doctors monitor him.”

“How long do you think until they’ll know for sure about Katniss?” Finnick asks.

Boggs shrugs. “They’re going to start the tests on her.”

“We’ll let you two know when they’re done.” Plutarch says.

You nod, “We’ll go and stay with Annie for a bit then.”

Haymitch nods, you split away. Finnick has this slightly absent look on his face, he must be worried about Katniss. The three of you have grown to be pretty close while Annie and Peeta were in the Capitol. You were all terrified of what would happen to them. 

While you’re grateful it seems Annie has come out unharmed, it doesn’t make you feel good about Johanna and Peeta’s torture. They knew rebel secrets, Snow was trying to get it out of them. They just took Annie because he knew it would drive you crazy since she’s innocent in all of this. How could she know about a rebel plan if she’s thousands of miles away?

You squeeze Finnick’s hand, reminding him you’re there. He gives you a half-smile, and then his attention turns to Annie. She seems to have dropped her knees, her hands no longer over her ears. The doctor must’ve coaxed her out of a spiral, although, they’re not nearly as bad as they used to be.

Annie seems to be pretty stable. They check her system, confirm she doesn’t have any of the tracker jacker venom in her. They go through her vitals, her respiratory. They bring her to a private room to do a body check to find any cuts, bruises or scabs. She comes out clean, and she’s immediately cleared to be brought to a regular hospital room.

You’re shut out of the room for a while in order to allow her to get some rest, so the two of you end up wandering. A familiar string of swear words brings you down the hall to where Johanna is. She’s livid, batting the doctors and nurses away with a pillow, screaming at them to leave her alone.

When she sees you stand in the doorway, she slams the pillow down on her lap. “Finally! Where the hell have you two been?”

“Annie.” You tell her, leaning against the doorway. “You know, if you let them do their job, they’re more likely to leave you alone.”

“This dumbass nurse has been poking me for the past ten minutes.” She glares at the girl in scrubs. “If you can’t find my veins, find someone who can!”

“If you’d stop moving—”

“Get out!” She shouts, throwing the pillow at her face.

The nurse, fed up with Johanna’s attitude, storms out of the room. She narrowly misses you and Finnick, mumbling something about gratitude. The doctor stands there, staring at Johanna, unsure of where to go next.

“Well?” She demands. “Do you know how to find a vein?”

He nods quietly, going over to her. He manages to find the vein in one go, sets up the machine to monitor her vitals, and then clears the room without a word. You enter after that, sitting in one of the chairs in the corner. You cross your arms over your chest.

“How’s Annie?” She asks, observing her inner elbow.

“She’s good, they wanted us to clear out to let her get some rest.” Finnick says.

“The poor thing’s tired.” She nods. “She was hysterical, you know. It was impossible not to hear her, she was almost as bad as Peeta and I.”

“I’m sorry, Johanna.” Finnick murmurs.

Johanna gives a shrug, putting on that brave face she normally does. On the outside, it seems like it doesn’t affect her, but you all know it’ll be haunting her for the rest of her life. The last thing she wants to be seen as is weak.

“He couldn’t kill me.” She says smoothly. “Even if he wanted to.”

You keep Johanna company for a while, bringing her up to speed on what’s been happening in Thirteen while she was gone. The people she can trust, the people she can’t. The food is mediocre at best, Katniss and Gale’s hunting has been the only reason why there’s been variety in the cafeteria. 

It’s a couple hours later when Haymitch sticks his head in the room. “Katniss has a private room, if you’d like to see her.”

“I do.” You say, getting to your feet. “We’ll come back and see you, Johanna.”

“Wish her my best.” Johanna says in that tone of hers, a sarcastic smile follows.

“We will.” Finnick says just to push her buttons.

You leave to follow Haymitch down a series of hallways, bringing you in much deeper than you thought. Katniss’s room is already occupied with quite a few people, so when you join, it feels cramped.

“Hey, Katniss.” You smile, eyes sliding over to her sister next. “And Primrose, of course.”

“Prim is fine.” She gives you a small smile.

Katniss has her lips pressed together, eyes darting around the room to each face. The bruising around her neck has already begun to show, it looks gnarly. If she shows up on camera, it’ll be pretty obvious to the Capitol on what happened. Someone got their hands around her neck. For Snow, it’ll be a sign that his plan worked, but not as well as he was hoping.

“Alright, we’d like a private moment with Katniss, if possible.” Plutarch says, motioning for the doctors to leave. “We’ll press a button if her condition changes.” They nod, not arguing with him, ducking out of the room. He looks at Prim expectantly. “You, too.”

“No. If you force me to leave, I’ll go directly to surgery and tell my mother everything that’s happened. And I warn you, she doesn’t think much of a Gamemaker calling the shots on Katniss’s life. Especially when you’ve taken such poor care of her.” Prim threatens.

Plutarch’s face twists, you suppress a smile, while Haymitch chuckles. “I’d let it go, Plutarch.”

“So, Katniss, Peeta’s condition has come as a shock to all of us.” Plutarch says. “We couldn’t help but notice his deterioration in the last two interviews. Obviously, he’s been abused, and we put his psychological state down to that. Now we believe something more was going on. That the Capitol has been subjecting him to a rather uncommon technique known as hijacking. Beetee?”

Your attention turns to Beetee, his hands are in his lap. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you all the specifics of it, Katniss. The Capitol’s very secretive about this form of torture, and I believe the results are inconsistent. This we do know. It’s a type of fear conditioning. The term hijack comes from an old English word that means ‘to capture,’ or even better, ‘seize’. We believe it was chosen because the technique involves the use of tracker jacker venom, and the jack suggested hijack. You were stung in your first Hunger Games, so unlike most of us, you have firsthand knowledge of the effects of the venom.”

You squint at the ground, trying to catch up with what Beetee’s said. Sometimes you swear he could dumb down what he says, he just chooses not to. Why?—you’ll never know. He’s right though, Katniss did get stung when she dropped that nest on the group of Careers below the tree.

You watched your girl tribute die because she’d gotten stung too many times. She couldn’t flee in time, there was nothing she could do to stop her fate. And since she was your last tribute alive, you and Finnick were pulled out of the Betting Room, instructed to stay in the Tribute Center unless given instructions stating otherwise.

“I’m sure you remember how frightening it was. Did you also sugar mental confusion in the aftermath?” Beetee asks, Katniss closes her eyes and gives a very small nod, agreeing. “A sense of being unable to judge what was true and what was false? Most people who have been stung and lived to tell about it report something of the kind.”

He takes a breath. “Recall is made more difficult because memories can be changed.” Beetee taps his forehead. “Brought to the forefront of your mind, altered, and saved again in the revised form. Now imagine that I ask you to remember something—either with a verbal suggestion or by making you watch a tape of the event—and while that experience is refreshed, I give you a dose of tracker jacker venom. Not enough to induce a three-day blackout. Just enough to infuse the memory with fear and doubt. And that’s what your brain puts in long-term storage.”

Prim shakes her head. “Is that what they’ve done to Peeta? Taken his memories of Katniss and distorted them so they’re scary?”

Beetee nods. “So scary that he’d see her as life-threatening. That he might try to kill her. Yes, that’s our current theory.”

Katniss lifts her arms, burying her face in them. Prim rubs her shoulder, but doesn’t look away from Beetee. “But you can reverse it, right?”

“Um… very little data on that.” Plutarch admits. “None, really. If hijacking rehabilitation has been attempted before, we have no access to those records.”

“Well, you’re going to try, aren’t you?” Prim persists. “You’re not just going to lock him up in some padded room and leave him to suffer?”

“Of course, we’ll try, Prim.” Beetee says. “It’s just, we don’t know to what degree we’ll succeed. If any. My guess is that fearful events are the hardest to root out. They’re the ones we naturally remember best, after all.”

“And apart from his memories of Katniss, we don’t yet know what else has been tampered with.” Plutarch shakes his head. “We’re putting together a team of mental health and military professionals to come up with a counterattack. I, personally, feel optimistic that he’ll make a full recovery.”

“Do you?” Prim asks, tilting her head. “And what do you think, Haymitch?”

Katniss very cautiously moves her arms to allow a gap to see Haymitch. His shoulders have sunk. “I think Peeta might get somewhat better. But…I don’t think he’ll ever be the same.”

“At least he’s alive.” Plutarch is losing patience with pessimism. “Snow executed Peeta’s stylist and his prep team on live television tonight. We’ve no idea what happened to Effie Trinket. Peeta’s damaged, but he’s here. With us. And that’s a definite improvement over his situation twelve hours ago. Let’s keep that in mind, all right?”

Katniss chest begins to rise and fall drastically, until she’s gasping for air. Her arms have fallen from her face so she can grab onto the bed, beginning to panic. The news about Peeta’s team has caused this, there’s no question about it.

It’s a matter of seconds before a button is pressed, a team of doctors and nurses infiltrate the room, and Katniss is completely sedated. You’re all shut out of the room, with the exception of Prim, who grips onto the rails of the bed and watches the medical staff help Katniss.

You turn to Plutarch and Beetee. “Do you think your team will land on exposure therapy?”

Plutarch makes a face, weighing this. “Possibly. We can’t really take any risks right now, we don’t want to agitate him.”

“Are we able to see him?”

“(Y/n).” Finnick says, shaking his head. 

You place a hand on his arm. “I don’t want to see him face to face, I just—I assume you have him in a room where you can monitor him. I want to see him with my own eyes.”

“You can, but not for long.” Plutarch nods, beginning to start down the hallway. 

Beetee and Haymitch go first, you wait until they’ve passed before you go to follow. A tight grip on your upper arm keeps you from leaving. Finnick’s shaking his head.

“We should go see Annie, make sure she’ll be okay for the night.”

You shrug with one shoulder. “I’m sure she’s fine. It’s only been a few hours since we’d seen her last. She was sleeping, remember?”

“Yeah, but there’s not much to see right now with Peeta.”

“So? I want to help them come up with solutions when it comes to Peeta.”

“What solutions do you think you’ll be able to come up with that they haven’t thought of already?”

“Finnick, we’re taken care of Annie all these years, and we had to figure out how to do that. Who’s to say we can’t get a start on Peeta?”

“I’d really rather see Annie. Or go visit Johanna again.”

You pull your arm from him. “Then go see them, I’ll meet you there eventually.”

“Are you two coming?” Plutarch shouts down the hall, they’ve stopped at the turn to make sure you were behind him.

“I don’t want to split up.” Finnick says. “Not right now.”

“Well, I’m going this way.” You tell him, beginning to back away. “Make your choice.”

Finnick seems unhappy with your decision, but goes with you, anyway. Beetee and Plutarch make conversation about Peeta, theorizing if they’ve tried any of the tracker jacker venom on Johanna. It doesn’t seem like it, but they won’t know for sure until they come across something that triggers her.

When you get to see Peeta, it’s through a glass pane. He’s been strapped to a gurney by his wrists and ankles. They’ve changed him into a hospital gown. And if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was just a body. The life has been completely sucked out of him.

He continues to look like this for the next couple of days, and as they start to go easier on the sedation, he begins to ask questions. He’s only allowed to be seen by strangers, so they can evaluate his behavior and keep any dangerous memories from resurfacing. 

A team of specialists work constantly to plan out a recovery route for him. You go to see him from time to time when your schedule allows. Finnick keeps to Johanna, only going with you when it’s late at night. All he does is ask why you care so much about Peeta, you barely know each other. 

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s like you’d been copy and pasted in District Twelve and the universe changed his gender. You come a tough-love household, where you were left to fend for yourself. In your first Games, your family had no hope you’d win. You have similar values when it comes to caring and kindness and a general outlook on life.

You’d grew especially close since you both had your partners with you in the Quarter Quell arena. Finnick was going in, that wasn’t up for debate. So, you’d gone with him, much to his opposition. The same thing went on for Peeta. It was almost shocking just how in sync your lives were.

At one point, you said it was like he was destined to be your twin. Your best friend.

You can’t explain this all to Finnick without him accusing you of being weird, you’re sure of it. That’s why you don’t bother. You’ve told him you consider Peeta to be one of your friends, the same way you do with Johanna and Annie. And while you’re concerned over their wellbeing, they seem to be operating just fine.

You don’t understand why it’s such a big deal who you choose to visit.

You cross your arms over your chest, listening as Plutarch explains the experiment they’ve decided to go through with. They took your suggestion about exposure therapy into consideration, and they’ve started to start off with a girl named Delly from District Twelve. 

So far, she’s been really friendly. She struck up conversation with you as soon as you came in the room, curious on where you’re from and what it’s like in District Four. She’s had all good things to say about Peeta and Katniss and Gale. You’re sure that even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to say a bad thing about Haymitch, either.

“Katniss!” She suddenly calls out.

You turn to see Katniss coming your way. She looks a lot better than she did that first day. The bruises on her neck have started the process of fading, but it’ll be a long week before they’re gone completely. You’ve visited her a few times while she was bedbound, Prim was almost always there. On one of the stops, you told Katniss that Johanna’s just as much of a firecracker as she was before she left, maybe more, so she’d better be careful talking to her, when she’s allowed.

“Hey, Delly.” Katniss says. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, it’s been a lot of changes all at once.” Her eyes fill with tears immediately. “But everyone’s really nice here in Thirteen, don’t you think?”

“They’ve made an effort to make us feel welcome.” Katniss says, trying to be diplomatic on her opinion. “Are you the one they’ve picked to see Peeta?”

“I guess so. Poor Peeta. Poor you. I’ll never understand the Capitol.”

“Better not to, maybe.” Katniss suggests.

“Delly’s known Peeta for a long time.” Plutarch interjects.

“Oh, yes!” Delly’s face brightens. “We played together from when we were little. I used to tell people he was my brother.”

“What do you think?” Haymitch asks Katniss. “Anything that might trigger memories of you?”

“We were all in the same class. But we never overlapped much.” Katniss shrugs. 

“Katniss was always so amazing. I never dreamed she would notice me.” Delly says. “The way she could hunt and go in the Hob and everything. Everyone admired her so.”

There’s a pause as Haymitch and Katniss stare at Delly, maybe it’s something she’s said. That’s when Katniss tears her eyes away to look between you and Plutarch.

“Delly always thinks the best of everyone. I don’t think Peeta could have bad memories associated with her.” She pauses. “Wait. In the Captiol. When I lied about recognizing the Avox girl. Peeta covered for me and said she looked like Delly.”

Haymitch nods. “I remember. But I don’t know. It wasn’t true. Delly wasn’t actually there. I don’t think it can compete with years of childhood memories.”

“Especially with such a pleasant companion as Delly.” Plutarch says. “Let’s give it a shot.”

You all move into the next room, which is called the observation room. There, a ten member team stands ready with clipboards and pens, ready to jot down Peeta’s reaction. There’s a one-way glass and an audio set up to allow you to see and hear everything that will go on.

On the other side of the wall is Peeta, still strapped down on the bed. He seems awake, staring off at something, but he’s got an edge to his expression. He’s not the person he used to be. His fingers constantly move, waving, bending, balling. You can’t imagine how bored he must be.

Delly gets sent through the door, which causes his eyes to widen, and then his face twists, unsure. Delly takes her time crossing the room, not trying to move too fast or step too loud. Once she’s close, she breaks into that smile of hers. “Peeta? It’s Delly. From home.”

“Delly?” He asks. “Delly. It’s you.”

“Yes!” She says. “How do you feel?”

“Awful. WHere are we? What’s happened?”

“Here we go.” Haymitch says, covering his mouth.

“I told her to steer clear of any mention of Katniss or the Capitol.” Plutarch says. “Just see how much of home she could conjure up.”

“Well… we’re in District Thirteen. We live here now.

“That’s what those people have been saying. But it makes no sense. Why aren’t we home?”

Delly bites her lip. “There was… an accident. I miss home badly, too. I was only just thinking about those chalk drawings we used to do on the paving stones. Yours were so wonderful. Remember when you made each one a different animal?”

“Yeah. Pigs and cats and things.” Peeta says dismissively. “You said… about an accident?”

Delly purses her lips, trying to think of a way to work around the question. “It was bad. No one… could stay.” She stops.

“Hang in there, girl.” Haymitch mutters.

“But I know you’re going to like it here, Peeta. The people have been really nice to us. There’s always food and clean clothes, and school’s much more interesting.” She picks up.

“Why hasn’t my family come to see me?” Peeta asks.

“They can’t.” Delly’s tearing up. “A lot of people didn’t get out of Twelve. So we’ll need to make a new life herer. I’m sure they could use a good baker. Do you remember when your father used to let us make dough girls and boys?”

“There was a fire.” Peeta suddenly says, as if he’s known all along.

“Yes.” She whispers.

“Twelve burned down, didn’t it? Because of her.” His face has begun to turn red. “Because of Katniss!” He yanks on his restraints.

“Oh, no, Peeta. It wasn’t her fault.”

“Did she tell you that?” He hisses.

“Get her out of there.” Plutarch orders.

The door to the room slides open, Delly begins to back away to it. “She didn’t have to. I was—”

“Because she’s lying! She’s a liar! You can’t believe anything she says! She’s some kind of mutt the Capitol created to use against the rest of us!” Peeta shouts at her. 

“No, Peeta. She’s not a—” Delly tries again.

“Don’t trust her, Delly.” Peeta’s shaking his head, desperate. “I did, and she tried to kill me. She killed my friends. My family. Don’t even go near her! She’s a mutt!”

A hand reaches through, grabbing Delly, pulling her out. The door immediately swings shut, but Peeta’s still shouting. The recovery team is scribbling down notes, writing every word he’s said. You watch as Haymitch and Plutarch escort Katniss out of the room, you loosely follow. 

They stop in the empty hallway, where Katniss covers her face with her hands, taking deep breaths to calm herself. When she feels better, her hands drop. “I can’t stay here anymore.” She says. “If you want me to be the Mockingjay, you’ll have to send me away.”

“Where do you want to go?” Haymitch asks.

“The Capitol.” 

“Can’t do it.” Plutarch shakes his head. “Not until all the districts are secure. Good news is, the fighting’s almost over in all of them but Two. It’s a tough nut to crack, though.”

“Fine.” She says. “Send me to Two.”

They begin to walk away together, but Haymitch notices you keep your feet firmly planted where you are. He lets them go off, backtracking to come to you. “What are you thinking?”

You glance behind you, back to the room where Peeta is. Maybe they’re taking the wrong approach. You can’t avoid talking about Katniss and the Capitol forever. In fairness, he’s only been back for about a week now. But they haven’t allowed anyone else from Twelve to see him, much less any other victors that could help him.

“What do you think would happen if he saw me?”

Haymitch thinks this over for a moment, eyebrows slowly drawing in. You were sure he would outright reject the idea, but he shrugs. “You did have some things in common.”

“Do you think he’s too riled up?”

“They already administered a sedative. You’d probably have to wait before going in.”

“Then I’ll wait.” You tell him.

Haymitch keeps you company in the hallway, the two of you talk about Annie’s recovery and what that could mean for Peeta. If it’s even the same. Haymitch is afraid that Peeta will never be the same person as he was before, especially with the route the Capitol went with. They wanted to damage him, and they’ve pretty much succeeded. 

However, the same was thought for Annie. After she won, there was a period of time where she wouldn’t even come out of her house. She didn’t want to see you or Finnick or Mags—only her family. Except, her family wasn’t ready to be taking care of her like that. You had to step in, even though it was far from what Annie wanted, but it turned out for the better.

It could be the same for Peeta.

About an hour after they administered the sedative, Peeta’s slowly coming back to reality. Plutarch has made his way back, as well. He’s got Katniss set up with a hovercraft to leave in a couple hours. She’ll say goodbye to her family and spend a nice couple weeks in Two, where they’re having a hard time cracking down on loyalists.

When you re-enter the observation room, you’re met with a lot of pushback from the recovery team. They think it’s too early to try again, and you might end up causing more damage than you intend to. Once Haymitch tells them that you grew to be pretty close during the Quarter Quell, they back off, but they’re still doubting your ability to do any real good.

“Try to keep conversation about Katniss to a minimum.” Plutarch tells you.

“Sure.” You tell him, but you know you’ll go wherever the conversation allows. If Peeta wants to talk about Katniss, you’ll let him. 

You go in through the door, Peeta lifts his head to look in your direction. He’s not completely off of the drugs quite yet, they thought it would be easier if he was still drowsy. He squints at you, as if he’s trying to put a name to your face, but then he relaxes when you get closer.

“(Y/n).”

“Hey, Peeta.” You smile. “Long time, no see. I was sure we were going to have some big reunion when you got here.”

He scoffs, laying his head back. “You don’t have to lie to me, (Y/n).”

“Lie to you about what?” You ask him.

“I know you wanted me locked up after what I did to her.” He spits the word, but he’s not nearly as worked up as much.

“It’s a precaution for your safety.” You tell him, crossing your arms. “You know, I did try to see you as soon as you got here, but you weren’t ready for visitors.” You lift one hand to motion to his restraints. “You still aren’t.”

“I’m not crazy.” He accuses. “You’re just as brainwashed as they are.”

“I never said you were crazy.” You tell him. “And come on. Who just spent the last month and a half in the Capitol?” You tit your head down at him. “Have you seen yourself?”

“Yeah, right there.’ He justs his chin at the one-way glass. There are twelve eyes staring back at you that you can’t see. You wonder if he knows that. “Is she back there?”

“No, she left after you freaked poor Delly out.” You tell him. “You might want to try to apologize the next time you see her. She was really happy to see you.”

“How do you know Delly?” he asks.

“Who doesn’t know Delly?” You retort. “That girl has talked my ear off since I met her.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Right.”

“Listen, I hear you have a lot of trouble remembering the way things happened.”

The smile vanishes. “No, she just manipulated you all into thinking she’s the victim.”

“You’re both victims.” You correct him. “We’re all victims of the Capitol, of the war.”

Peeta takes time to think this over, letting it turn in his mind. This is what you want, for him to take his own feelings and compare it to what you’re saying. “How could she manipulate all of us when we watched every minute of what happened?” You challenge. “It doesn’t make sense. She hasn’t spoken to every single person in District Four, and we’re still right behind her.”

His voice is quiet when he speaks. “She tried to kill me in our Games. She—they are working together, against me.”

“Who?”

“Haymitch and the mutt.”

“How were they working against you, if you made it out alive?” You counter, leaning over the bed a little bit to get him to look at you. “Haymitch made a promise to you during the Quarter Quell. Don’t you remember what that was?”

“No.” He says bitterly. “I’m sure it was stupid of me.”

“You asked him to save Katniss over you. And he kept his word, didn’t he? Katniss is safe.”

“I never should have seen Haymitch that night.” Peeta’s shaking his head. “I never should’ve volunteered. They could’ve figured it out themselves.”

“Maybe so, but do you think you could’ve lived with it at the time?” You ask him.

There’s a pause. “No.”

“No.” You agree. “You loved Katniss so much before you went to the Capitol, that you were willing to risk your life for her. The Capitol has stolen that from you, and you’re just going to let it happen?”

“She doesn’t care.” His face twists.

“The night you were rescued, she went into the hospital looking for you.” You tell Peeta. “You, not anyone else. What does that say to you?”

Peeta’s eyes fall. “She wanted to kill me.”

“She wanted to see her fiance again. She wanted to hold him.” You shake your head. “I think while you’re here, you should take some time to think this through. Katniss loved you in her own cruel way. The two of you have been put into an impossible situation.”

“You don’t get it.” 

You take a step back. “Maybe I don’t. I’ll see you later, Peeta.”

“Wait—you’re leaving?” He pulls on the restraints, trying to sit up.

“I can’t be here all day. I have other people to visit.”

“Like who?”

“Like Annie. Like Johanna.” You shrug. “Think, Peeta. You have plenty of time to do it. There must be something that doesn’t make sense in the memories the Capitol has given you.”

You leave the room, finding Finnick in the next when you enter. His mouth is twisted, like it usually is when he’s angry. Your eyebrows twitch, trying to remember if you’ve given him a reason to feel this way, when Plutarch and Haymitch come toward you.

“He responded well, (Y/n).” Haymitch nods.

“How did you do that?” Plutarch asks.

“I think the sedative helped.” You admit. “I think if you bring Delly in here again, you should let him control the way the conversation goes. And he needs to be told about what happened in District Twelve. I don’t think it’s a good idea to withhold that from him.”

“Maybe we’ll try that tomorrow.” Plutarch says, looking at the recovery team. “He’s had an exciting day today, he needs time to wind down and think.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” You start toward Finnick. “I’ll catch you later, I think it’s about lunch time.”

Haymitch waves. “We’ll see you.”

As you step back into the hallway, you reach for Finnick’s hand, wanting to be close to him. Your fingers barely graze his skin before he pulls away, opting to cross his arms instead. 

You stare at him for a moment. “What’s the matter with you?”

“If you want to hold hands, maybe you should go see Peeta.”

“Are you serious?” You stop walking, hands on your hips. “Finnick, really?”

He turns, looking you over. “That’s what you did, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t even touch Peeta.” You motion back down the hallway. “I leaned over to get his attention.”

“That’s not what it looked like.” He waves you off, going back to walking.

“Quit it.” You snap, following behind him. You grab his sleeve, twisting him sharply to face you. “That’s not what happened.”

“You two seem pretty close.”

“We have the same background.”

“Uh huh.” Finnick tries to pull his arm away.

You yank him back, causing him to almost trip. He leans over just long enough to allow you to grab his face, planting a hard kiss to his lips. When you pull away, Finnick stares at you.

“How long have we been dating?” You ask him. “And you think I would just leave you for Peeta? What sense does that make, really?”

“(Y/n), you’ve been blowing me off to go see him, what else was I supposed to think?”

You pull him in close, wrapping your arms around him. “I love you and only you.” You tell him, he hugs you back. “I’m sorry I haven’t been with you.”

“No, I’m sorry.” He murmurs. “You’re just trying to help, it’s what you do best.”

You pull back. “You should come with me next time. We might be able to do some good.”

“Maybe.” Finnick says, taking your hand in his. “For now, I think we have a date aboveground.”

You stand up straight. “Really? You convinced them?”

Finnick gives you a cheeky smile. “Only the best for my lady.”

You laugh, pulling him in for another kiss. “I love you, Finnick.”