#lysander.volt

the interviews were done, everyone had dispersed and the rebels had done what they aimed to do—the footage had been seen by many. and no doubt snow would be after someone's head for this. but that was a distant problem, something far off...something to think about some other time. for now?

lysander was only focused on running their fingers up and down volt's arm, feeling the weight of him at their side, pressing a light kiss to the top of his head...all those soft gestures of affection that the two couldn't share outside this apartment. it was quiet, blissfully so, before lysander hums, looks down at volt. "...you know, i wish you would take me up on my offer. we can still just...leave. head for thirteen..."

as a sponsor, lysander always played close attention to the scores assigned by the gamemakers. there's a memory, something distant and blurring at the edges, of a hand on his shoulder as lysander watched tributes demonstrate their skills, a calm voice that explained how the process worked, patient with all the questions a child had for their father. it all seemed so intriguing at the time -- the games viewed with wide-eyed curiosity and awe. it was only when lysander got older that he learned to take those scores with a grain of salt. especially this year. but the twelves catch his attention, how could they not? and it doesn't take long for lysander to make his way over to volt, already holding a drink out to the other as they speak, "with a score like that, you're going to have sponsors throwing money at you." they note, although he doubted volt needed to be told that. "...i'll be one of them." as if that were ever in doubt. "whatever you need in that arena, you'll get it."