A Tribute's Heart - Chapter 1
As the 71st Hunger Games draw near, you and Minghao must navigate the complexities of your relationship. When you're reaped, will the arena transform you into someone unrecognizable? And when itâs all over, will Minghao still see you the same way? Will you even make it out alive?
Pairing: District12!Minghao x District12!Reader
Notes: Here's the first chapter! Let me know what you think :)) Chapter 2 out soon!
Chapter 1: The Mourn-ing Call
The air had a crisp bite to it, hinting at the coming fall. The L/N house creaked in the quiet morning, its eerie sound drifting into the silence. The sun had not yet risen, but its early light was slowly creeping through the panes of Y/Nâs room. She groaned as she shifted onto her side, the 18-year-old girlâs eyes slowly cracking open. Her throat was dry and soreâa sure sign that while the air had turned cooler, summer would hang on for a few more weeks.
Sighing deeply, Y/N turned back onto her back. Staring up at the cracked stained ceiling, a pit began to form in her stomach as the reality of the day settled in. Today was the 71st Hunger Games reaping, and at 18 this would be her last year of eligibility. However, that didn't make the day's anxiety anylighter. Her chances of being selected were greater now, Y/N put her name in extra times through the tessera so that her family could scrape by with barely enough food to survive the harsh winter. Her cousin of the same age, Mateo as well. 4 extra name slips for Mateo and 3 extra name slips for Y/N.
A soft cough broke her thoughts, and Y/N turned to look at her younger cousinsâAlice, 9, and Olive, 15. A pang of sadness washed over Y/N as she realized Alice would not have to fear her name being pulled from the jar this year, or the next, or even the one after, but her future still holds this annual âtraditionâ. Olive, like Y/N, would face the same agonizing wait in the heat, hoping her name wouldnât be the one called.
Y/N sighed again and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet meeting the worn, splintered wood. She sat there for a moment, hands by her thighs gripping the edge of the lumpy mattress, as her head hung down, eyes closed. Outside, the early stirrings of the town could be heardâothers awake in the quiet morning, too anxious to sleep on reaping day. It was hard to imagine anyone resting while the shadow of death loomed over them all.Â
A breeze rustled the air, quieting the sounds of the street. Maybe nature, in its own way, was offering comfort to those in the district on such a solemn day.
Shaking her head, Y/N reminded herself not to dwell on the inevitable. Standing up, she quietly made her way to the door, glancing back at Alice and Olive, who were still sound asleep safe in the world of their dreams. Stepping out of the room Y/N softly closed the door behind her and stepped towards the old uneven steep staircase. Each step down to the main area of the home seemed quieter than usual, perhaps a silent mourning from the home for what the day would bring.
At the bottom of the stairs, Y/N glanced back up at the dark hallway. All four doors were shut, it seemed she was the only one awake so far. Turning away, she made her way to the kitchen, as she crossed the connecting living room a loud snore interrupted the silence. It was amazing how others remained asleep like that of Mateo, who snores loud enough to disrupt the bordering Seam. His snoring was soon joined by anotherâher uncle, Ian. How she even managed to sleep through it all was beyond her.
The cupboards offered little: a bag of molding bread, some wrinkled blueberries, and half a dozen eggs. Even with the extra food provided by Y/N and Mateo through the tesserae barely scraped through the week. The eggs and blueberries were not even from that! Y/N pulled out the bread and placed it onto the counter beside the stove before moving to grab a bowl and the eggs. Cracking the eggs into the bowl Y/N watched how their contents sloshed together. It was a meager breakfast that wouldn't fil any of their stomachs, but it would have to do. Maybe that was a good thing though, non of them are probably even feeling that low rumble of hunger, the anxiety taking up its place.
Turning on the stove, the fire sputtered before it crackled to life under the battered pan. By now, the sun had risen higher, but the house remained quiet except for the sounds of Y/N cooking. Her mom and two aunts would wake soon, followed by the rest of the family. By 10 a.m., theyâd all be dressed in their best clothes and sat on the dilapidated worn couches, dreading the moments that ticked closer to noon, the time enhanced by the loud clicking of the clock hand second by second. Then as 12p.m. hit they would begin their journey to the town square before the reaping at 2 p.m.
Afterward, the day would unfold in its usual pattern. Mateo would disappear into town insearch of work for the day, Alice and Olive would play in the backyard pretending to escape to a far off magical land. Aunt Lynn and Aunt Sophia would go back to knitting goods to sell at the Hob, while her mother would head off to her job at the Coal Mill tallying the dayâs casualties. Uncle Ian and Sam would be off to the industrial plant working at the iron till the sun sets. And Y/N? She and Minghao would sneak away to the quiet lake on the outskirts of the Seam. They would sit together in silence until dinner, hand intertwined as the sounds of nature would calm the dread eating at them.
As Y/N scrambled the eggs, her mind wandered. Then a soft tapping at the back door brought her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Minghao standing outside, his expression solemn despite the faint smile on his lips. He was already dressed in his nicer clothes, ready for the day.
Y/N wipes her hands on her pants and walks over to unlock the door. Swinging it open, she looks up under her eyelashes at Minghao.
âHey,â she says quietly.
âHey,â Minghao whispered back.
Y/N steps aside, letting him enter the house. As Minghao shut the door behind him, Y/N turns back to the stove, making sure the eggs donât burn.
âDressed already?â she asked, breaking the silence as she looks to the side at him.
Minghao leaned against the counter, watching her cook, their eyes meeting.
âCouldn't sleep,â he answered.
âThat makes two of us,â Y/N said, offering a half-hearted smile.
She took the eggs off the stove, turning to him. âI like the haircut.â
Minghaoâs hair still brushed the tops of his shoulders, but today it looked neater, his bangs no longer brushing against the tips of his eyelashes. It was cleaned up, framing his featuresâhis mother mustâve trimmed it the night before, an instance of putting your best image forward on the more dreadful days.Â
âYou look very nice this morning,â she added softly.
âNot as nice as you,â he replied with a cheeky grin.
Y/N laughed, tilting her head back. âHardly, but thank you.â
Picking the mold off the bread slices and flicking them into the sink, Y/N grabs the butter and spreads it on the bread before putting it on the stoves open fire to toast. Minghao moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder.
âWhatâs for breakfast?â he asked.
âIâm starting to think you came for the food, and not to see me,â Y/N teased.
âIâd rather starve than never see you again,â Minghao said, just as dramatically.
âWell, if thatâs the case, I guess you can partake in our eggs and slightly moldy bread,â she said with a smirk.
âThey donât even eat like that in the Capitol,â Minghao joked.
A beat passed. âBut seriously,â he continued, âthe bread should last longer, right? Youâd think with all the names we have to put in just to get extra food, it would.â
âMh,â Y/N hummed in agreement as she spreads the butter on the next slice to be toasted..
Minghao hesitated before asking, âHow many times is your name in the bowl this year?â
âTen,â Y/N answered, her voice barely above a whisper.
The kitchen fell silent again. Minghao tightened his grip on her waist. Y/N placed the new slice bread on the open flame, swapping it with the previous. âYou?â she asked.
âEight,â he replied softly.
âMay the odds be ever in our favor,â Y/N murmured, the words hollow.
Minghao pulls away and reaches into his pocket. His fingers trembled as he pulls out a small bundle of cloth and hands it to her. âI brought you this.â
Y/N blinked, heart fluttering. She takes the bundle from his hands and unwraps it carefully, peeling back the soft fabric to reveal, nestled in the fabric, a delicate blue flower.
âThank you,â she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She recognized the flower from Minghaoâs fathers small garden. In her own words âthe brightest spot in all of the dreariness of District 12â. The tears sheâd been holding back began to well up in the waterlines of her eyes.
Minghao noticing, pulls her into his embrace, his hand resting on the back of her head. âDonât cry,â he said softly.
âBut what if they pull your name? What am I going to do without you?â Y/Nâs voice cracked.
âDonât spend our last few hours worrying,â Minghao replied gently. âThere are people with more chances of being pulled than us. And, if anything happens, which it's not, I want my last moments with you to feel like none of this ever existed.â
âYouâre always so positive,â Y/N sniffled, lifting her head to look at him.
âHow could I not be, when I have you in my life?â he smiled.
Their lips met in a soft kiss before they embraced again.
âWhat if they pull my name?â Y/N continues.Â
âThat is a reality I hope I never have to face,â Minghao says seriously.Â
âBest not the think of itâ Y/N compromises, listening to Minghaoâs advice from mere second before.Â
Y/N scraped the last of her eggs off the plate shoveling the pieces into her mouth, a few crumbs of toast clinging to the corner of her lips, when the sound of her cousins tumbling down the stairs broke the quiet. Minghao, sat next to her, wipes the crumbs off the sides of her lips, an action natural to the two of them. Their eyes meet, gaze broken as Mateoâs voice rings out, groggy but loud, âHey, donât eat everything!â
âWhatâs up, early riser?â Y/N replied, voice flat as she wipes her mouth for good maesure and leans back in her chair. âBut seriously, grab some before your dads wake up. They wonât care how much youâve already eaten.â
âEggs again?â Olive groans, her voice tinged with annoyance.
âBe grateful we even got eggs this week,â Alice shoots back, her eyes narrowing as she reaches for the food.
âOoh, shots fired,â Mateo teases as he nudges Olive.
âDonât antagonize them,â Aunt Lynn, tone sharp, warns.Â
The kitchen buzzed with movement, plates clinking as everyone began to serve themselves, even Uncle Ian and Sam awake now. Olive, holding a plate with half a slice of slightly burnt toast and a few scrambled eggs, glances up at Minghao, her brow furrowed. âWhy arenât you with your parents?â she asked curiously.
âBecause heâs always here,â Olive answered for him, her eyes rolling as she scrapes some eggs onto her plate.
âWhy canât any of you go a day without bickering?â Aunt Sophia sighed in exasperation, the words as familiar as the creak of the house.
Mateo shrugs nonchalantly, âKeeps things livelyâ
Turning to another conservation topic, Y/Nâs mom asks, âWell, you three must be looking forward to this being your last reaping day?â, her voice laced with a quiet sadness as she looked toward the three young adults at the table.
âItâll be nice to look toward the future and leave the darker moments behind,â Minghao said softly, his hands gently resting on Y/Nâs shoulders. His tone was thoughtful, like he the weight of the day emanating from his chest.
âNot quite out of hellâs gate yet,â Y/N muttered under her breath, her eyes darkening.
âAlways so negative,â Minghao tsked, his voice light but with a flicker of concern.
âWell, Iâll volunteer for you if you get picked,â Mateo said with an exaggerated grin, the words laced with a stupid humor.
Y/N shot him a glare, her middle finger rising before she could stop herself.
âDonât say things like that,â Aunt Lynn reprimands voice stern,âYouâd all miss each other if any one of you were gone. You take too much for granted.â
âSorry, Auntie,â Y/N and Mateo murmured in unison, though neither seemed particularly contrite.
Y/N stands up from the table, her plate forgotten as she begins collecting the empty ones in front of her aunts and mom. As she passed by Minghao, she squeezed his hand lightly, her fingers brushing his in a quiet, unspoken promise. âIâm going to go get ready for the day,â she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
âIâm actually going to head home,â Minghao replied, his eyes softening as he leaned in to press a kiss to her knuckles. âIâll see you later.â
Y/Nâs heart squeezed in her chest, a deeper emotion flickering in her eyes as she met his gaze, âIâll see you later.â
Minghao gave her one last lingering look before stepping toward the back door, sending her a wink as he exited. Y/Nâs eyes linger on the door swinging to a close,
The door clicks shut, and Aunt Sophia, voice warm with affection, âI like that boy.â
Y/Nâs lips curved into a faint smile, eyes lost within themselves, âYeah, me too,â she whispers heart both heavy and full.
Y/N tugged the worn zipper up the side of her faded yellow dress, the fabric stretching slightly as she moved. The puffed sleeves were frayed at the edges, and the heart-shaped neckline had seen better days, worn thin by the moths that always seemed to find nourishment in it every fall. The small bow at the center of her chest sat unevenly, crooked from years of hasty tying. The hem of the dress fell just an inch too high, grazing the muscle of her thighs, its fabric uncomfortably tight against her grown frame. It had been her reaping dress since she was fifteen, a constant reminder of the poverty of District 12. I wonder if those in the Career districts can buy new clothes whenever they please, Y/N thought, her fingers absently rubbing the bottom of the skirt between her pointer and thumb.
Y/Nâs eyes locked on her reflection in the mirror, studying her figure. The faded yellow dress clung uncomfortably to her frame, almost too tight, and her hair, half-pulled up, hung loosely around her face. She turned away, grabbing her sleeping clothes off the bed and folding them neatly, placing them by her pillow to change into later that night.
Her fingers slipped into the pocket of her sleeping pants, pulling out the delicate blue flower Minghao had given her. It rested in the palm of her hand, its freshness still visible despite the slightly bent and weathered petal edges. It reminded her of her own appearanceâfaded, weathered, yet holding onto a kind of quiet beauty. Y/N brought the flower up to her chest and tucked it into the bosom of her dressâs blouse, close to her heart.
With one last glance at her reflection, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned, leaving the bedroom.
Downstairs, the rest of the family sat on the old, beaten couches, their figures still and heavy with the weight of the day. They were all dressed in their best, yet the silence between them was suffocating, thick with sorrow. Y/Nâs eyes flickered to the clock on the mantel, its ticking loud in the otherwise quiet room. 11:30 p.m. In thirty minutes, they would all rise and make their way to the town square for the reaping.
She approached the couch and took a seat next to Mateo. His eyes were set hard, the weight of the day settled heavily in them. She could feel the nervous energy radiating off of him. Despite the years, despite everything that had changed, the reaping was never easy to accept. It was never any less terrifying. And, no matter how hard he tried to be the 'man of the family,' his youth still showed in his early-aged features, a reminder of the boy he was, no matter the weight he carried. Y/N felt a connection to thisâthe unspoken expectation to act like everything was going to be okay. Whether acknowledged out loud or not, both of them, at 18, carried the burden of responsibility for their families' well-being.
Next to Mateo sat Alice and Olive. Oliveâs skin glistened with a layer of anxious sweat. Her dress long lost to its original color, the once-bright blue had faded to a dark gray, a reflection of her own unease. No matter how much smart-mouthing the young girl fearlessly did, not a peep had been heard from her since breakfast. Beside her sat Alice, her youth still marked by a sense of naĂŻve ignorance. While the reaping loomed in her future, the true weight of its reality had yet to hit her. Her dress, the nicest of the three, was a soft baby pinkâshiny and new. Y/N recalled how many extra coin purses she had to convince people to buy from her at the Hob just to afford it. Even with the money from the Hob and the small amount Mateo had earned at the factory with his father, they were still short. One day, stressed and venting to Minghao, he had pitched in without a second thought, telling her, "Your family is my family." Y/N still needed to find a way to repay him, no matter how much he chided her insisting he wanted nothing in return.Â
The clock on the mantle ticked down to 12 p.m. The hour and minute hands aligned, and all eyes in the room instinctively moved to it. It was time to leave.
Uncle Ian was the first to stand, his face unreadable. Y/N couldnât image how anyone could remain composed, knowing their two young daughters might soon be thrust into the brutal uncertainty of the Hunger Games. The thought of her and Minghao ever having children and participating in this yearly event made Y/N nauseous at the notion. Olive was safe this yearâonly nineâbut in three years, she too would walk that path toward the Justice Building square, the same as every other child in District 12. Y/N felt the weight of it, that inevitability. Every year, this walk loomed over their lives like a dark shadow, never relenting. The thought that it would stretch on for another seven years for Olive made her chest tighten. And for herself, it was only a matter of hours.
With a heavy sigh, Uncle Ian walked silently to the door and opened it, holding it wide for the rest of the family to follow. His gaze was distant, unfocused. Without a word, a silent understanding passed between them all, thick with shared anxiety. Olive and Alice stood slowly, as if they too were reluctant to face the day. Oliveâs small hand reached for her fatherâs, and his hand rested on her head, a sign of comfortâa motion that seemed too small for the weight of what they were facing. They stepped out into the world beyond.
Mateo stood from beside Y/N, offering her a brief, closed-lip smile. It was a weak attempt at comfort, but it was enough. He seemed composed, but Y/N could see the anxiety in his stiff posture, the way his eyes darted to the door, then to her, then back again. He gave her a reassuring look, the silent understanding that only they shared. It was camaraderie, the kind that didnât need words. Being the same age they had experienced the weight of this day every year together. Y/N stoof and followed as she walked out into the harsh light of the day, followed by Mateoâs father Sam, her mother, and her two aunts.
The road leading to the center of the district was rough and weathered, the ground deeply grooved by years of neglect. The air was thick, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the silence. This was a road they had walked a thousand times before, but today it felt different, the emotional weight of the entire district was pressing down on them and their neighbors with every step.
The street, once full of the usual noiseâshouted greetings, clinking metal, the chatter of familiesâwas unnervingly quiet. Today, the quiet was oppressive, as if the whole town had gone into hiding, holding its breath in anticipation of the inevitable. The only sound that filled the air, besides the crunch of their footsteps on the dirt, was the hum of the distant coal mines in the background, the air heavy with the scent of dust and damp earth.
Y/N glanced upward at the sky. It was gray, a blanket of clouds that stretched across the horizon, dull and suffocating. Even though the sun tried to shine through, its light felt weak, almost indifferent. The humidity in the air made her skin cling uncomfortably to her clothes. She thought about the coal mines. Maybe the pollution was worse this week. Or maybe it was just the weight of the dayâa sign that the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the worst to happen.
Looking ahead, Y/N noticed other families leaving their homes, each walking in silence, their faces drawn with the same fear that hung in the air. Children clung tightly to their parentsâ hands, their small fingers shaking. The older teens, eyes wide with anxiety, walked in stiff, reluctant silence, some of them even holding their own parents hands. All too young to fight for survival in an unforgiving arena.
Y/N tried to spot Minghao in the distance as they passed his home, but the street was too crowded, and his family must have already left. She felt a pang of disappointment. Sheâd wanted to see him one last time before the reapingâjust to hold on to some sliver of normalcy. She would have to look for him later while stood on the girls side of the town square for the reaping. They had a planâafter the reaping, theyâd slip away to the lake on the outskirts of the Seam, the Peacekeepers would be to lazer to really question or enforce anyone after the event feeling they already worked hard enough for the day.Â
Lost in her thoughts, Y/N was suddenly pulled back to the present as Aliceâs small hand slipped into hers. The warmth of the young girlâs grip was a stark contrast to the cold tension that had settled in Y/Nâs chest. Y/N squeezed her hand gently.
âAre you nervous?â Alice asked, her voice small and tinged with fear. The innocence in her eyes struck Y/N like a punch to the gut. This young girl, who had yet to face the horrors that lay ahead, was already feeling the weight of the reaping, even if she didnât fully understand it yet.
âI am,â Y/N said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. âBut thatâs only natural on a day like this. Everyone here is a bit nervous, even the adults. Itâs nothing to be ashamed of.â She looked down at Alice, meeting her wide, frightened eyes. âBut weâre here together, and thereâs so many names in the bowl that the chance any of us will see the day weâre pulled is very very low.â
Alice nodded, seemingly comforted by the reassurance. Her small hand tightened around Y/Nâs. Y/N could see the fear still clinging to her, but it was tempered now with a little bit of hope, a little bit of strength. And that was all she could give her right now. Hope. Even when it felt like there was none left.
Approaching the front area of the plaza, Y/N and her family stop.
"I'll see you later," Y/N says, pulling her mother into a tight hug. The embrace lasts a moment longer than usual, a shared, silent acknowledgment of the dayâs heavy weight. She turns to her aunts next, pulling them into brief, warm embraces before giving a nod to her uncles.
Crouching down, she faces Alice. "How about I try to catch some fish for dinner tonight?"
Alice's eyes brighten, a small smile stretching across her face. "Will you play with Olive and I as well?"
Y/N grins, ruffling the younger girlâs hair. "Iâm sure I can make time for that."
Alice turns, grabbing Aunt Lynnâs hand. Y/N steps aside to watch as Mateo pulls his mother, Aunt Sophia, into a hug, before reaching for his father Sam, offering the rare sign of affection that spoke volumes. A tear escapes from Oliveâs eye as she bids her own parents and sister goodbye, a quiet moment of vulnerability in the air.
The three of them stand together, watching as their family move towards the perimeter of the square, where theyâll watch the reaping unfold. Seeing as their family has made a good distance to their area for the afternoon the three turn to head towards the check-in table. The stark-white-clothed tables are lined with Peacekeeper women in nurse-like uniforms, so pristine that they almost shine in contrast the gray toned district. The workers are even cleaner than most of 12âs own Peacekeepers.
"Here we go," Mateo says with a false enthusiasm.
Y/N steps up to one of the lines, scanning the square as they wait their turn.
It looks the same as every year. Bright banners hang across the square with this years number "71st" in bold gold lettering, fluttering against the navy blue fabric. Camera crews already almost fully set up on podiums around the square, preparing for the live stream that will start soon. The district feels different todayâfuller, more oppressive. The Capitol must have sent in more reinforcements and planners this year, reminding them all of the tight grip they hold over Panem.
By now, the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, its rays beating down on the stone ground. Y/N can feel the heat already rising. She wonders if anyone will faint today, only to miss the call of their name and awake to being dragged up to the podium. Her stomach tightens. If her name were called, sheâs sure sheâd collapse right there in front of the whole square.
Squinting against the sun, she spots a woman in a neon yellow dress, bright enough to blind anyone that stares to long. Her hair is an equally loud shade of purple. Effie Trinket. Lined up beside the boyâs reaping bowl is a row of chairs for important officials and 12âs victors. Hunched over, and leant over, in one of them, is the districtâs only victor and full-time barely-functioning alcoholic â Haymitch Abernathy. Way too drunk, as usual. The other man sat beside him is Twelves own Mayor, the manâs daughter, while more privileged than than most in the district, is just as powerless in the grand scheme of things. Y/N takes note that she is not sat aside him this year. From what Y/N heard in the hob gossip a few weeks ago was that this was her first year eligible for the games. Sitting there, having to face the fact that his own daughter might be called, is another depressing thought Y/N finds herself suppressing.Â
Y/Nâs thoughts are interrupted when a Peacekeeper woman calls for her hand.
Y/N extends her arm mechanically, her actions rehearsed over the years. The woman pricks her finger with a device which reads her DNA and tracks those in the district for Capital counting and organizing. The woman presses her bleeding finger roughly onto a white paper booklet with little squares for each possible tribute to be logged onto.Â
Y/N watches as Mateo moves to the same stage in their check-in, and Olive, now finished, begins walking toward her section in the roped-off square.
The Peacekeeper woman releases Y/Nâs hand.
Y/N steps aside and away from the table to join Mateo, their shared silence speaking volumes.
"Head up high," Y/N says, her voice quiet but firm. A flicker of understanding passes between them.
The two had made a pact years ago, the year after their first reaping, that if one of them were selected as a tribute, they would hold their heads high, showing pride and strength for District 12. They refused to let the Capitol see them as weak. Though Y/N pounders if she could live up to that promise when the moment came. Itâs easy to be brave when death isnât staring you full in the face.
Y/NÂ moves toward the section reserved for 18-year-olds walking down the open aisle between the girls and boys side. Her eyes passing over the section of anxious 12-years -olds, most crying, not much better fairing 13-years-olds, past the 14 and 15-year-olds, and the 16 and 17-year olds who seemed to be crying less than their juniors. At Least no one seemed to have hurled from jitters of anxiousness yet. Reaching her section of the front of the roped off sections, Y/N takes a spot on the aisle just three rows from the very front of everyone. A pang of annoyance hits her as sheâs reminded how every year she has gotten closer in distance to watching the Mayor give his speech. He drones on about Panemâs history, the Dark Days, the reason the Games were created, andâmost importantlyâthe rewards for victory. Itâs the same thing every year.
Then thereâs the obligatory mention of the what is supposed to be every winner of the district has had, but ever since Y/N can remember it's been 12âs single living victor, Haymitch Abernathy. If anything, at this point, the Mayorâs words are always a reminder of their districtâs failure and lack of importance to Panem. Finally, heâll hand things over to the district escort, and the reaping will officially begin.
Y/N lets out a long, deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, trying to tune out the sounds of the squareâthe murmurs of the crowd, the rustle of the banners in the breeze. Blinking them back open, her head swivels around to try to find Minghao on the parallel side of the 18-year-old-girls sections. A slight panic arises in Y/N as she struggles to spot him, then she catches those capturing obsidian-like eyes. Relief washes over Y/N immediately, as mouths âMiss youâ to him. Minghaoâs eyes smile back at her, his own relief in her presence apparent as his left hand comes up and finger circles around his heart âWith my whole heartâ.Â
Y/N huffs out a soft laugh, shaking her head before rolling her eyes playfully. She turns back to face the front, but not before sending him one last smile over her shoulder.Â
Y/N playful shakes her head as she rolls her eyes away before looking back at him to send a full smile over her shoulder at him. They probably looked like fools, but fools they'd so be.
Effie stood at the podium smiling widely, her demeanor far too cheerful. The yellow dress she wore that Y/N could now see had intricate glittering beading that shimmered under the harsh sunlight, sparkled as light popped off of it with every movement the women made. The clacking of Effieâs green-claw-shaped heels echoed across the square with each step she took.
âWelcome! Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!â she exclaimed, her voice overly animated, too chipper for the occasion. Effieâs hands swung as she spoke, her fingers twisting and twirling in a motion that seemed more practiced than sincere. âNow, before we pick this yearâs lovely tributes, a very, very special film has been brought to you all the way from the Capitol!â
Lovely, Y/N thought bitterly to herself, rolling her eyes inwardly.Â
The screen flickered to life on the screen setup beside the Justice Building, lighting up with the Capitolâs signature propaganda. This years propaganda was shot on cameras that were less pixelated than the one they reused the last couple years. Droning on about how the capital puts so much effort into taking care of Panem and its people and how we shouldnt take that for granted. How we should all be grateful for the Capitolâs protection. It was nothing but more tiresome, hollow rhetoric, droning on for what felt like an eternity. A waste of everyoneâs time.
Y/N glanced behind her toward Minghao. The young manâs face was contorted into a perfect expression of dreary annoyance. Shoot me, he mouthed silently, his lips barely moving. Y/N, trying to hold back a chuckle at the absurdity of it all, raised an eyebrow in agreement. Ditto, she mouthed back, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment.
The film finally rolled to its end. The Capitolâs insufferable monotony was over. Y/N looked at Effie, who was miming the end of the filmâs speech.. Y/N couldnât hold back a deep, almost inaudible sigh, her features turning in disgust.
Effieâs eyes sparkled as she turned toward the microphone once more. âI just love that!â she exclaimed, though not a single cheer echoed from the crowd. Effie, undeterred, continued. âNow, the time has come for us to select one of you courageous young men and women for the honor of representing District 12 in the 71st Annual Hunger Games!!!â
The crowdâs energy felt heavier now, thick with an anxious tension.
âAs usual, ladies first,â Effie said, practically skipping over to the large glass bowl filled with the slips of paper bearing the girlsâ names. There had to be at least a thousand slips, all crammed in there, the bowl seemed to be almost overflowing this year. It made sense though, last winter was tough and Y/N didn't know a single family that didn't apply for extra tesserae.Â
Effie dipped her fingers into the bowl, arm stretching deep into the glass, searching for just the right piece of paper. Y/N noticed how Effie seemed to take her time, dragging out the momentâalmost savoring the drama of it all. Finally finding a piece to her liking Effie delicately pulled her hand from the bowl, a slip of paper pinched between her perfectly manicured nails. Y/N could feel the hush in the air, the entire square was holding its breath.
The silence was deafening. Effieâs heels clicking loudly with every step back toward the microphone. Her hips swayed before she came to a stop in front of the mic.Â
Leaning forward Effie unfolded the slip with a flourish. âY/N.â
âY/N L/N,â Effie called out, her voice echoing across the square.
Y/Nâs heart plummeted into her stomach. It was as though the entire world had stopped. The cold grip of fear clamped around her chest, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise. The girls in her section all turned, their gazes piercing her. Across the square, Minghaoâs face drained of color, his eyes widening in disbelief.
Effie, oblivious to the horror in the crowd, continued on, her eyes scanning for Y/N. âCome on up, dear,â she chirped, her voice laced with false sweetness.
Y/Nâs legs felt like lead, and she could feel bile rising in her throat. Her breath came in shallow breaths as she swayed, a sense of vertigo spinning her world into a blur. A Peacekeeper appeared beside her, his hand gripping her forearm with an iron grip, fingers pressing uncomfortably into her skin as he pulled her toward the stairs to the podium.
Y/N couldnât look at Minghao. She couldnât bring herself to look at anyone, not Mateo, not Olive, not even her family. This wasnât supposed to happen. She was 18âshe wasnât supposed to be eligible for the reaping after this year, it was supposed to be a walk in the park compared to years pastâshe wasnât supposed to be standing here, on this stage, in front of everyone.
How had she ended up here? Her mind raced, but it was too foggy to make sense of anything.
By the time she found herself at the top of the podium, Effieâs hand was already on her elbow, pulling her toward the microphone. The bright sun above her seemed to intensify, its rays a blinding assault on her senses, making the stage feel even hotter, even more suffocating. Y/N could feel the sweat trickling down her neck,feeling as if she could just melt into the concrete stage itself.
âHuh?â Y/N mumbled to Effie noticing the woman was staring at her.Â
âI said, why donât you introduce yourself?â Effie beamed at her, eyes shining with sickening excitement.
Y/N turned away from her, almost instinctively, and faced the crowd. Her mouth felt dry, the words hard to form. âIâm⊠Y/N L/N.â The words left her mouth in a dull, lifeless monotone, completely lacking the usual spark she carried.
Effieâs smile faltered for just a second, disappointment flickering in her eyes. But she quickly recovered, snatching the microphone back from in front of Y/N. âLetâs have a big round of applause for our first tribute!â she announced.
The applause was slow, reluctant. The sound was hollow, half-hearted. Y/N wanted to disappear into the cracks of the stage.
Y/N took a step back, her legs unsteady beneath her, and moved aside from the microphone. Iâm going to pass out, she thought. The dizziness was overwhelming, and she could feel her vision narrowing.
Effie, unbothered by the discomfort in the air, clapped her hands together. âNow, for the boys!â she announced, her voice ringing out.
Y/N reluctantly turned her gaze toward the boys' bowl then back to the crowd. She felt a twist of sickness in her stomach as she saw Minghaoâs face. His expression was stone-cold, his anger palpable. But it was his eyesâthe red rims, the tears just barely held backâthat caused a sharp pain to shoot through Y/Nâs chest.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of him, the feeling of helplessness consuming her.
âMyung Jaehyun!â Effie called, breaking the tension.
A young looking boy stepped out from what seemed to be maybe a 16 or 17-year-old section, although he appeared to look a few years younger. His face was somber, but his posture was proud, almost defiant as he walked down the dirt aisle towards the stage. Yet his anger was clearâhe was so close, so close to being too old to be a tribute, but it hadnât happened yet.
Jaehyun joined Y/N on the stage, introducing himself stiffly into the mic, voice tight with the same unease that clung to the air.
âWell, here we are! Our District 12 tributes for the 71st Hunger Games!â Effie exclaimed, practically yelling into the microphone. Turning away from the mic and towards the two of them, âWell, shake hands!â
Jaehyun extended his hand first, Y/Nâs own hand meeting his as it came to a stop in front of him. As their hands grasped together, Y/N could feel Jaehyunâs trembling, the nerves and fear that he was trying so hard to hide from the cameras and Effie.
Effie, oblivious to the weight of the moment, turned back to the microphone. âHappy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor! I feel good about this yearâs game!â she called out.
Authors note: Thank you again for reading, I hope you enjoyed! I have put up the Masterlist on my main page.
