[ . . . ]

"please don't make this about me," emmy said, and it was rather close to pleading, her tone higher, her words drawn from her throat with more effort than before. this couldn't be about what she deserved or didn't deserve, she couldn't be responsible for what happened next, even if she was refusing to think of it with all her might. "you're gonna be disappointed if you make this about me, i'm not worth you going back into the arena. neither is he. he's like, four times more fucked up than me, he probably deserves it less." when cashmere squeezed her shoulder, emmy unwittingly leant closer. like she wanted the moment to linger, even if she wouldn't say. emmy's words were futile and her actions were even less convincing, though.

she nodded. slowly. the movement almost subtle enough to not be there at all. emmy wasn't committed to the idea of granting that favour, but cash deserved the favour all the same. so emmy nodded.

"sure," she said, though the word sat foreign on her tongue. she wasn't used to actually going along with what anyone else had to say, let alone when she vehemently disagreed with the premise posed. it was a promise, though. she was promising, even if she didn't like the idea of it. "i'm asking a favour in return, though. i need you to let me know if you change your mind. i don't care how or at what point, you let me know if it does. you deserve just as much of a fighting chance, cash. hell, you probably deserve it more than most. if you change your mind on this whole thing, i'm helping you, not him."

emmy knew better than to think cashmere would change her mind, though. maybe that was the only reason emmy said it.

“ well, i’m trying to do at least that for you, i haven’t been the best aunt or an aunt to you at all,  i think it’s time you got at least half of something resembling a traditional family.” she thought of emmy, and how lonely it must have been growing up without a father. even though emmy didn’t want to admit it, pretended that she didn’t care about gloss, cashmere knew better than anyone that one could keep up a lie for only that long, until it’d become brittle under relentless waves of little truths. 

her heart thrudded against her chest in an almost violent motion, then weakened when she noticed how emmy’s voice tilted slightly. suddenly, she looked like the young and vulnerable girl, even cash sometimes failed to see behind those sharp edges and fire. this wasn’t just emmy, who once kicked down the door to her apartment ( which she never bothered to fix ), but a girl who probably needed her as much as she needed gloss. and perhaps, cash needed her to, even if it only meant that keeping her alive would need to suffice. 

“ emmy, you know i would do everything for you.” she’d already volunteered for her. the thought of her death scared her less than knowing that after it, she couldn’t do anything for her anymore. her love couldn’t defy death, but if there were a chance, she’d claw at the boundary until her hands bled. she’d try. she’d always try for them.   “ but i’m not changing my mind because i know it’s not true. you need him now, you need him after all of this and you needed him before, even if you don’t realize it, yet. he’s going to be a great father to you, please just give him a chance, i want both of you to have that chance.” her eyes softened, her tone losing its edge. 

“ if you don’t want me to make this about you, then fine, i’ll make this about me, emmy. the truth is, i’m selfish.that’s why I’m choosing the easy path because losing either of you would be worse than a meaningless death.” in the end, she knew she was hurting them both with her choices. .a coward who claimed to be brave, who managed to fool both of them, and escaped with her death.

     “ emmy. ” her voice sharpened, only her empathy for emmy dulling it to a worn blade. “ don’t about yourself or him that way.” she drew a slow breath. “ gloss… he’s gone through a lot. before the games and especially after.” even if cashmere would ever be able to forget about the blood soaking through her clothes, she’d never forget about the look in her brother’s eyes, when he returned from his. when the capitol managed to break a part of him, half of her shattered with it. the half she managed to keep standing had only survived so she could hold him together. because if he fell apart entirely, she would too. life had always been cruel to them, blind to prayers and unmoved by pathetic begging. but she’d had gloss who protected her, and she’d do the same. only, that the guilt of failing to do that would remain a scar. this was the last chance to make up for it.       “ he deserves much more than that, he deserves more than what the world gave him, and i hate myself for how little I can do,  for how all I can offer is the chance for him to live. he’s the most selfless person i know, and he’d have done the same for you, in a heartbeat, probably even before that. soon you’ll be able to see all of it.” she squeezed her shoulder a little tighter when she noticed her leaning in, even when she took her hand away, the warmth still lingered in the palm of her hand.

emmy’s agreement took her by surprise. she’d thought she’d be mad enough that she refused it. cashmere often failed to see how much emmy had grown, partly because she’d always see her as the little child who was forced into the arena. now, she was grown up, and cashmere felt strangely grateful she’d lived long enough to witness that. 

PRIMROSE WASN'T FAMILIAR WITH THE WAYS OF THE CAPITOL, AND IT SHOWED IN EVERY ASPECT OF THEIR BEING. They navigated the halls of the tribute tower like a baby deer taking it's first steps-- hesitant, unsure of oneself, and surely going the wrong way. They were attempting to find Katniss' apartment, but a few wrong turns and a failed attempt at using the elevator (in their offense--- District 12 had no needs for the technology) led them away from their target and into an unnamed hall of some sorts.

They huffed, unable to get a grasp of their location. A part of them felt like leaving and trying again another day, but another part of them knew that they wouldn't have any more luck any other time. They were about to turn back and attempt the elevator again when they spotted a figure walking by. Their body perked up at the sight of the supposed savior and they trotted over to the individual before asking, "Sorry, do you know how to get to the District 12 apartment? All of these halls looks the same to me."

The games shouldn't be running. They should've ended long ago. Alden has yet to decide if the rebellion is a series of failed uprising or one long, never ending tantrum. No matter the case, the future feels charged with tension. This game is intended to make or break the rebellion -- to make or break all of Panem. He owes it to his family, to all of the tributes who died for him to be here to keep fighting for a better tomorrow. He has to fight even if it kills him too. These days he doesn't fear death. After all, the Capitol has shown them time and time again there are fates worse than death.

Despite no longer fearing death, he knows many people fault him for not volunteering in one of his tribute's place. After all he's got no family and no lover... No one would miss him. Alden doesn't volunteer because he wants to condemn his tributes to death. After all time and time again he has tried everything to keep his many past tributes alive. He didn't volunteer because he wants to keep his tributes safe and the other tributes safe. Katniss from District 12 sparked some embers and he wants to help fan the flames. He has to be careful with how he helps others and the rebellion. After all one wrong move could have him gaining the attention of the Capitol. He doesn't fear death but he doesn't want his death to be an anti-rebel spectacle either.

He's ruminating on his thoughts, stack of papers in hand as he reads over each tribute's file. He's got a journal filled with notes, keeping track of their strengths and weaknesses. Although he wants to end the games for good he's got to focus on keeping them all alive long enough to fight back. He's got to brainstorm a plan forward. As the stranger sits beside him he closes his journal, not keen on the idea of them reading his notes. Still, he doesn't ask them to leave.

location   —   party   in   the   capitol,   reaping   day,   night   time   .

hunched  over  the  toilet,  mina  wretches  until  her  throat  is  hoarse,  rough  as  sandpaper.  once,  she  had  felt  like  the  sacrificial  lamb  brought  into  the  games  in  the  name  of  her  family.  the  eldest  daughter  handed  over  to  the  capitol  if  it  meant  the  rest  of  them  were  safe  beyond  the  sturdy  walls  of  victor’s  village.  no  such  luck.  since  ash  had  won  the  games,  she’s  done  all  that  she  can  to  protect  her,  but  to  be  forbidden  from  volunteering  in  her  place  for  these  ninety  second  games  has  made  her  physically  ill. and  now  she  must  smile.  mina  dewitt  is  nothing  without  her  smile,  for  it  is  this  which  makes  her  sparkle  most  of  all.  dainty,  delicate,  a  sweet  little  thing  akin  to  a  fairy,  as  though  there  isn’t  a  vicious,  ugly  sort  of  fury  lingering  beneath  the  glitter  dusted  across  her  collarbones,  her  cheeks.  they  can  pretty  her  up  as  they  wish,  but  she  is  fuming. spitting  into  the  bowl,  mina  flushes  the  mess  of  bile  and  vomit  down  the  toilet  and  kicks  her  way  from  the  stall.  she  cleans  her  hands  and  returns  to  the  party,  determined  to  find  sponsors  if  not  answers.  one  of  her  suitors  offers  her  a  drink  which  she  accepts,  only  if  she  can  watch  it  made  at  the  bar.  she  smiles  in  a  way  that  promises  she’ll  return  to  him  later,  and  then  she  moves  further  into  the  crowd.  “isn't  this  exciting?”  she  arches  a  brow,  her  tone  unreadable.  those  within  the  resistance  who  know  her,  know  that  she  is  mere  seconds  from  falling  over  the  edge  into  her  frustration.  “i’m  sure  we  can  expect  party  after  party…  what  are  the  chances  i’ll  win  a  sponsor  over  when  they’re  indulging  so  much?”

livia had crossed a line. she always did, she always tried with tobias. even when she was still foolishly naive, more innocent than she’ll ever be again, all of it was tainted by a sharp tongue and a mean streak. one needed that when it meant to be haunted by her own legacy. and even if she hadn’t needed it, she was still her father’s daughter, words like fire, and intentions disguised as cold truths. ill-intentioned truths that were sometimes worse than lies. livia had thought she’d outgrown it, that she wasn’t a child anymore. but like back then, when she’d try to get a reaction out of tobias, half-fun, half-jealous that people at least pretended to like him, she continued doing it. trying how far she could go, until he’d snap. trying and testing if she’d still love her the same, or if there was a point that tobias snow would finally abandon her. recognizing the lies in the words she told him back in the train. 

. we’re both gonna do great.

but livia hadn’t felt any of it. the spark of enthusiasm couldn’t pierce through clouded nostalgia. everything was covered in a thick veil of haze. she couldn’t look past it, recognize tobias, recognize herself. yet, all she did was to look for him. her best friend. the person she loved more than she’d ever love herself. the person she pretended to sometimes hate more than herself.  the one who wasn’t swallowed by the haze but by the smoke of a fire she’d lit herself.  “ no, i need you to believe me.” even now, when she was trying to be kind, she couldn’t be. she forced another one of her needs on him, only so that she could feel better, so she wouldn’t notice how her hatred for the capitol had twisted her. her gaze snapped to the monitor, and her stomach dropped. a manufactured reflection of the events that had occurred, and she believed it and the version of tobias the capitol wanted everyone to see. his smile was as perfect as the illusion snow made flesh.  panem today, panem tomorrow, panem forever. but the person in front of her, gave her a sad smile. one that said you hurt me, and reminded her of who she was. “ you know that i didn’t mean that. sometimes i don’t think and … ” her voice faltered, it was giving up on her like everyone else. tobias wouldn’t forgive her, he’d leave her like everyone else, like she wanted, like she’d always feared. 

as the silence filled the room, her selfish request lingered between them. tobias didn’t move, and she couldn’t read his reaction, couldn’t tell if by the way he was breathing in and out, he’d either tell her to leave or just give another sad smile. finally, when he spoke, livia could finally react. lean against the wall, with her arms crossed and as if she didn’t need to hold her hand to prevent it from trembling. she wasn’t scared of him ( never, he was her best friend ) but she was scared to witness another shard falling from their half broken friendship. “ no, i only want you to stop, because i don’t want you to waste another twelve years. ” when livia spoke, her voice came out surprisingly clear. almost cold, and detached from who she thought she’d been. if she needed to be cruel for the sake of their friendship, she would be.  we’re both gonna do great. - perhaps it was never meant to be both of them. 

“ you’ll die an insignificant death,” she breathed. knowing he was willing to trade his own life for the cause . but this wasn’t enough, and she would lose her best friend and she didn’t know how she’d live with it. she’d rather have him hate her than to lose him completely. “  and with you many others. it’s better if you do nothing. you won’t get hurt. less people will get hurt because of you.” tobias rarely cursed, but he did now, and she wouldn’t be shocked if he did again, after what she’d just told him. but if he didn’t step back, livia feared that this wouldn’t be their last argument. another shard. 

“ yeah, well, i’m matching your bullshit, because honestly i don’t see it. you tell me i mean something to you but you never show it, you can’t even do that thing for me.” livia knew it was childish, livia knew where his anger came from, she’d have reacted the same way. they still resembled each other at least in this aspect.

where : capitol party post - reaping.

frame was slight but tense, all wiry precision. shoulders square, jaw set. skin was pale in a way that wasn’t delicate so much as stark, like she’d been carved out of colder weather and forced into all this artificial warmth. dark hair fell bluntly to her shoulders, intentionally unmanaged, the ends uneven as if cut with a blunt knife and no mirror. it contrasted too sharply with the capitol lights, turning ink - black whenever she moved.

they’d tried to dress her up for the party. capitol stylists could only do so much. the dress they put her in was sleek, metallic, far too polished. she wore it stiffly, like she’d rather peel her skin off than adjust to it. jewelry was kept minimal, leaving only a thin choker she tugged at like a leash. faint calluses sanded down, a healing cut near her knuckle, a bruise half - hidden beneath makeup she’d let them apply but didn’t bother maintaining.

hearing her own name at the reaping must have twisted her morality enough that she finally noticed that she must’ve returned wrong. nothing inside her has settled where it used to ( it’s been since years if she were honest for once ).  strangely, she found herself somehow relieved that she at least recognized a few familiar faces. despite everything. despite the tragedy of it all. perhaps this is how the capitol wanted to twist you, tributes and capitolites all alike. if you’ve already watch someone almost die, you could convince yourself as prepared, whether for your own death or that of one another. still, selin didn’t know if she was prepared to see someone else die. her own death, however, that she'd imagined many times. not how she’d die, not even how it’d feel, more what she’d not feel. no bottomless guilt, no memories, no name dragged by a bloody victory. 

when selin spotted violet, she couldn’t help but to notice the way how the dress suited her.  of course, only in the way the capitol wanted it to fit her. it was supposed to be an illusion of understanding, as if they’d ever understand a tribute, silver plastered on bruises that would never fade, and yet here they were, we know where you’re coming from, but we need to make it more digestible, you’re the exception, we see you and we care about you now. only that they didn’t. never. it was even worse when they remembered you. 

she was wrapped in white silk. people from district eight only knew it by touch, never by the right to wear it. selin felt like she was choking in it, fingers lifting to the silken bow, tied too tightly to her neck as she stepped towards violet. 

regardless of reason, he wasn't saved from her prodding. he braced himself against the wall, to both cope with the pain (ever-present, curling up his leg like thorns), and simply the sheer annoyance of having to deal with eden once more.

"this leg's already broken in three places, eden. if i kicked this thing with my good leg, i'd have no leg left to stand on," he lamented in reply. he was trying to not let his anger bubble to the surface, or to at least not aim it at her. he wasn't particularly close to succeeding in this goal, though, as the irritation could be read from him like the sweat off his brows.

in what was almost an act of defiance, he dragged himself over to take the space next to her, leaning his back against the wall at her side.

"you're just bitter because i would've put on a better show than you did, for sure," he said, surprisingly nonchalantly. it was easier to give into a feigned career-like arrogance than it was to pick her up on the other part of her words. that he was a coward. that he should've volunteered. that hit him as something icy that spread from his straightened shoulders all the way down his spine. she didn't know what she was saying. he wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of actually knowing why that one stung.

her eyes tracked his performance, the dragging of his injured leg, followed by the dramatic collapse against the wall he apparently needed to support himself. this was the part where the audience's smiles would soften into pity as they watched icarus cross deliver the role of his life. but eden only scoffed, her lips twitching upwards. perhaps she was supposed to clap now, maybe then icarus would finally drop this act, realising she wasn’t the one she needed to fool. as if. 

her expression dropped with her gaze, and as he lied, she couldn’t help but look at his leg again. surely, she’d heard that he claimed it was only broken in two places. odd.

      “ of course, you’d do that as a liar. the greatest pretender.” she leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms, resting her head against the cold surface “ i think a real injured person would not use that leg at all, no ?”  

observing the ceiling she made it a point not to pay any more attention to him. the job was done. whatever needed to be said had already been said. the moment he took the space next to her, she immediately stepped away, her gaze already fixated on the door, she was ready to leave. then the cold of his following words slid down her spine, and she turned around. reason splintered into hesitation, and hesitation turned to anger. only in two steps she was on him, and leaned in closer, allowing another second to pass before she shoved his supposedly damaged leg against the wall, her own leg pinning his in place as his collar crinkled under her tight grip. 

eden wished she could believe she snapped. but the violence had stuck to her since the arena. a dead body she didn’t know where to bury. not beneath the rotten glamour of the capitol, nor the steel of district 6.  

     “ so that’s what you think ?  you can’t even fake that damn injury and you’re telling me you’d have put on a better show ?” she dragged him closer, and she could almost see how her face contorted in the reflection of his eyes. “ and what if i told you the show never ends ?” she hissed. “ what if I told you that when the games are over, everyone loses and you. you just somehow made it out alive ? that’s all you get” the capitol might not get you the first time, but it would make sure to end you the second time. slowly.  “ and if the people you care about don’t leave you once they see who you really are, you make sure they do. can you do this alone ? with no single soul who gives a damn about you ?”  she drew a breath, the words tasted like her own blood. 

      “ maybe you’re right.” her fingers were trembling but her grip remained tight “ maybe you would’ve put on a better show. because you don’t have anyone to lose. or anyone who’d bother caring about someone like you.” at this point, eden didn’t know whether she was talking about icarus or herself, but it somehow hurt the same way. “ and if you ever did, i’m sure you already lost them to that pathetic act of yours.” silence.

it seemed as if the light bounced from her golden dress, as if every source that was somehow meant to encapsulate hope, wanted to flee from the tragedy she refused to become. back then, and now. yet, the smile lingered on her lips easily, plastered and shiny as the sweet taste of some capitol lipgloss tried to be swallowed. of course, it was another product, that oh-so-sweet cashmere dupont, capitol’s darling, was expected to promote. as if her name, and more important along with her brother’s, hadn’t been called out barely one day ago. as if the same sickly sweet taste did not linger even then, trying to coat her tongue. always a product, always a tribute, always a tragedy. forced or not. 

Gloss waited until the door slid shut behind them and the seal clicked, that soft, mechanical snick that meant no cameras, no microphones, no Capitol voyeurs pretending they weren’t salivating over every tremor in a victor’s voice. Then he exhaled. Not gracefully. Not theatrically. Just… out. Like someone had cracked a rib.

The suite in the Tribute Tower gleamed gold and glass, polished within an inch of its life. It felt like a mausoleum. Gloss didn’t sit. He didn’t pace, either. He stood in the center of the room, hands braced on his hips, spine locked too straight; the poised Capitol darling he’d been trained to perform as, except for the part where he wasn’t performing anymore. “Okay,” he said, voice low, stripped bare of its usual glitter. “Enough of the act.”

He looked at Cash at last, really looked at her, not the version he kept beside him on red carpets, but the girl who’d grown up in the same house, under the same roof, in the same womb, under the same noose of expectation. His twin. His other half. The one person he couldn’t protect from this because she had walked straight into it. “Cash,” he said, quieter this time, “what the hell did you do?” He dragged a hand through his hair, restless, almost angry - but not at her. Never at her. “You were supposed to let me go in. If one of us had to… it should’ve been me. But you-” His voice cracked around a word he didn’t want to use. “You jumped. You didn’t even look at me.”

He stepped closer, close enough she couldn’t dodge the weight of it. “I can’t watch you die in there. I lived through that once with you and then with Emmy. I’m not-” He swallowed hard. “I can’t do it again. Not with you.” A beat. A breath. No armor left. “Talk to me. Please. Just...” Perhaps he only realized just then how selfish he was being. How he was saying that he couldn't stomach her death, like the thought of Cash watching him die didn't tear him apart the same. "Why?"

the automatic door slid shut and the curtains of a doomed play were falling with the conclusion of the final act. cashmere would no longer need to act. she couldn’t , not as she watched gloss unfold. unravelling so far, that all she could see was that boy with his silly round glasses, somehow always slipping down. the one who she’d hoped would return unchanged after the games. the one she begged her parents to bring back, when the screen held him captive in a reality even the torture they’d endured could’ve prepared them for.  the only one who hadn’t cheered when her name was called. 

" i .. i'm not - " cashmere wanted to protest, to tell him she wasn’t acting now, that she hadn’t planned every second down to this breath.  but when gloss looked at her, the void that had built inside her collapsed, and the edges of her vision threatened to blur. the ache of already missing him, pushed through all the emotions she’d expected to come first. it cut like glass embedded in her chest, scraping blood with every word he spoke. 

she drew a breath, her entire body trembling. the words that were supposed to stitch an argument had been lost when stardust rained across the stage. it was glitter. plastic. lies. instead she stood there helplessly, realising that she was the reason that he looked at her that way. her gaze dropped, focusing on her unsteady breathing rather than his voice breaking. he had every reason to be angry at her. she broke that promise that never shattered under the cruelty of their parents. we stay together. we survive together .

never apart. never alone. but cashmere had asked the capitol to bury her. 

“ we don’t make different choices, i just did the same thing you would’ve done. ” she finally said, still not looking up, still ignoring the warmth drowning in the blue of her eyes. “ only i was lucky and they didn’t say my name.” when emmy’s name was called she felt a sick sense of relief, because she knew it meant that emmy couldn’t volunteer for her. that she could make sure gloss would be safe. perhaps for once the odds had bent to her favor.

“ i’ve never agreed to this, gloss.” their decisions were rarely finalized by words. they always simply knew. they always simply agreed. even now. one would give their life for the other, because loving someone meant knowing them completely.but perhaps this time because their love was so strong, it blurred the final step of deciding who would fall. “ i would never agree to any harm coming to you.” her voice broke. cashmere dupont victor of the 64th games didn’t cry, unless she needed to. her tears were deliberate. but a tear fell now  truthful, helpless. the same way it had fallen when she’d once asked why their parents couldn’t love them. now she cried because she was loved enough that her death would matter to someone.

" what else was i supposed to do ? "she brushed the tear away in a sharp motion, ashamed of the lie she was hiding. “of course i couldn’t let you go in there alone. it was the only option. going in with emmy would’ve been worse.” she noticed the way he stepped closer, how she wanted to take his hands ( a safe pair of hands ), but he would notice how her own trembled under the weight of an unspoken truth she would take to her grave.  “i couldn't protect you the first time you went in there but this is my job, this is what i'm supposed to do .” she tried to smile, but it broke at the corners. “you can do it ... for emmy ... i’ll help you, this time you won’t need to do it alone. i’ll be with you.” until …