Secretly Ashamed

That second night, you had woken early with a heavy arm draped across your waist, a warm chest pressed to your back. For a fraction of a second you thought you were imagining the whole thing, but Rafe had slipped out from beneath the sheets quietly as to not wake you from your alleged slumber.

You waited at least five minutes before peeking your eyes open, pretending to rub the sleep from your eyes.

Rafe never mentioned it.

You didn't either, but the action stuck with you.

The door swung open from behind you, Rafe trudging in with a handful of chopped wood. Sweat clung to his brow, his jacket tussled as he maneuvered his way across the room.

"This should last us for a few days," he says, placing them by the fireplace. "Otherwise, there's some more I can get a little further out."

"It should do," you say, dusting your hands off against your dress.

He glances at you from where he's crouched on the floor, then to the kitchen bench where you're currently busy.

"What are you doing?"

You smile, turning back to the stove.

"It's bacon and eggs," you say as though it were obvious. "They're good for you."

Rafe walks over, glancing over your shoulder to look into the pan. You swore you felt his hand hover over the small of your back, but it was quick to disappear.

He hums, leaning against the counter with his hands clasped.

"Didn't think Princess' cared about my nutrition."

"I'm sure you also didn't think a Princess would want to own a bakery. I'm full of surprises," you tease. He huffs a chuckle.

"Right," he says.

You see it in the way his shoulders grow tense, the way his gaze lingers too long on your working hands. He doesn't say it, but you know what he's thinking.

A bakery would have to wait. If it were ever safe enough to have one. You couldn't exactly open a shop in the village surrounded by palace guards and not be recognized... You wouldn't dwell on it. It was ok to imagine.

You remember when your mother would lay with you in your bed, gentle hands gliding through your hair as she spoke all about how she couldn't wait to get a taste of your apple pies. Back then, it seemed possible. It wasn't a silly dream, but a reality waiting to come true.

You purse your lips.

When you plate the food, Rafe goes to take it. You snatch his hand away and he scowls.

"What?"

"Did you wash your hands?" you ask, he pulls his hand from your grasp.

He grumbles under his breath but nevertheless walks off to the sink.

You place both plates at the table when Rafe comes back.

You both sit in silence, cutlery scraping against the plates as you ate. Your gaze flickers outside the window, where you watch the breeze brush through the trees and listen to the singing of birds.

“When are you planning to leave today?”

Rafe swallows the food in his mouth. “About an hour. Most of the stores should be open by then.”

You nod once. Your finger twitches against the fork in your hand.

“Maybe it would be nice to have some company this time…”

He stills, looking up at you through thick brows. You don’t meet his gaze, pushing the eggs on your plate around with your fork.

“No.”

Whatever hope that built inside quickly vanished. You bite your bottom lip, hoping it would distract the annoyance bubbling.

“It’s been over a week," you say, impatient.

“And that time is too short.”

You groan.

“She thinks I’m dead, Rafe!”

“And it’s still too soon.”

You huff, crossing your arms across your chest and glancing away. You don’t move when he lets out a sigh, nor when he runs a hand down his face.

"I don't need everybody making decisions for me."

You knew it was stupid to argue. It was unfair that you partly placed the blame on him.

"Yeah? And how has that been working out for you so far?"

You swallow, hard. Throat tight with unspoken words.

Rafe shovels the last of his eggs into his mouth. He doesnt look at you when he stands and washes the dishes. You dont move from your seat, gaze trained out the window in silent thought.

The fact that you were upset with him made you all the angrier. He had helped you, saved you. And now you felt like a caged bird for reasons that weren't his fault. But it wasn't yours either...

It's another few minutes before you hear the thump of his boots against the floor. You don't acknowledge him when he stands at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.

"I'll be back later," he says, but its softer now.

Gentle.

You don't respond.

He doesn't push.

You waited until the silence settled.

Rafe had gone. You couldn't see his silhouette hidden in the thickness of the woods anymore, and with him gone the air somehow seemed heavier. Empty.

You had stayed glued to your chair, gaze burning into the distance as though staring hard enough would make him walk back through door.

You waited.

Five minutes.

Then ten.

With a quiet exhale, you pushed your body to stand.

You needed air.

You wouldn't go far, just a short walk.

He couldn't be mad about that.

You snatch a jacket of his, neatly folded upon a chair. You shrug it on over your shoulders. He wouldn't mind.

It smells like him, too - woodsmoke and something distinctly him.

You don't think about it too hard, but your grip tightens around the sleeves.

It wasn't disobeying if you stayed close enough to see the cottage. It wasn't like you hadn't been outside, either. Though that was with Rafe with you under strict supervision.

Your hand hovers over the handle of the door.

Just a small walk.

The door creaks open softly. Your met with a gentle breeze and distant call of birds. The rustle of leaves and wind weaving through branches like a whisper.

You cling to Rafe's jacket tighter.

You step forward.

Then another.

And another.

You let yourself feel the rays of the sun against your exposed skin, let a hum slip past your lips when you breath in the cool air.

You wander, never too far for you to not see the cottage, but enough to start feeling lighter.

With every step a new wave of freedom washed over you. The further you went, the more the tension from earlier loosened.

The cottage was swallowed within the trees, yet you couldn't seem to turn around and head back. You hadn't realized how much you'd missed feeling alone. Dependent.

Free.

Rafe would be furious.

But right now, you didn't seem to care.

It wasnt wrong.

You weren't running. You weren't going to the village.

Just... walking.

The air shifted around you.

You still. The trees had thinned out enough for you to see far enough into the distance. Your brows knit, you take a step closer -

The village stretched out before you, just at the edge of the woods.

Lively and loud, bustling with shoppers and children running down the busy streets. Smoke curled lazily into the sky from chimneys, the faint sound of voices and music carried with the wind.

It was just like how you remembered.

Just the same as it was when your Pa would let you visit as a child.

You hold your breath, heart stuttering within your chest.

You were so close.

You take a step. Not back toward the cottage, but forward.

You can smell the bread from the bakery, practically taste it on your tongue. You hear the squealing of a child's laughter.

Just a closer look -

A twig snaps.

You spin so fast you nearly stumble over your feet.

Rafe stands before you, chest heaving and brows furrowed so tight you swore it made a vein burst. His hair was a mess, fingers flexing at his sides as though they were searching for anything to grasp.

Which just so happened to be you.

He stomps over so fast you barely have time to open your mouth. His fingers wrap around the collar of his jacket, pushing you back until your back hits the trunk of a tree. It wasn't hard, but it was enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

"What the hell, Y/N?"

His voice was low.

Controlled.

You stare at him dumbly. "Rafe?"

He shakes his head, a disbelieving laugh spilling past his lips. He looks over your shoulder toward the village. You see him calculating, jaw ticking in irritation.

"Are you stupid?"

The question takes you by shock. You swallow thickly, but he continues.

"I told you. Over and over again, I told you! You just can't listen. Do you have any idea what I thought when I got back and you weren't there?"

"It was just a walk," you defend. "I didn't get far."

"Didn't get far," he repeats. He points back in the direction of the cottage. "You're about an hour out!"

An hour.

Had it really been that long of mindless wandering?

Rafe grumbles something you don't hear. His grip on your wrist is tight.

"We're going back."

"And how long do you expect to keep me stuck there, Rafe?"

The words had tumbled out before you had a second thought to stop them. Your fists shook at your side, Rafe's grip like fire on your skin.

Rafe looks at you. Really looks. Something flickers, anger of course, but something deeper beneath it.

"Long enough to keep you safe. You forget that," he says. His tone is quieter now but still holding onto that edge.

You shake your head. "It's not fair."

"No. It's not."

Tears brim. You feel them gather at your waterline, hot and heavy. You know he sees them, and it makes you all the more embarrassed.

Embarrassed that you had gone against what he said.

Embarrassed that you couldnt seem to handle yourself.

You see Rafe step closer from the corner of your vision. He lifts a hand; you think he's going to pull you along again.

But then his hand is on your jaw, and his face is in front of yours.

You feel his breath on your cheek, his eyes boring into your own. You see every line, every hair...

You wanted him to come closer.

"Hey," he says. He's quiet for a moment, thinking. He glances over to the village again.

Then-

"Five minutes."

You frown. "What?'

He huffs a long sigh. "Five minutes in the village. And then we head back."

You blink, searching his face as though you'd misheard him.

You hadnt.

"Thank you..." you say, voice shaky with adrenaline but also something more.

Rafe only nods. His grip doesn't loosen from your wrist, and you don't pull it away.

A part of you wanted to turn to him. To break the silence that allowed your mind to swarm with endless questions. You wondered if he was sat awake too, angry at himself for allowing you to live. Wondering how he ended up in such a twisted mess.

When the first ray of light entered the small cabin, Rafe was up. You kept your eyes shut, breathing steady as he moved around the room.

You pretended for a few more minutes. And then you let your eyes flutter open.

Your head throbbed, limbs aching as you sat up on the bed. Your eyes immediately landed on Rafe across the room, face flushing to see he was already watching. In his hand, a red apple half eaten.

He averted his gaze, lazily turning the apple in his grip. "How'd you sleep?"

It was knowing. Gruff. Tired.

You rubbed at your temple. "Alright," you said. "What about you?"

The corner of his lips twitched.

"Enough for it to be decent."

You took note of the dark circles beneath his eyes, the way his shoulders hunched forward. Your suspicions from before were proven true.

Silently, he reached down and shoveled through the bag at his feet. His fingers grasp onto what he was looking for, before tossing it over to you.

You catch the apple, barely.

"Eat," Rafe demands. "It's all we have for now."

You do. The first bite is euphoric, a hum slipping past your lips as the sweetness touches your tongue. Your stomach ached, the last bite of food you'd had was yesterday morning before you left the castle. Rafe had said there was no time to stop moving until you had found a safe place to stay, and after that you supposed your appetite was lost.

You tried not to stare, at least not for too long. But when Rafe quirks a brow at you, you swallow the bite of food you have in your mouth.

"Will you be going today?" you ask, quieter than you had hoped.

He nods. "For a short while."

His eyes linger briefly on your dress peeking out from beneath the blankets.

"I'll bring you some fresh clothes. Food, too. We'll be staying here for a while."

You smile. Even if its small. "Thank you, Rafe."

He bites into his apple again. Quiet.

You glance around the room once more. With the morning sun now shining inside, it didn't seem as empty and dark as it did the night before. You could make this work easily.

"Is there anything I should do while you're gone?"

Rafe thinks, then shrugs. "I don't care what you do. As long as you don't do something stupid that'll fuck us over."

"Ok," you eye him wearily.

He leans down, grabbing his bag. You notice him reach for the dagger sitting on the table too quickly, sheathing it away as though trying to rid it from sight.

"Don't open the door. For anybody," he says gruffly, shrugging on his jacket. "And don't leave. I shouldn't be long."

When he walks over to the door, you jump up to follow.

You would never say it, but your chest jumped at the thought of being left alone out here. You couldn't remember the last time there wasn't a guard stationed at your door, or maids wandering the palace halls during the night.

Rafe turns to you. Really turns. You hadn't realized just how close you had followed him until you were practically staring up at him.

Maybe he sensed your unease or read it in your eyes. Because his gaze softened, just a little, and his lip tipped into a small smile.

"I'll be back," he added.

You almost asked him to stay. To take you with him.

You only nod, watching as his grip twists the doorknob. The door creaks open. He steps out -

"Be safe," you spoke softly, as though it were fragile.

You clutch the wooden frame harder.

He stares, and you can see his eyes swirling with emotion he refused to set on his face. He nods gently.

"Afternoon," he repeats. "I'll be back by then, Princess."

"Y/N," you correct him gently.

You see his jaw tick, eyes averting from you. He says nothing else.

The door closes behind him.

You peek through the window, watching his figure disappear behind the trees.

Now it's only you.

Time seemed to drag the longer you waited.

Not long after Rafe had left, you found yourself growing restless. Sitting around felt unbearable, and your body began to ache from sitting for so long.

You refused to become useless.

So, you turned to the one thing you knew how to control.

Beneath the old kitchen sink, you found what little you needed.

You started off by wiping the dust-caked surfaces. Then swept. Then mopped. The bed was remade with precise corners despite the sheet's old wrinkles, and the furniture was arranged to your careful symmetry.

You even allowed yourself to crack open the windows - enough for fresh air to fill the empty space. Not enough to break Rafe's rules.

Hours flew quickly with your mind easily distracted.

Your arms now ached. Your knees burned from kneeling against the hard wood and sweat clung to your temples as you swiped the back of your hand across your forehead, pushing loose strands from your eyes.

Just as you went to dunk the cloth back into the soapy bucket, something on the far wall caught your attention.

You stepped closer.

An engraving, you realize.

Squinting, you leaned closer. The wood had been carved into with something dull - uneven, impatient strokes pressed into the grain.

Though, there was no mistaking the letters that stood out.

A small smile ghosted your lips as your fingers traced each initial carefully.

R + S + W

Messy. Crooked. A permanent memory.

You wondered if the carved 'R' was Rafe. He hadn't explicitly told you if he knew of the cottage beforehand, but would it really be that surprising if he did?

You tried to picture him younger. Smaller. Tongue poking out as he tried to carefully carve each initial.

You wondered if he was happier back then. Less guarded.

Free.

It was a strange thought to imagine him in such a way.

Because the man you knew now was hard. Grounded.

You're unsure how long you're sat there, but when the front door clicks open you nearly jump out of your skin. A hand clutches at your chest. Rafe walks in, his gaze immediately tracking you on the floor.

He frowns, but then you see his eyes flicker to the carving.

"You're back," you state dumbly, swallowing the pounding of your heart down.

"I am," he says carefully. "What were you doing?"

Your mouth opens. Shuts.

"I was just occupying myself while you were gone. I thought I would get some cleaning done."

Rafe hums, as if noticing the tidiness compared to what he left from this morning.

You stand when he moves to the bed, throwing down a bundle of items.

"Clothes," he says, passing you what lay on top of the pile. A simple dress.

You smile gratefully. "Thank you."

He nods. "I've also got food for the next few nights... we should be fine to stay here until then."

Part of you wants to let out an audible sigh, relieved that he wouldn't be leaving again for a while. Maybe its selfish, but you'd much rather be here with him than alone altogether.

You pause. "And, the heart?"

"Done," he finishes.

You exhale.

Rafe opens one of the small, packaged bags, pulling out a variety of fruits and bread. It's nothing extravagant, but it's enough to have your stomach churn painfully at the sight.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, and you're nearly embarrassed with just how quickly you nod your head.

It surprises you even more when a small chuckle vibrates through him.

You flush at the sound, quickly moving to pull out a chair and sit in front of him.

Rafe divides a portion of the food between the two of you, tearing one of the small loaves in half. He says nothing, and neither do you. Oddly enough, the silence is less intimidating now.

When he goes to hand you a plate, your hand brushes his.

The contact was accidental.

Yet, neither of you pull away immediately.

Rafe clears his throat, leaning back in his chair whilst you stared down your food as though it might disappear.

Your gaze flickers to the carving again. He notices.

"What is it?" he questions, as though waiting for you to ask.

You point. "That carving. Is it yours?"

His gaze follows your line of sight, he chews for a few moments, quiet, and then nods.

"Yes."

It's short. Clipped.

You smile. "Who is S and W?"

You see the way his chewing turns deliberate, his finger toying with the edge of his bread.

You think he won't answer, but then his voice comes quieter. More careful.

"They're my sisters."

Oh.

You take another bite of your food. Maybe it was a sensitive topic you shouldn't bring up, but curiosity nagged at you.

Sisters, you thought. What would they look like? Would they have his blonde hair? His piercing blue eyes? You tried to imagine a smaller Rafe, chasing after two smaller girls with laughter and joy.

You lean forward ever so slightly. "What are their names?"

"Sarah and Wheezie," he says without a beat, like the names were something distant.

You watched him carefully. His expression didn't change. His gaze never left his plate.

"Where are they?"

Somehow, the air felt heavier now. Not dangerous, but exposed.

"Far away."

You choose not to ask any further.

You hum, hands clasped on your lap.

"Did you come here often, then?"

"Do you ever not ask questions?"

You shrug. "I figured if I'm going to be stuck here for goodness knows how long, I may as well get to know you a little."

Rafe sighs, long and drawn.

"I did. My dad used to take us here before he died."

A small 'oh' escapes your lips. Rafe's hand brushes through his hair.

This time, he lifts your hand up to your mouth. You look at him quizzically, but he only nudges your arm.

"Eat," he said.

You almost smiled at that.

Not because it was a command, but because it was care in disguise.

Across the table, Rafe pretended not to watch.

He couldn't seem to understand the turmoil within his mind.

It had only been a day.

A day.

And already you had consumed him far more than he had ever allowed anyone to.

He was angry.

At himself.

At you.

You - who thanked him when he didn't deserve it. You - who made him feel like someone good. You - who had every right to fear him and yet looked at him as though he was anything but what he was.

You trusted him more than what he deserved.

And it enraged him.

Not because he didn't want it.

But because he shouldn't have it.

You shouldn't need to place your faith into somebody like him. The Queen was a cruel person - calculating and vicious. You were the opposite. Softer. Brighter.

He saw that now with a clarity that made his chest feel tight.

He caught himself watching you too often.

His gaze lingered when you stood by the window, oblivious to the internal fight. Sunlight catches your hair in ways that have him swallowing thickly, especially when you hummed under your breath without realizing it.

He told himself it was irritating.

It was far from it.

He liked watching you. Liked listening. Liked the way you filled the silence with too many questions and too much curiosity.

He missed not being alone.

And he despised the way he was growing to enjoy your presence.

The sky had grown dark long ago, and you had disappeared into the bathroom with some of the fresh clothes he had brought.

During the silence, he cleaned his knife beneath the tap. Scrubbing away the dried blood he had missed, then wiping it down with a small towel.

The bathroom door creaked open behind him, and your voice snapping him from his thoughts. He turned.

Standing in the middle of the room with that same bright, unguarded smile, you smoothed down the new dress with your hands over the fabric.

It wasn't extravagant, not like the gowns you were used to.

But it fit you well.

Simple. Elegant. Clean of blood.

"What do you think?" you had asked him. Such a simple question, yet he found it hard for words the longer his eyes trailed up and down your figure.

"It's nice," was all he said with a nod. He turned back to the task at hand of cleaning his knife, jaw tight.

You seemed oblivious to it all, and the two of you worked in silent synchrony.

You quietly wash the dishes. He dried and put them away. You wiped down the small table; he ensured all the windows and doors were locked.

It was quiet in a way that felt comfortable.

Safe.

From the corner of his eye, Rafe watched as you reach up to put a glass away. The fabric of your dress shifts, and his jaw tightened before he could stop it.

He looked away too late.

These thoughts were wrong.

His knuckles whitened on the edge of the rusted sink when you brushed past him.

He forced himself not to react.

Tongue running over his teeth, he wiped off his hands.

When you slipped into bed, draping the sheets over yourself, he stripped off his shirt without much thought.

He swore he saw you turn your head sharply, as though the sight had burned you. He quirked a brow, a slow smirk tugged at his lips.

"You don't have to look away," he drawled.

You flush. "I was being polite."

"No need for that," he murmurs. "It's only you and me."

You don't say anything else, only watch as he falls onto the small wooden chair beside the bed with a grunt. He adjusts himself; arms folded over his chest and head tilted back. His eyes flutter closed.

You call his name softly, and he peeks an eye open.

"You don't have to keep sleeping on the chair," you say. He doesn't miss the growing tint in your cheeks. "You can take a side of the bed."

He knows he shouldn't. Hell, he could sleep on the floor if he really wanted to. Agreeing to an offer like that would only worsen his inner turmoil.

"Is that an order?" he teases.

You roll your eyes, turning onto your side. Back facing him.

"It's an offer," you say, softer.

He frowns, turning away on the chair to stare up at the ceiling above.

You shouldn't be looking at him like that.

Like he was safe.

And yet, here you are, offering to share the only bed with him. Him - who had held a blade to your throat only yesterday. Him - who had nearly ended your life without a second thought, all because of a command.

The room grows darker. The wind taps gently against the cabin walls.

He finds it difficult to close his eyes and shut off his mind. He listens to each inhale of your breath - and knows exactly when you fall sleep.

It's only a few hours later, when sleep has barely gripped him, that he notices the pattern change.

He freezes.

He listens closer.

A short gasp, a murmured name, your fingers curl into the sheets... and Rafe realizes what it is.

He swallows thickly. He had resisted, told himself he wouldn't move, but your breathing only grew heavier and your arms restless.

Nightmares are normal, he tells himself. You would wake up on your own, realize you are safe. You'd go back to sleep, and he'd pretend that nothing happened.

He stays seated.

Then you whimper.

He curses himself for getting up from the chair.

He curses himself more when he sits on the bed at your side, muscles taut, a hand brushing carefully over your back.

You stir.

He whispers your name.

You don't respond, but he sees the wet streaks on your face. Your brows creased in worry even in sleep.

He's already slipping in beside you before he can stop himself. No more words, just him.

An arm hooks around your waist, protective and alert, but careful. He makes sure there's enough room between the two of you, his chest brushing lightly against your back.

He forces his mind away from your scent, the one that threatened to unravel him.

He feels you relax. His thumb brushes over your arm like a reminder.

He would get up in a few minutes and pretend like nothing ever happened.

His head leans back onto one of the pillows. Slowly, his mind betrays him, and his eyes soften ever so slightly at the rise and fall of your chest.

He would regret this tomorrow. He knew he would.

But for now, he stayed.

Rafe cleared his throat, a poor attempt of breaking the silence. He noticed you jump slightly at his side, but he ignored it.

"We're nearly there. Not far if we keep up our current pace," he told you.

He waited for a reply, but all he got was a short nod in response. Your arms circled around yourself as the air began to grow cold, a poor attempt at keeping your warmth in the now blood-stained dress.

You tried not to glance at it for too long. The blood had dried on your dress and skin, becoming sticky to the touch. The smell - you grimaced. Metallic and a painful reminder of what you wished to not have seen.

You wondered briefly how different it would have turned out if you had refused to leave the grounds. Locked yourself away in your room or even sat in the kitchen with the staff for the day. You'd be in fresh, clean clothes. Your bed warm and soft unlike the cold breeze hitting your flesh.

The words tumbled out before you could think to stop it, nails digging into the palms of your hands that oddly enough caused a sense of painful comfort.

"If I hadn't turned around... would you have done it?"

For the first time, he looked at you. Really looked. His brows drew together, lips parting in unspoken words.

A pause.

"...No. I wouldn't have."

You exhaled a breath you didn't know you were holding. Glancing up at him, you took note of the twitch in his jaw as he held eye contact, the way his hand tightened on the strap of his bag.

And then you were thrown back into the silence. No words, no more discreet glances, no questions. Only dried leaves crunching beneath Rafe's boots.

You stumbled, foot treading over a lifted root.

Rafe caught your arm roughly.

Your face darkened, his grip almost painful before he eased and let go. The imprint of his fingers burned even after he released you. Your mouth opens, ready to instinctively thank him, but he beats you to it.

"Watch where you're going or you're just as much dead out here. I won't be carrying you."

Your response is quiet, guarded. "I'm trying."

"Try harder," he shot back.

You look away. You say nothing. You'd learned long ago that arguing with somebody who'd already made up their mind was pointless.

Rafe slows, and you nearly walk into him. He looks at you over his shoulder and nods up ahead.

You barely see it within the darkness. A small cottage hidden within the trees, wood old and worn down. Wood chipped along the door hinges, grass grown tall and untamed. The place had obviously been forgotten, abandoned. The perfect spot to hide.

Rafe gets to the door before you do, and with a gentle kick, the door swings open.

The lights flicker to life when you follow close behind him, stepping around the room whilst Rafe sets his things down on a nearby table. Cobwebs litter the ceiling, dust collecting on surfaces, a few leaves having mysteriously appeared on the floor.

Rafe hums, and you turn just in time to see him turn to you.

"It's safe here. Quiet. We should be good here for a week or so." He shrugs off his jacket with a huff, tossing it onto a nearby chair.

"It's different..." you say, and he scoffs.

"No shit. It's not exactly marble tiles and chandeliers, out here, Princess."

You shake your head, tucking a strand of loose hair behind an ear. He watches.

"No. It's comfortable. Thank you."

He stares, eyes trailing over you as though trying to figure you out. "Don't thank me for anything."

You drag your fingers along the small kitchen counter, leaving a trail behind in the dust. You brush it off against your dress, something Rafe notices.

"There's a small shower in the other room. You can wash off, find some spare clothes."

You freeze, realization dawning that the only source of clothing you currently have is covered in blood. It would be an easy wash. A harder reminder.

You swallow thickly. "Will you stay?"

"Stay?" he questions.

You nod. "Are you... leaving?"

He thinks, head turning toward the broken window. "Only for a short while," he mutters.

You inhale shakily. "Please," you say, taking a step closer. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do right now."

For a fraction of a second, you swear you see his eyes soften. Just barely.

"Nobody can know you're still alive. I need to show her proof."

It suddenly dawns on you why he had taken the deer's heart. Your hand instinctively goes to your chest, feeling the beating of your heart beneath your palm.

He sighs, long and tired. A hand drags down his face.

"I'll stay tonight. But tomorrow I'll go into the village. You won't go anywhere until I'm back."

You nod quickly, and he waves a hand.

"Go shower. Please."

You linger for a moment, but do as you're told.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind you and for the first time, you're officially alone.

Your dress slips off first, falling off your shoulders and pooling soundlessly at your feet. When the water comes down, you hold your hand beneath the stream first. It's colder than you expect. You let it run over your fingers. Over your knuckles.

Then you step in.

You stand.

Silent.

Thinking.

Water cascades down your arms, stomach, thighs - goosebumps erupting in their wake from the cold touch.

Pink runs off your skin and spirals below you. Diluted red twisting toward the drain.

You stare at it. Detached. Distant.

Your lips twist.

You reach for a sponge.

You scrub.

You watch as the blood mingles with water, beginning to run clear.

You scrub harder.

Your skin burns beneath the sponge, but you don't stop. You change angles. Press harder. No spot left untouched.

You don't know how long you stand there - the water ran clear long ago.

So why can you still feel it?

A sob slips out before you can manage to catch it. Then another. You hope that the running water hides the sounds of your vulnerability, hand braced against the tiled wall to keep upright.

You manage to slide onto your knees; sponge clutched tightly in your grip.

And finally -

You let yourself cry.

Just in the other room, Rafe sits alone.

He hears the water running steady through the pipes.

He tries and fails to ignore the hitch in your breathing through the walls - the soft broken sniffle that he manages to catch.

His elbows rest on his knees, staring at the flex of his fingers.

The hands that had nearly taken your life. Spilled your blood.

He tells himself you'll get used to it.

You'll learn it was necessary.

The thought sits wrong in his chest. Leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

He doesn't move. Not when you come back out with a weary smile, not when you lay on the only bed, facing the wall.

He listens closely to your breathing, too steady to be asleep. Breaths too practiced.

He counts each one. Counts the seconds between each inhale, monitors your every movement as you shift throughout the night.

He doesn't sleep either.

The palace towers faded, replaced with towering trees and a meadow that expanded beyond the horizon. Birds sang, and trees rustled with life. For once, the stillness felt comforting rather than confining.

"Where is it that we are going?" you asked, a skip in your step when you turned to your escort. Rafe, he had said.

You knew him. Very little, but you did. His face had shown up around the castle more times than you could count. Eyes the same ones that so happened to pierce into your own just the day before.

There was no denying he was handsome. Strong jaw, tall, muscle built from what you could only assume was from years of work.

Rafe huffed, eyes set forward. Not even a glance of acknowledgment.

"Far enough," he said simply.

You quickened your pace to match his own, walking alongside him.

"I couldn't tell," you smiled, glancing over your shoulder in the direction of home. "Will it be long before we arrive?"

Again, his response was quick and clipped. "Yes."

You hummed as though it was enough of an answer.

“Maybe on the way back we can stop by the town markets… I’m sure there’s some things there I can use in the kitchens.”

Rafe, ever quiet, glanced at you from the corner of his eye. In mere minutes, he’d have you pinned beneath him. Knife buried to the hilt of your chest. It was weird to hear talk of the future spilling from your lips.

He cleared his throat, grunting in response. “The Queen would disapprove.”

Your smile quivered, but never faded.

With a small shrug, you kicked gently at a stone by your foot.

“Maybe next time, then.”

The silence that followed felt suffocating. Like his body was threatening to drown even with air filling his lungs.

Rafe said nothing.

He was almost grateful for the silence that followed. He didn’t want to hear your voice, didn’t want it craved into his mind like a painful reminder after he had finished the job. Of course, with you silence never stayed too long.

“Our fathers were friends, you know,” you beamed, glancing up at him.

Internally, he rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to speak of his father. Nor the late King. His mind was much preoccupied with more concerning matters.

He hadn’t had the greatest relationship with his father growing up as a young boy. He was raised to obey. To lead. Something his father was good at.

He slowed his pace, turning to face you with crossed arms. “How so?”

You began to sway in your steps. “My father would speak of him a lot. Out of all the people in the village, your father was the one the King found most loyal.”

Rafe hummed gruffly. His father was a coward, one who had chosen to leave him alone with his sick mother and died in the end.

"I used to make apple pies with my mother before she died. I'd always save extra for the people Pa was closest too. Once I leave the castle, I'll open a small bakery in the village. I've been practicing recipes, too."

You nudged his side. He glared down at you, but you didn't seem to mind.

"What will you do?"

He thought for a moment. He was a huntsman, but could he choose to be something else?

"I'm on the path I need to be on, Princess."

“Oh!” You suddenly gasped, and his thoughts were cut off abruptly. You tugged rapidly at his shirt, eyes gleaming with life.

He followed the line of vision of your pointed finger, and there, in the few bushes lay a small fawn. Coat a soft beige, white spots littering its back and black eyes staring right back at the two of you.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” You gushed in a whisper, carefully kneeling down a few feet ahead.

He watched you smile, the way your outstretched hand lay open for the creature to see you meant no harm. The way your patience shone through whilst the tiny deer took a slow cautious step.

His breath stopped, fingers already fiddling with the clasp on his knife’s sheath.

He had to do it now. It was perfect. He'd make it quick, only a flash of pain before your body would go limp.

The knife was in his hand now, glinting in the sun and his steps careful as you were distracted with the small creature. He took note of how this image of you, crouched in your dress and surrounded by flowers would soon be painted red.

I want her heart. Still warm.

He held his breath, raised his hand-

But then you laughed softly - that stupid laugh that made something in him shatter. His brow creased, grip so tight his knuckles turned white. The fawn's head tilted, nose barely gracing the tips of your fingers.

It happened fast.

You turned.

The dagger came down.

The deer startled.

You cried out.

In one swift motion, he moved.

But not toward you.

The blade flashed past your shoulder.

A sharp cry pierced the clearing.

The fawn collapsed.

Blood stained the grass around you. Your dress absorbed the hot crimson. You let out a sob when the fawn fell into your shaking arms. Rafe, panting and still, grit his teeth. Then he cursed, ripping the dagger from the creature's body.

When he finally had the courage to look at you, he nearly wished he hadn't. Hot tears streaked your cheeks, eyes wide as you stared back at him. The blood coating your dress and hands was not something that belonged with your beauty.

He glared down at the fawn in your hands, and he stood onto shaky feet.

"Fuck," he grumbled, tossing the bloody dagger to the side with a thump. "I can't."

Your lip wobbled, a sob tearing through the silence once again. "What-"

"Shut up!"

He began pacing, muttering carelessly beneath his breath. How could he have allowed himself to act so carelessly? The job was meant to be simple. Quick. Efficient.

But you were so you.

"Ok, listen," he stopped, quick to crouch at your side. He ignored the way you flinched, ignored the hitch in your breathing.

"We need to leave. Now. Going back is suicide for the both of us."

You obviously weren't listening. You weren't even looking at him anymore. Your gaze was trained on the drying blood on your skin, the lifeless form on your lap.

He snapped, grabbing your face and tilting your head toward him. He was close, rushed breath hitting your cheek. "If you want to keep living, you need to do exactly what I say."

You didn't say anything, but he knew you got the message clearly.

He tugged you up by your arm,

"W-why? I don't-" you were rambling, the shock evident on your face.

He drawled out a long breath, grip on your upper arm tight as he swiftly grabbed his dagger from the grass.

"The Queen wants you dead. I- I can't do it."

"You were going to kill me." It wasn't a question; it was a statement whispered from your lips.

He doesn't deny it.

Just as he went to kneel down at the fawn's side, he hesitated.

"Don't look if it'll make you upset."

And you didn't.

He made sure to be quick, ripping open the rib cage before carefully cutting out the heart.

Still warm.

When he looked at you again, your shoulders were shaking. Your back turned toward him. For a moment, he wished he could go back just a few minutes. To see the spark of light in your eyes and the skip in your step. The way you had smiled at him, fearless and kind.

He wraps the heart. Sheaths his knife.

He reaches for your hand.

You don't move.

"If we stay, they'll send somebody who won't hesitate next time."

A pause.

"Don't make me regret it."

One last time, you look out toward your home. The meadow felt different now, no longer peaceful, but instead filled with the truth you wished you hadn't learnt.

Rafe leads.

You follow.

And you don't look back.

"Y/N!" A voice calls, delicate yet filled with a unmistakable venom. You turned just in time to see shimmering robes coming toward you, dark eyes cold.

The Queen stopped a few feet away, eyes boring into your own and then to the small girl at your side.

"What are you doing picking weeds and rolling in filth?"

Your smile dropped, only slightly as you glanced down at your dirt-stained dress. The small girl beside you had gone quiet, the emotion from seconds ago shifting into something dangerous.

"Forgive me, my Queen. I was just making a friend."

"To a village girl..." The Queen eyed the young girl, waving her hand dismissively with a small 'shoo'. The girl was quick to obey, and you watched with sad eyes as she ran off.

"Stand," the Queen said, and you did in silence. Head tilted down to avoid the burning gaze of her stare. It was only when her hand circled around a curl of your hair and yanked you forward did you finally meet her gaze.

"We do not mingle with peasants, or build relationships," she said, face void of any emotion despite the venom laced in her tone. "We are not one of them."

You swallowed, thick and tight. "I do not believe they are beneath me, stepmother."

She grimaced at the use of the name.

Tears brimmed your eyes, whether that was due to the hard grip she had on your hair or the pang her words sent you. Nevertheless, you said nothing as her grip finally loosened. The courtyard was quiet, your cheeks burning when you realize the maids and guards stood nearby had witnessed the exchange. Throat tight and posture tense, you glanced away hoping to avoid the humiliation. Instead, you managed to catch a pair of steel-blue eyes, hard and guarded.

For a moment, you wished to shrink into yourself.

The Queen caught your chin, tutting with a quirk in her brow.

"Go wash up. I can't have you making us a fool."

And you did, giving a curt nod before you brushed past her and quickly rushed inside away from prying eyes.

The sob that threatened to tear through you was choked down, refusing to let yourself break at her will. Not now.

He knew he was fucked.

The knock at his door that late evening came hard and solid, much like the pounding in his chest. One of the palace guards, expression unreadable, demanded he attend the Queen immediately per her request.

There could be no other reason - she had seen him there.

He cursed beneath his breath, barely audible as he raked a hand through blonde hair.

When he had begun to follow the guard toward the Queen's chamber, he set his jaw tight and held his breath steady. It was no use looking guilty. Rafe knew this well.

He hadn't meant to linger, hadn't meant to see what his eyes shouldn't. He had only been returning from the days hunt - rabbits strapped to his belt, knife sheathed and plans already forming to sell his latest catch to the palace cooks.

He remembered when you had locked eyes with him, your fate sealed within the hands of the Queen. For a moment, he did feel pity. Not because he cared, but because he understood. You had averted your pretty eyes quickly, skittish to get inside and hide.

He didn't care. Never cared. But he did care when he felt the Queen's eyes on him next.

And now, he was surely about to be punished for his crime.

The guard knocked on the door, hands clasping behind his back before a short 'enter' followed. The doors swung open and stood before them was her. The Queen, dressed in fine silks and raven hair cascading down her back in waves, grinned.

"Rafe Cameron. Our loyal Huntsman," her lips curved, but her gaze remained flat. She gestured an arm out toward a cushioned chair, delicate embroidery along the arms. "Please, sit."

"How can I assist, my Queen?" he asked, jaw tighter than ever. He braced for the words that would seal his fate. If he were lucky enough, she would spare him with life in prison.

The Queen hummed but said nothing. With a quick flick of her hand, the servants in the room had gotten the order and rushed to leave. It was only the two of them, now.

The silence that followed was deafening. He watched as the Queen took a seat before him, fingers dancing along the seams of the chair.

"Do you believe me to be unfair?"

The question caught him off guard, a crease forming between his brows. She, however, remained poised and unfazed, dark eyes piercing his own and daring for an answer.

His response was quick and steady. "No, Majesty."

"And do you believe me cruel?"

Again, he replied. "No, Majesty."

"Then I trust you're faithful to me and to the future of the Kingdom. I understand you've lived here for quite some time. Under your father's guidance?"

Rafe swallowed thickly, fist curling at his side. "Yes. My father died a few years ago after the bandit attacks on the Northern Lands."

The Queen nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line. She leant forward, eyes glinting with something dark and vicious.

"And during your time growing up here... I've come to see you've honed your skills in hunting."

"I have."

He wasn't sure where this was going, but enough was said for him to understand he wouldn't be punished for what he'd witness before in the day. This was for something different.

The room suddenly felt too warm when she went silent again, as if silently debating. Calculating.

"I want you to kill for me."

A flicker of relief washed through him. He stood, grasping his knife tucked safely away in its sheath, more than eager to get the job done and leave.

"Of course. What creature did you wish me to bring back to you?"

That's when her smile turned cruel. A bit too wide, a little too inhumane.

"I would love for the Princess' heart to be stowed away on my shelves. A reminder to anybody who tries to go against me is putting our Kingdom at risk."

He went pale, breath halting within his throat.

This wasn't a usual job like he'd hoped. Why would he have been so stupid to think otherwise? It wasn't an offer. It wasn't a question. It was a command.

The task was clear, and he'd read it well.

His fist tightened on the hilt of his blade, jaw locked hard enough to ache.

"It will be done, my Queen."

The words were quick, certain, painfully empty.

The Queen studied him, head tilted as if weighing the truth of his promise against the thumping of his heart.

"You hesitate," she observed.

Rafe didn't allow himself to flinch.

"I do not."

Another hard lie.

She puffed out a long sigh, head straightening and hair falling over one shoulder. She stood, and despite him being taller, he was all the more intimidated. The Queen's fingertips graced his knife, a taunting reminder of what she'd asked of him.

"You understand that failure isn't an option. I expect proof of your success," she trailed her finger to the point of the blade, pressing hard enough to draw a singular crimson bead on the tip of her finger.

"I want her heart. Still warm."

His stomach twisted, but he refused to react. He knew it was a sick game. She was watching him carefully, observing him.

For a brief moment, he pictured you. Curious eyes, kind and hopeful. He wondered how that would change once the time came when his blade was upon your neck, how your blood would stain your expensive dress and how your eyes would lose the light he'd grown to despise yet somehow admire all at once.

He swallowed.

"It'll be done. You have my word," he repeated, firmer this time. Sure.

The Queen smiled.

"Good," she whispered, leaning forward just enough for him to catch the sickening smell of expensive perfumes. "You leave at dawn."

And he knew then that your fates were sealed.

Electra had been quick to sneak away, bidding a small 'goodbye' as the heavy door slid shut behind you. Finally alone.

Admittedly, you couldn't decide if that was what you wanted. Being left alone meant to be left with your thoughts, and you didn't particularly want to dwell on the thought of leaving the only place you'd grown to know and brought to your impending doom. However, you didn't want Electra in your presence for obvious reasons. You didn't know Nathan, not well enough at least.

And Finnick... having Finnick with you now would both be a blessing and torture in itself.

You ignored yourself, inhaling a sharp breath through your nose and burning your lungs. You imagined the salty air of your district clinging to your skin, the homemade shampoo that Emma would drown herself in. You imagined that instead of the wind gushing past the train, it was the crashing waves on the shoreline of District Four.

Eyes burning from the many shed tears, you couldn't find yourself to cry anymore. You were drained and exhausted, and all you wished to do now was rid yourself off your clothes, scrub your body clean, and sink into the confines of your - the capitols - bed.

Emma would have been gushing over the luxury if she were here. Palm skimming over the soft sheets, you imagined her giant grin and high-pitched squeal. You couldn't help but to quirk your lip into a somewhat small smile.

Easing open the second door, you peeked inside to be met with a bathroom bigger than what you thought to be needed for just one person. Ceramic sink, golden cupboards, embroidered towels folded neatly high up on a shelf, and inside the shower held a variety of scented lotions, shampoos... you swore you could taste it.

A mirror held your reflection, and for the first time since this morning, you got a good look at yourself.

The whites of your eyes were a raw red from the tears, your hair which had been neatly brushed and pinned back before was now coming loose with stray strands, and your mothers dress was still as beautiful as when you had received it. Nevertheless, you looked awful.

You jumped when you heard a knock on the door, and you internally cursed yourself for being so jumpy. You’d have to watch yourself in front of the cameras.

"Who is it?" you asked, rather irritated. You didn't care to be polite.

The person on the opposite side cleared their throat. "It's me.” The voice was unmistakeable. “It's Finnick."

Your breath stilled. "Give me a second!"

Quick to flatten and smooth your dress, cheeks tinged a shade paler, the cart door slid open with a hiss.

Finnick was leant up against the frame of the door, shoulders tense in a way that told you he wasn't as relaxed as he thought himself to be. Fists flexing at his sides, he gave a warm smile. You didn't return it.

Even stood mere feet away, you could smell him like perfume. Nostalgia hit you like a wave, flashes of that same golden hair and green eyes, sea salt clinging to him with a mixture of something sweet and citrus.

You eyed him cautiously, and his warm gaze wavered.

"I'm just checking in to see how you're doing," he said, slow and careful. He didn't shower his words in his usual charming tone, now he held something more. Perhaps you guessed a sort of understanding and empathy.

"I'm ok," you shrugged, glancing down briefly to smooth your dress again. A nervous habit you had picked up, you realized. Talking to him now, alone, was something you weren't sure you could handle along with the events from today.

You heard him scoff, and you frowned.

"Sure, sweetheart. I'm not stupid when it comes to this. I've lived it."

"So why bother asking?" You shot.

If you considered having Finnick here with you for comfort beforehand, you sure didn't want it now. You weren't in the mood for probing.

He fixed himself up, arms crossed over his chest to tower over you.

He was tall, taller than before. Finnick had grown up as one of the tallest boys our age, but now it was like staring up at a wall. It reminded you just how much time had passed.

"Small talk maybe? Ice breaker? I'm not insensitive," he said, a tick in his jaw.

You said nothing, opting to instead glance off to the side away from his piercing eyes.

He was quiet for a moment, a breath of air escaping his lips. His brows softened, lips twinging. "You've grown up"

A hum of a laugh escaped you, but no humor was held in it. "I guess so. It happens."

"Guess so," he responded, though quieter than he meant to.

Another pause. You hated this. Hated how he leaned against the frame of the door, hated how he looked at you as if he could see you again. What had changed now?

"Go eat some food. Theres plenty for you to have out in the main dining. You'll need the strength for the upcoming weeks," he said tightly.

You debated it, really, you did consider the rumbling in your stomach. But at the same time you dreaded having to go back out and see the others, eat before them as if you hadn't just received the worst death sentence to your life and be paraded around like an animal. To be fattened up for their games in order to harm other people. Children.

"I'm alright," you decided to settle on. "But thank you..."

He seemed to not accept that for an answer, because his expression hardened. Just enough for you to notice.

"I'm here to help you through this... that means you take my advice and work with me."

You didn't want to admit it, but you didn't feel so alone with Finnick here with you. He knew, he understood, and he was here to see you. Finnick may have been distant for reasons you wouldn't understand, but he wasn't cruel. He wasn't them. He was one of the closest things you had to home.

You shook your head, throat tight with emotion and a fight you weren't willing enough to play. "I don't need a pep talk right now. I know what happens."

His brow twitched, barely noticeable. "No, you don't."

He let out a long exhale, eyeing over your shoulder and into your room.

"How long are you going to stay upset with me?"

You longed to close the door in his face and sleep the day off. You felt suddenly sick to your stomach - more so than before. It only made your anger for the past worse.

"That depends. Are you asking me to act like nothing happened?"

"No. I'm asking that you trust me, right now. You'll need me more than anything."

"I thought the same thing before you left, Odair."

He rubbed his eyes with his fingers; you could see the annoyance begin to bleed through him. Jaw ticking and clenched hard, frown deepening, he spoke lowly.

"Y/N," he said. A warning.

Your name off his tongue felt surreal, and you found yourself yearning to hear it come from him again. To at least know he had some memory of the time you once shared. You wondered briefly if he thought about it as much as you did, longed to go back in time and live the life you loved alongside him. That was wishful thinking.

"You don't understand these people. You don't understand the grip they hold on to us now. What happened before doesn't matter right now. What does matter is getting you out of that arena alive. I need you back alive."

You shook your head, but your gaze was softer. Tired. "You didn't need me before. Why do you need me now, Finn?"

It was a question, but you weren't seeking an answer. You watched as his eyes softened, defeat evident before he turned his head away and took a step further from the door.

"I'll send Electra to get you in the morning. We'll discuss more training strategies then."

Then he was gone. And you let him leave. This time, you didn't try to run after him like you had all those years ago begging for answers.

You had come to one realization. You had really, really missed him.

The next morning was painful to awaken to.

Despite the comfort of your new warm bed, you had woken to the day with a stiff neck, hair in tangles, sweat beading over your skin, and your eyes dry. It had to be one of the worst sleeps you'd ever taken, nightmares soon catching up to you.

After being awoken to Electra just as Finnick had told you, you begrudgingly got yourself ready for the morning after a hot shower and made your way down the corridor into the dining area. You were grateful for the set of clothes folded outside your door, although a little displeased at the style. Capitol made, you could tell.

You didn't say much at all when you walked in, eyes turning to you briefly. Finnick and Nathan were both sat together near one of the train windows talking in murmurs, whilst Electra sat slumped into one of the plush couches. She somehow made it seem elegant, even with her heels kicked off her feet and laying discarded on the floor.

The food from yesterday was gone, now replaced with an assortment of breakfast dishes. Bacon and eggs, pancakes, omelets, and too much more for you to name them all. Nevertheless, your mouth watered at the sight.

Briefly, you wondered what they had done to all the food that sat uneaten from yesterday. Surely the other three hadn't eaten all that without being overly sick, you had even heard Electra going on about her new diet, claiming everybody had to look their absolute best whilst living in the Capitol. Perhaps the Avox's had come to retrieve the leftovers as their fill of dinner or thrown it all into rubbish bags.

You hoped not. The districts would pay all their wealth for food like that to save them from starvation.

When you stopped at Finnick and Nathans side, you slipped into one of the empty chairs in silence. You barely just managed to catch the flex in Finnick's knuckles, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Maybe he was still upset with you after last night.

“What’s this?” you asked, suddenly catching onto the lit screen on the table before them.

Finnick glanced at you, then to the screen at his side that broadcasted the familiar Caesar Flickerman with his too bright blue hair and too wide teeth.

“Your competitors," was all he said, his gaze now locked on the screen when it flickered from Caesar to this year's tributes. Your gaze flickered briefly to Nathan, who sat back all too smug.

You recognized Caesars voice, though you didn't find yourself to pay attention as to what he was saying when you caught a glimpse of the names popping up onto the screen. You skimmed them quickly, each name playing on repeat within your head. It wouldn't be long until you got to meet these faces in person.

District 1:

Cael Devote and Topez Scorch.

District 2:

Nolan Birch and Cira Connet.

District 3:

Peter East and Alex Hogan

Then stood you and Nathan.

It was the first time you'd actually gotten the opportunity to watch the playback, and looking at it now was almost like reliving the moment. The camera's had zoomed in on your face, eager to catch any emotion, your dress flowing with your every movement, Electra's hand grasping yours, Nathan's loud cheers.

The rest of the tributes went quickly. Some crying, some cheering, most putting on their acts. You felt sick at each new face.

District 5:

Tayne Raynor and Lucy Veyra.

District 6:

Dax Jornal and Trinnity Vale.

District 7:

Aspen Cedar and Elmira Alder.

District 8:

Kurtley Dray and Cordelia Twill.

District 9:

Reed Joss and Kenzie Reece.

District 10:

Rowan Graze and Steph Carton.

District 11:

Axel Merrick and Asha Dews.

District 12:

Coal Brenman and Jess Stone.

They disappeared just as fast as they had come, and the feed cut.

Nathan stretched his arms, relaxed with a long groan. “What about alliances?” Nathan questioned, though you weren't sure if he was actually listening for an answer considering the bored look he gave off.

Finnick hummed in thought, brows drawn tight. “Look, it’s a fifty-fifty with these people. I wouldn’t be against it, but in the end, you need to know how you will survive at the end of all this. Without any obstacles. In the arena, they won't view you as a team, only an object in their way.”

“So, you’ll let us choose ourselves?”

“I’ll encourage you into what you think is better for yourselves. To survive,” he pointed.

Nathan gave a smug smile. "I'm not worried. Half these tributes look like they can't even hold a butter knife."

"Half of them are not even teens, I wouldn't expect them to know how to handle any weapons," you fired back, annoyance bubbling at his arrogance. Nathan merely chuckled, head lolling toward you as if not a care in the world.

"All the more easier."

You frowned, not bothering enough to hide the evidence from him.

Finnick opened his mouth quicker than you could.

"You can't underestimate the games. Or the tributes. This isn't something that simple - it's now you against them and pride will get you nowhere once you're inside that arena."

"Here's the difference between you and me, Odair. I'm not here to get Capitol jewels and fame. I'm here to make a name for myself back at our district. To be something more than a pathetic fisher. You understand, don't you?"

You swear you saw Finnick's jaw tick, eyes darken into something unspoken, dangerous. But he held still, neck extending to the right to glance past your shoulder and over to Electra slumped on the couch with a nail file in hand.

"Electra," he called, voice strong. "I think we should start getting our tributes ready to introduce to the Capitol."

He was already stood and walking toward the door. He didn't cast a glance your way, nor did he say anything else to the both of you.

Electra jumped up at the spoken opportunity, saying a quick 'of course!' as he left. Your eyes lingered on the closed doors he had disappeared behind, waiting for them to open once again to reveal his sun kissed skin.

It didn't.

Nathan grunted a few words beside you, arms crossed over his chest, though you didn't pay him much mind. The irregular tapping of his pointer finger against the coffee table being the only indication of what you figured to be nerves? Annoyance? Impatience? You didn't dwell on it for too long.

"Now, let's get you two prepped and ready before we arrive! We have about just over an hour or so," Electra chirped, already pushing you away to your room with her following behind quickly on tow.

Before you stepped into your room, you couldn't help but to sneak a glimpse to the closed door just a few doors down from your own, hoping to catch sight of sea-green eyes and locks of golden waves. You refused to let your disappointment shine through when you didn't.

The moment that you had first stepped off the train had been a crazed frenzy.

Cameras had flashed just inches from your face, blinding you from the world whilst questions were thrown your way from every direction. You swore you even felt multiple hands grasp at your clothing, but an arm around your waist had quickly tugged you away from the chaos.

Looking around, or at least trying to, you took in the various bright colors and insane head pieces. Leopard print, reptile scales, you even saw a woman's dress made of colorful bird feathers. Mostly everybody looked well beyond unnatural. Cheek bones too high and lips pursed too thick, noses pointed, and some people had even gone to the extent of implants. A man in particular had a set of horns on his head, then a woman with pointed ears to mimic a feline.

The fresh air no longer lingered of sea salt, but instead something richer. Sweeter, in an odd sense. You guessed it had something to do with the overpowering perfumes everybody showered themselves in here.

There were so many questions being thrown around, half of them you weren't even sure were directed to you. Finnick stayed close, his arm lingering at your waist not quite touching but there to guide you. Nathan seemed to be swimming in the attention, bright smile and all as he waved and answered questions in short quips. You envied how easy it seemed for him.

Finnick had instructed you before the doors opened to not answer any questions. At least for now. All you had to focus on right now was to smile politely and acknowledge the crowd, whatever that meant.

You were escorted into a large building; one you had ever only seen through a screen. The tributes center was taller than what you had thought, wider too. Finnick seemed to know exactly where to go, his long strides leading both you and Nathan through the pack of prying Capitol eyes and finally inside the building.

Though it wasn't much better, because you were instantly swarmed again.

"Look how beautiful!" one person gushed, her finger going to coil your hair around her finger.

Another appeared at her side, and you resisted shrinking into yourself when they eyed you carefully.

"Oh, she'll do," they hummed, pursing their lips in thought.

You glanced at Nathan, who too was also crowded with unknown people. You caught Finnick's eye, and he seemed to sense your unease when his eyes softened.

He came over, and you were nearly relieved to think he was coming to save you from the hands poking and prodding at you, but instead he caught their attention.

"Delilah, Trey," he greeted with a polite smile, the one you guessed to be Delilah gushing instantly and craning her neck to place a kiss against Finnick's cheek.

You couldn't take your eyes off the red lip stain she'd left behind on Finnick's jaw, her purple hair pulled tightly into a high bun that seemed to pull her skin back into a lift.

The other person, Trey, had simply given Finnick a warm hug. His face was thin to the point you could see nearly all his bones, though you wondered if that was purposeful. He had a sickly green tinge to his short hair, along with little gems glued to his face.

Finnick hooked an arm around your shoulder, and whether you liked it or not, you were glad it meant the two would stop touching you.

"I see you've met Y/N," he said, charming as ever. He turned to look at you. "Delilah and Trey will be your stylists for the games."

That made more sense as to why they were currently eyeing your figure down, like lions stalking their prey.

You watched as they whispered to one another, and you wanted nothing more than to shrink away and get this all over with. You didn't look at Finnick, but he knew you were directing your question to him when you lowered your voice for only his ears.

"Please, don't leave me alone with them."

You hated how vulnerable you were, having to rely on Finnick already not even a day into your stay, but Finnick only tightened his grip on your shoulder. Comforting. He leant down, mouth brushing your ear when he said, "I won't ever leave you alone."

Ironic, considering the past. But you believed him.

Nathan went willingly with his set of stylists down the opposite end to where Delilah and Trey were leading you, and Finnick had stuck to his word on staying close by.

"What is this?" you asked when you were pushed inside a sterile room, looking back to Delilah who had an excited gleam to her face.

"This is your awakening," she said, gesturing for you to lay on the bed. You did, although hesitantly.

When you glanced over to Finnick who was stood across the room watching, he didnt smile. And you even felt a pang of guilt course through you when he inhaled sharply through his nose and met your eyes. With no words and no expression, oddly enough you still felt what he was saying.

It was hard to forget that he was once in your position, and unlike you, he didn't have anybody he knew to watch over him and be a source of comfort. You wondered how different this all would have been if you didn't have Finnick as your mentor.

Trey walked over, slipping on a pair of latex gloves with a snap. He eyed Finnick for a moment.

"Do you wish to stay?" he asked, amusement in his tone. You didn't think it was for the right reason however when Finnick blinked hard.

You knew what was to happen now, they were going to prep you ready to display before the Capitol, check every inch of your body and remove any flaws they find.

"You can wait outside," you found yourself saying, giving a somewhat small smile.

He hesitated, swallowing thickly behind a reassuring nod.

"I'll be outside the door."

You watched him gently close the door behind him, and somehow the room was devoid of the warmth you felt mere seconds ago.

Trey and Delilah had come at you faster than you thought possible, like a flock of gulls hungry for bread. You barely had enough time to sit up when you felt your shirt and pants being removed, your undergarments going along with it and stripping you bear. Your arms instinctively went up to cover your exposed chest, but you were pushed back to lay down.

"Not to be shy, dear," one of them said, you didn't catch who. "We've seen enough to be used to all of this by now."

That did nothing to put you at ease.

They spread your limbs, ripping away any body hair they found and leaving behind an aching burn. Your hair had been brushed and pulled to the point tears threatened to spill, and your body had been scrubbed raw with scented body oils.

They had gotten you to stand before a floor length mirror, your naked body staring back at you whilst the two circled and measured you. You caught Trey sharing a look at Delilah, and his hands went to grasp tightly at both your shoulders from behind.

"I love the idea of a white swan. Everybody in the Capitol is already referring to you as such after being reaped, and I think it'll be absolutely perfect for your first entrance!"

They helped you step into your new dress, tugging and pulling in all the places you wouldn't have thought of. Your cheeks had grown hot from embarrassment when they both stood before you and processed their hard work with an intensity that scared you.

"We can really accentuate her curves more. The people would love that."

Delilah nodded with him. "We can lower the neckline, too. Show a little more breast and adjust the straps."

You nearly ogled at them.

"More what?" you gaped, catching the two's attention to you rather than on you. "I'm practically spilling out as it is!"

Trey giggled. Delilah smirked. "Darling, that's the point."

Then they laughed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but you could've cried all over again.

Jewels and shells had decorated your body now, too. A few around the lids of your eyes, some in your hair. Delilah went to place a stunning pair of earrings in, only to stop mid motion. She turned you back to the mirror, hand on your jaw to move your head and pointed an accusing finger toward the lobe of your ear.

"Who and where did you get this done?"

You swallowed thickly, instantly reaching up to play with the piercing in your ears.

"My friend and I did it back home in four," you explained, meeting her eye through the mirror.

"Oh my," she gasped disapprovingly. "I don't think I even want to know with what supplies?"

Your face grew hot again.

"I- We used some fishing hooks..."

She scoffed, turning away as if to gather herself. Trey shook his head disapprovingly.

"District people," he said beneath his breath, but you heard it. You clenched your jaw and stayed quiet after that.

By the time they were finally finished with you, they left the room to do goodness knows what. You didn't care to listen to them anymore, in all honesty. But now as you stood, you glanced over to what you imagined was yourself staring back at you. Even if it didn't look you.

The dress was in all honesty beautiful. Long, the back gracing the floor behind you and then lifting toward your front to show off your bare, smooth thighs. Your waist was held in tight, nearly too tight to breath. Feathers were carefully placed all along the dress, white like snow and soft like silk. You had been given a clear beaded necklace and a pair of earrings, both in which were made to look as though droplets of water littered your skin.

Your face had never looked so different. They had battered you in so much makeup that you feared if you were to pull any expression, it might just slip right off. Your eyelids were dusted in a pearly pink eyeshadow, the corners having tiny pearls glued on as well as the pearls scattered across your hair. They had left that loose, but not before drenching it in hair spray and gel to get the waves of your hair just right.

Then there was the big pair of wings. They sat heavy on your back, but beautiful, nevertheless. They matched the feathers on your dress and hung so that the tips of the wings just barely graced the ground at your feet.

The person before you didn't look like you, and yet you couldn't find it in yourself to look away.

The door slid open again, and this time it wasn't Delilah or Trey to poke their head inside the room, nor was it Finnick. Instead, Electra had her hands cupped to her mouth in a silent gasp. You swore you even saw tears brimming at her waterline.

"Oh! Aren't you just stunning!"

She was quick to grasp your wrist before you could utter a response.

"We mustn't be late! I want you to take everybody by shock when you go out on those carriages."

Oh, right.

When she tugged you out of the room, dress dragging behind you, it was then you realized that Finnick wasn't outside. You looked around, seeing the space empty and a twinge of panic burnt inside you.

He told you he'd be waiting outside. It had been a few hours at the very least since he had left you to get prepped, but surely he would have waited? Electra's hand squeezed yours in excitement the further she tugged you along, and you couldn't hold the words back from slipping past your glossed lips.

"Where's Finnick?"

You saw the corner of her lip twitch into a smirk. "Quite the mentor already, is he not? And definitely a sight for sore eyes. He's waiting for us at your carriage."

You hummed in acknowledgment, glancing down to watch your heels click against the marble.

"I thought he might've escorted me himself."

Electra giggled. "Oh, Honey, a victor like Finnick has much to do. He's a darling, after all. The Peacekeepers came and got him themselves not too long ago!"

That made you feel a little better. He hadn't left purposefully (or at least you hoped not). He was waiting for you at the carriage, and he would look at you and not leave your side again.

The walk was long and awkward. Electra didn't speak to you after that, instead opting to shoo away any prying eyes that dared to look at you before what she claimed was the 'grand reveal'. She even barked at one of the passing Peacekeepers who stood stationed at one of the far walls, waving her gloved hand and muttering beneath her breath.

The elevator was worse. Being so close to Electra was like being in the same room as an angry peacock. You stayed put, hands in front of you and listening to the hiss of the doors as they slid open.

Your breath faltered, pulse quickening. Before you was every one of your competitors, each beside their own carriages and mentors. Colors and voices mixed in blurs, and the only thing you seemed to think about was that all of them would be dead within the next two weeks. All but one.

"You look like you might try to fly away," Nathan cocked behind a grin.

He was covered head to toe in various shades of blues, mimicking the ocean from back home. Nets were weaved at his bare chest, hair swopped in waves and glittered shells going down his arms. His stylists had dusted him in blue glitter it seemed, with every movement he made the light reflected off his skin like shimmering water.

His fingers reached for one of the feathers at your waist, thumbing the softness on the pad of his thumb, but Electra slapped his hand away with a gasp.

"Don't damage the dress! She's perfect," she trailed, smoothing your dress out with the flat of her palm carefully.

"Agreed," a familiar voice added, and you met Finnick's eye as he came to stand before you. You bit your cheek hard, the heat rising into your cheeks when his eyes swept over your figure.

Electra was with Nathan now, fussing over stray strands of hair. They weren't close enough to hear your conversation anymore.

Finnick smiled, and you hoped it wasn't because he noticed your blush.

"I'd say you look good, but I don't know if you'd agree with me."

You went to brush down the feathers at your waist, eyeing the roaming tributes around you. "Perhaps not."

He was quiet, gaze softening and reserved for only you. "How do you feel?"

"I feel..." you thought for a moment, a jumble of words coming to mind, but none worthy enough to state the feel of your thoughts. You shrugged. You were suddenly very conscious of the way your dress hung low at your chest. "Naked." you decided.

Finnick hummed, low and steady, but holding something so close to understanding. "I'm sorry," was all he said. You shrugged again, but his hands lifted to your dress. Not touching, but close enough to the point you could feel the heat radiating from him onto your bare skin.

"May I?"

You quirked a brow when he gestured once to your dress.

"I wouldn't want Electra or my stylists to bite either of our heads off with you tampering with the dress."

He huffed a laugh. "It's my job to make sure my tributes feel comfortable and confident for the cameras. I'm doing that for you, aren't I?"

You didn't answer, but you didn't argue when his hands steadily went to help adjust your dress. He was sure not to touch you, bringing the top of your dress up a little more so that it didn't hang so low and adjusting a few of the feathers.

"I'm sorry for what I said..."

Finnick glanced up, surprise etched on his face, his hands dropping back to his sides once he was finished.

"Don't be. Please."

You swallowed, and it was then the anthem began to play throughout the Capitol. You both glanced out into the growing crowd, the carriages getting loaded and tributes finishing up their final touches. Finnick leaned in close, so close you could feel his lips just barely touch your ear.

"I'll be waiting for you both here. Hold on tight, and smile."

He flashes a grin, the practiced one, before stepping back to allow you to step up onto your carriage alongside Nathan.

You wanted so badly to remain angry. Angry at the fact that he felt as though he could come back into your life so easily after all that had happened, but at the same time you were so grateful. Grateful that he was here with you. Grateful that maybe, you could catch a glimpse of your Finnick just once more.

That he was your reminder of home and the life you had loved.

Tags: @lunar-stars-world @sundawn1990 @harlemdream @teataryn @fluffyflamingo20 @cheese10001 @heidiland05 @xoxpetals @katnipwintergreen @finnickodairsnumber1fan @20faded20 @cryingqueen2 @sapphires-seraphine @skvdsf @anyaslittlepeanut @2guysonascooter

The glistening diamond on your left finger proved it. Big, delicate, and reflecting the light perfectly in a flurry of pinks, yellows and blues...

Bruce certainly chose well.

An arm snuck around you, fingers gripping your waist with a gentleness you knew to be only him, pulling you closer into his side and a new wave of warmth enveloping you. Bruce held a charming smile, he always did, nodding gratefully at Joseph.

"Thank you," he said, and you felt as his hand slipped farther down to sit just above the curve of your ass. You barely contained the eyeroll at his antics. "She'll come back to you in one piece."

Joseph chuckled, low and hearty. "Oh please, she's one of my best. Send her straight back once the honeymoon is over, alright?"

This time, you let the scoff slip although not without a laugh. "I'll be enjoying the time off. I'm sure the press will keep you plenty updated."

"Most likely, yes," Joseph hummed, raising his glass just slightly before ducking his head. "Excuse me, but I'd really love to refill my glass."

"There's more than enough," Bruce assured.

Once he was out of earshot, you glanced around once again at the gathering, appreciating the firm grip Bruce refused to loosen around your waist. He smiled, not meeting your eye, but nevertheless leant down to your ear. His lips brushed your skin, and you worried the onlookers would see the furious blush creeping up onto your cheeks even through the makeup.

"You're breathtaking. Every man here's surely jealous of me."

Your hand lifted, the tips of your fingers tracing delicately along his arm. Although covered by his suit, you felt the flex of muscle under your hand.

"Careful, Mr. Wayne, people might just think you're not the unattainable bachelor they think you to be."

He quirked a teasing brow. "Did they not know that the moment I asked you to marry me?"

"Maybe they do," you hummed, tilting your head at him. "But I reckon they still won't believe it."

"They should."

His lips pressed against the shell of your ear, a soft kiss hidden away from the public eye. You smiled, hearing champagne glasses clinking around you and the polite laughter of your guests in conversation. Yet, Bruce seemed to make it seem like it was only the two of you.

By the end of the night, your feet felt as though they were bruised within your heels, your head aching with the constant noise and held up smiles (the wine did very little to help, you had come to realize after a few glasses). Bruce had caught on quickly, and within five minutes his arm was linked with yours and leading you toward the door.

"Are we not saying goodbye?" You glanced over your shoulder as the doors swung shut behind you, Bruce muttering something along the lines of 'we're finished' to Alfred who had been stood at the doors.

"They'll understand that I have a wife to tend to."

"A fiancé," you corrected him with a nudge.

"Wife," he stated. "It suits you better, Mrs. Wayne."

The moment you had gotten back to your shared bedroom, tossing off your heels with a relieved sigh and picking out bobby pins from your hair one by one, a pair of arms snuck from behind you and pressed you flush against Bruce's body. He buried his face into your neck, nose grazing your flesh and a low hum rumbling from within his chest.

"You smell divine."

His lips pressed to the nape of your neck, slow and sensual, travelling up behind your ear as you hummed in content.

"Bruce, my feet are begging for me to sit down," you said, the words dying on your tongue with a deep inhale when he squeezed your hips.

"And you will. As soon as you're out of that dress."

"Bruce-"

He was already grasping the tiny zipper at your back, pulling it down carefully as the straps fell loose at your shoulders. The dress easily slipped from your body, the cool air hitting your exposed skin like a kiss as the fabric pooled at your ankles.

Bruce hummed into you, warm hands sliding up your stomach in a way that had you feeling dizzy. He turned you toward him, your hands raising to rest against his blouse. His breath now mingled with your own, hot and desperate as his lips were quick to encase yours.

Despite the growing numbness in your legs from standing and the tiredness behind your eyes, you found yourself leaning into Bruce's touch with just as much need. Whilst one hand felt along the fabric at his neck, grasping at the small hairs at the nape of his neck, the other went to steadily unbutton his blouse.

You wondered briefly how he could switch so quickly to charming and polite to possessive and hungry. His lips moved ferociously against yours, swallowing every small gasp and whimper when his teeth nipped at your bottom lip. His hands were pulling you so impossibly close that you felt your body curve perfectly into his own, your naked stomach flush against his clothed one.

You let out a sigh of relief when you felt his blouse finally give, shrugging it off his shoulders before he was practically diving back onto you. There was a brief moment you pulled back for air, your chest heaving and heart pounding with desire, feeling Bruce's large hands gently pushing you back.

You felt the back of your knees hit the soft edge of the bed, and you allowed for your body to fall backwards against the cool sheets before Bruce. You shot him a questioning glance, but he only crawled over your body and attacked your neck with nips and kisses. His lips sealed around your flesh, sucking marks into the delicate skin at the juncture of your neck.

"I promised you'd get to sit down, didn't I?"

You moaned when he pressed himself hard against you, his growing erection pressed against your core. You couldn't help but to push your hips up against his, seeking any kind of friction. His hot breath mingled with yours, his large hand grasping anything he could reach - that being your breasts.

He cupped you in his hand, his lips trailing down to the swell of your tits to suck on. You gasped again, head lolling to the side and fingers combing through his hair.

Hand sneaking around your back, you felt Bruce unclasp your bra and slip it off with ease, tossing the piece of clothing onto the floor alongside your dress.

"So beautiful. All mine," he growled, taking your nipple into his mouth.

"All yours," you repeated, tilting his chin up to meet yours in another furious kiss. He moaned into you, the vibration practically making your entire body grow weak in his hold.

Bruce stood back quickly, chuckling beneath his breath and hands going to loosen the tie that still hung loose at his neck. You watched on propped elbows as he sat on a nearby cushioned chair, legs spread to reveal the evident strain within his pants.

"Prove it," he spoke suddenly, though when you didn't answer he adjusted his position. "Show me you're mine."

"What?"

You nearly felt dumb for being so oblivious, but Bruce had always been a straightforward man. He gestured to yourself, eyes trained solely on yours.

"I want you to show me exactly what is mine. Touch yourself and show me what I'm finally taking."

You exhaled a shaky breath, his command sinking in like the rage of a flame. It didn't take long, but your fingers had carefully slipped between your legs and settled there. Bruce's gaze was almost as if burning holes through flesh, gaze trained on every little twitch and flex of your fingers against your cunt.

You bit your lip, hard, brows furrowed in pleasure as you went to circle your clit in small delicate circles.

Your face filled with heat, embarrassed of his watchful gaze as you did something so intimate, but he was quick to shut that idea down. His eyes, blown wide with lust, and his hand travelling down to the growing tent in his dress pants. A shaky exhale escaped his lips along with a short moan, but he was quick to cut himself off in order to hear every small sound emitting from you.

"Keep going, beautiful. I want you to know just how obsessed I am with you."

You moaned, head rolling back and hair cascading over your shoulders. Your fingers had dipped to swirl at your entrance, gathering the wetness on your fingers and rolling it back onto your bud. Then, with a groan, you sunk your fingers inside.

"Fuck," you moaned, fingers pumping and legs spreading wider for Bruce's view, the pleasure coiling in your lower stomach threatening to become taut and snap.

Across from you Bruce remained silent, though his eyes glinted with what you knew to be lust brewing deep within him. At some point, his hand slipped into his pants, freeing himself - now stroking his cock to the same pace of your unrelenting fingers. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the chair, breath caught behind his teeth, eyes locked on you. Only you.

The low moans, the frown of pleasure and concentration set on your face, your engagement ring glinting in the light as you slipped your fingers into your cunt chasing the pending release...

He couldn't get enough of it.

"Quiet today, aren't you?" Joker tested, a slow, deep grin forming onto his chapped lips, teeth pointed and vicious. "But perhaps you just missed me so much that you're at loss for words!"

You didn't answer him, instead opting to smile. The very smile that you had learnt to perfect over the years for him - learning that in order to survive in this place with him, the most you could do was cooperate accordingly, though it was no surprise to Joker when it didn't reach your eyes.

"Oh, come on, don't be a sour tomato!" Joker pouted, one leg swinging to rest atop the other. "Tell me how it was without me here, hmm? I bet you were absolutely dying to have some time to yourself!"

You hesitated. "It was quiet," you spoke, and you shrugged at him with annoyance when he nodded for you to go on. "There's not much to really do here, if you haven't noticed."

He clicked his tongue in amusement. "That you're right!"

He paused, and you briefly wondered if he was going to continue at all.

"Although Harley did mention that the past few nights you've been... away."

You noticed how he was observing you carefully, and you couldn't help but feel your stomach twist in nerves.

You gave a short nod, face neutral. "I was just hanging around the city. Didn't think that would become an issue. Can’t I cause a bit of chaos by myself?"

Joker hummed. "Oh no, of course it's no issue!" His gaze gleamed with a look you couldn't place. "It's just that there's a lot of people out in the world, I just don't want to see you get caught up in the wrong flock."

You swallowed, hard, and picked at your nails harder. "I'm fine on my own."

"That's my girl! Soon enough you'll be in my shadow. Perfection. You're basically already a mini me!"

"Yeah, the real dream team," you mocked in fake enthusiasm. The thought caused for your stomach to churn uncomfortably.

Joker's smile faltered. "Careful, that tongue might get you into some serious trouble, little clown. Wouldn't want anybody to cut it out. It is pretty sharp, after all.”

You shook your head, voice firm with pending anger that you desperately wanted to release.

"I'm not like you."

"Are you kidding?" he stood from his seat and came closer, each step a taunt. “Darling, you might not want to be like me, but there’s no denying it. This is who you are now! It was who you were a long time ago.”

"There's a difference between born to be and forced to be. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Frankly, no. I think you're living off the pure survival that everybody else has in this world. You're full of fear and hatred, and that's what I love best about you."

You held your breath; afraid the wrong words could slip out and you'd regret it in the end. You forced yourself to remain steady in your voice, even if your pulse betrayed you.

"I'm not scared of you."

He leaned in close, his upturned lips staring right back at you and his crazed eyes burning into your flesh.

"Liar…”

You knew the risks the first night you went back to the rooftop.

It was a careless decision, but in the end you had decided it was better than rotting away on your torn mattress. If the Joker found out, it would only add more trouble into your life. He’d surely lock you away in the warehouse as a punishment, leave only a few of his dinner crumbs for you to eat off his plate, beat you until you were broken and bloodied, laugh in your face at your tears. He would come up with a crazed way to deal with you, and in all honesty, you didn't wish to think too much about it.

You hated how easy the decision to come felt when you had finally arrived.

What was it? Eagerness? Excitement? Admiration, perhaps?

As he had promised, Robin was stood at the edge of the rooftop with a knowing smirk, one that made you want to both smack it off his face and see more of. It was genuine, like he was surprised you had actually turned up to meet. You supposed you were surprised yourself.

“No snarky comment for me, tonight?” He started, cutting off the silence of the night.

“I’ve got plenty,” you were quick to retort, keeping at a distance. “I’d just rather not waste my time.”

He held a hand to his chest, mocking a grunt. “Now that, may have been worse than that punch you gave me.”

“You flatter me,” you scoffed, the corner of your lip twitching. “Are you here for what you promised or are you simply toying with me now?”

“Can I not do both?”

“I don’t think the Bat would want you out too long past your curfew, bird brain. And I don’t plan on staying too long either.”

Robin quirked a brow, lips forming into a smile that you found yourself staring at.

“Then we better hurry up.”

Days passed, weeks even, and despite how many times you had inwardly scolded yourself for turning up every single time, a part of you chose to pay no mind to that voice in your head.

This was the most freedom you'd had in so long, you nearly forgot what it was like to actually be outside of the warehouse. No earpiece in with the Joker's demands, no heavy combat boots, no knife gripped tightly in your palm. Though he never said it, you felt that Robin had the same idea. He never mentioned Batman, never spoke about your differences or dug into your background. He simply just enjoyed your company.

Robin, as it had surprisingly turned out was actually very different from what you had originally predicted.

Nights where you thought to yourself that he'd surely turn on you, set up a trap to put you in Arkham asylum and demand answers, have Batman hiding and observing around one of the dark alley corners.

He proved you wrong easily.

Slowly you found yourself enjoying Robin's presence, even through many snarky remarks and flirtatious comments thrown your way. He had edged his way into your life, and not as the enemy.

You weren't sure what to call it, exactly. A friend? No, more like an accomplice of sorts. One who you felt could see in you rather than through, one who had you forcing down smiles threatening to rise on your lips and sarcasm turned into lighthearted jokes.

Maybe you weren't so opposed to the idea of calling him a friend.

You remember vaguely having a small group of friends before your... incident. Before Joker had come along and turned your life upside down on a never-ending rollercoaster. You didn't remember their names, but you did remember their faces. Having a friend again couldn't be so bad, could it?

You'd never openly tell Robin that, though.

"Your legs aren't spread far enough. Look at my stance," Robin said, nodding his head for you to mirror his actions.

You rolled your eyes but nevertheless copied him. "I thought we might've had a bit more combat training. Not-" you waved your hand at him. "Yogo poses."

He rolled his eyes back. "If you don't know the right stance, your opponent will take you down easier."

"If they take me down."

"When. When they take you down."

"Have you always been so demanding?" You questioned with a smile, one he easily returned.

"You learn that when you work with the big bat."

You hummed, the chill of the night brushing over your skin. Robin shook his head with a crooked grin; eyes crinkled beneath his mask. He stepped closer, his left foot darting out to kick your feet farther apart from one another.

"Better," he said with a nod of approval.

You said nothing, instead watched as he got into his stance again.

"Now," he continued, gaze flicking back to your own. "You're going to swing at me."

You quirked a brow. "You mean fight you?"

"Not fight. Spar. Big difference." He nodded at you. "I'll even let you throw the first punch. Don't say I never did anything nice for you. "

You scoffed. "Sure. You're going to start throwing punches at me in a second. Very chivalrous of you."

He grinned. "I'll go easy on you. Don't want to mess up that face hiding under the mask."

You ignored him, quickly lunging forward and landing a jab at his shoulder. It was fast and hard, one that caught him off guard with a wince and away from the redness creeping up into your cheeks.

"I think I should be the one teaching you to always watch your back," you teased him, readying your stance again as he rolled his shoulder.

"Maybe," he teased back, circling you and bringing his fists up. Without another word, he was already aiming for your gut.

You dodged, his fist hitting air whilst you twisted your body and kneed him. He was quick to move, his foot sliding under yours in an attempt to trip you.

Whilst the fight went on, it wasn't filled with adrenaline and fear like it had been all those weeks ago. Now, it was filled with lighthearted laughs and breathless chuckles and compliments. It was easy, and you might even say fun.

You held up a hand after a few minutes, panting with a tired but amused smile. Robin paused, strands of his hair stuck to his forehead.

"Don't tell me you're giving up already?" He taunted, but he didn't hesitate to plop himself on the floor with a tired groan.

"I'm doing you a favor," you fired back, but nevertheless sat beside him, the air stinging your lungs almost as much as the fresh bruises you'd just earned.

"The only favor you're doing is boosting my ego."

"You didn't even win," you retorted, eyeing him whilst he brushed his hair back.

"You tapped out. By rules, I win."

"Who's rules?"

"Everybody's rules!" Robin chuckled. "Read any book, I'm sure it'll be in there."

You huffed a breath, turning your gaze out to the glimmering lights of Gotham.

"Couldn't even if I wanted to."

He turned, his mask reflecting the nights light. "The Joker have a rule against having books?"

"No," you smiled, but it was quick to dim. "I just haven't learnt how."

You internally winced. What person your age couldn't read? Surely, he was judging you now, wondering why he'd bother to put up with somebody without the basic skill. He'd tell Batman just how stupid you looked, and you'd go back to Joker feeling dumber than ever.

"I love to read," Robin suddenly spoke, but his voice was softer, distant.

A pause.

He turned back to you, sudden and serious. "Tomorrow night. No sparring. I'll bring some books. Trust me, you're not the only one who started late."

"What?" you frowned, watching as he stood to his feet again.

"You're going to read," he stated like it was a fact. Your frown only deepened as he stood at the edge of the rooftop, glancing down at the floor below him.

He gave a salute, ignoring your look of confusion. "I'll see you tomorrow night!"

And like that, he was gone.

@annabellelee @stormz369 @pix-stuff

You couldn't even feel the tears streaking down your face anymore. The second the doors had closed behind you; they had come like a tidal wave. Hot and heavy, leaving streaks down the slope of your cheeks and drying, only to be replaced again. You had never felt more pathetic than how you did now, compared to Nathan's bright smile before he was separated from you into the room directly across from your own. You were just glad you were able to keep your emotions at bay long enough to stay away from the prying cameras.

There was a small knock on the door opposite you, and you half expected a Peacekeeper to walk in or hear Electra's high-pitched voice drilling you about what was to come next, but instead a pair of familiar eyes peeked around the door.

You gave no second thought as you quickly stood up and ran into Emma's tight embrace, her arms wrapped tightly around you and supporting your weight. You didn't miss how her hair was almost falling apart, the ribbon slipping off to the side of her head, her eyes red and watered with tears. You knew you were no better. You could barely even hold back the tears that soaked into her beautiful dress. You nearly felt bad for ruining it.

"I only have a few minutes," she said, voice shaking between shallow breaths. You felt her hands tremble against your back.

She stepped back, grasping tightly onto you as though you'd slip away.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," you sniffed, lip threatening to wobble. "I'm not a killer, Em. And my dad, he needs me."

Emma shook her head, brows knitted together tightly. "No. Don't be silly. You can survive without putting up a fight. You're smart, you can hide somewhere, make traps." she inhaled sharply, her gaze solemn. "And your Pa. I'll make sure he's fine. You don't need to worry about anything else other than getting out of there."

You held your arms close. Maybe you could. You could run off into the arena, hide within small caves or trees or ditches. That was to say if there was any of those things within the arena. People in the past had won by hiding away, but the Gamemaker's always wanted a show. They'd force you out if they had to.

"Where is my dad?"

The question seemed to have shocked her, her eyes widening just ever so slightly before they landed at her shiny shoes. She nibbled on her bottom lip until you swore it would bleed.

"The Peacekeepers think he's too unstable... He's not coming to say goodbye, Y/N."

"Unstable?" you shook your head, throat tightening painfully. "That's ridiculous! He'll be fine once he sees me, he- I just need to see him."

Emma's lip wobbled. "I'm so sorry."

You looked away, instead turning to look back out the window just like minutes prior. For the first time, you didn't want Emma to see you so vulnerable, either. You were never one to hide your thoughts from her, your fears and worries, to let her see your tears and seek her comfort. Emma had seen you at your worst, holding you close once you opened up about your mother, about your father becoming weaker and sadder, about Finnick. Now, as she stood beside you it was like a taunting reminder of what the Capitol was taking from you. Or perhaps what you were going to lose.

You hated the way your chest tightened with anger. The very least the Capitol could do for you was give you a proper goodbye. Perhaps the world was against you today.

Emma seemed to hesitate beside you, fingers itching to reach out. You heard the slight crumple of paper, and you glanced over through blurred tears to see her holding out a torn piece of scrunched parchment and a cracked pen.

"If you quickly write something, I can give it to your Pa."

You stared down at the blank parchment, the corner stained in what you could only imagine to be a coffee spill. You tenderly took it from her grasp and placed it on the small wooden bench, scribbling down whatever came to mind first. You felt Emma's gaze linger on your back, silent, but her presence louder than ever. You didn't dwell on it for too long, fingers flexing around the grip on the pen.

Dear Pa,

Emma told me you couldn't come say goodbye. That's ok, because at least you'll have this whilst I'm gone. I'm sorry I can't come home tonight to have dinner, maybe you can invite Emma instead to help you cook. I'm sure she'd enjoy that. I love you so much, please remember to let the others help whilst I'm away. I'll try my hardest to come home for our next dinner together.

(PS: I'll keep Ma's dress safe for you :))

You blinked, a tear dropping onto the parchment and causing for the ink to bleed just slightly. You wracked your brain, thinking if there was anything to add. For the little time you had, you wished you could have better prepared yourself for what you would've liked to say. Emma gently gripped your shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Time was catching up.

She smiled, her hand warm against you, but it wasn't comforting like it usually was. This was goodbye. "He'll appreciate it - more than you know."

You turned, bringing her into one last hug as the door swung open behind you. Emma's grip tightened to the point you could barely heave a breath, but you didn't care. You squeezed her tighter, her lips just barely brushing your ear before she was yanked away by Peacekeepers.

"Finnick will look after you. I know it!"

Her figure disappeared behind the door, and you wandered briefly if she was right.

The car ride to the train station was nothing but awkward.

You were more than aware of the dried tears staining your cheeks, sticky and tight on your skin despite hastily swiping at your face with the end of your dress. Your eyes must've been puffy and red, considering the long stare you received from Electra once she came to retrieve you from your room, as if she saw no reason for you to be crying.

You were ushered into the limo, squeezed in-between the door and Electra with Nathan on her left. It hadn't even been five minutes, and already you felt as though you were suffocating. Electra's ruffled dress scratched against your leg at every small move you made, and you were tempted to swat it away. Not to mention the endless rambling you had to listen to the whole way to the train.

What made it all worse, was the body sat right across from you.

You could feel Finnick's gaze burning into you, practically taking you apart piece by piece. You dared not look at him, instead opting to stare out the window as district four continued to fade away into the distance. It was a weird feeling, knowing that you might not be able to see the crashing waves and hear the sea gulls anymore. Your fingers had found a frayed loose strand of string at the hem of your dress, twirling it around your fingers in a way that you knew your Pa would scold you for. The thought made the corner of your lip twitch, both reliving the funny memory as well as longing for it to come back.

"I must say," Electra hummed, all too happy. "You two will do us absolute wonders, this year! You're both sure to get heaps of sponsors, no doubt."

You swallowed, stomach churning uneasily the longer you stared out the window.

"Not to mention, I requested you two have some of the best stylists from the Capitol! Oh, I'm so excited! Cheer up, little Swan, you'll have all the men and woman on their knees for you by the time you've made your first appearance."

Her touch was like flaming thorns on your skin as she patted your thigh in three quick taps. You held your tongue, willing yourself to keep the brewing insults at bay.

A throat cleared.

"Maybe save the parade talk for later," Finnick said, voice smooth but sharp. "She knows better than most what the Capitols expectations are."

You glanced at Finnick for the first time, heart fluttering in what you couldn't decide was anger or bittersweet grief. He sounded the same, but so different at the same time. There was no denying his voice had become deeper, more guarded, yet it still held the same familiarity that only twisted the knife deeper.

With him this close to you now, you realized just how long ago your friendship had been. He had matured not only in age, but in everything. Sea green eyes that would look at you with so much curiosity and mischief, now instead shadowed in secrets and built-up walls.

And what hurt most was the way he looked at you as if he still knew you. As if nothing had changed, his eyes boring into your own with recognition. You wondered if, maybe deep down, at least a little part of your friend was still left behind.

You looked away first, turning your gaze back to the window once again as your home faded out of sight.

The train had nearly everything you didn't.

You hadn't been raised into a life of luxury. Sure, you had all the necessities needed to grow happily within your district, even having more than most, but standing here now practically bathed in the Capitols wealth was eye opening.

From the moment you stepped into the train, the first thing you noticed was the smell. Pastries and citrus tarts, daring to make your mouth water, sat delicately arranged upon a large mahogany table in the center of the room. Velvet couches lined the walls, each having a pair of navy cushions with golden stitching. A crystal chandelier hung above, casting and reflecting a shimmering light across the room in a sense that reminded you too much of the ocean. You wondered briefly if that was an intentional decision.

Did every Capitol citizen live in such luxury?

Nathan stood close at your side, gaze wandering just as your own had. It was obvious he was new to this, too.

Finnick and Electra walked in behind you, barely just brushing against you as they moved to make themselves comfortable. Whilst Electra went straight to the wine glasses, pouring herself a decent amount of sparkling wine, Finnick sat himself onto one of the couches with a hand brushing through his golden hair. You imagined that they'd both been in here more than enough times for it to not amaze them anymore.

"It's warm," Nathan hummed, barely audible, but you heard it. You nodded in agreement, instinctively going to brush at your arms like you could still feel the chilly wind from home.

Electra glanced over, smile as delicate as her outfit.

"I had heaters installed last year into all the rooms. I've always hated your district for being so cold, didn't you?"

You internally scoffed. District four had to be one of the warmest places you could be, bathed in sunlight and hard work. It was rarely cold, mainly ever when a storm was about to hit or winter was beginning to swoop in. You don't think Electra ever had to lift a finger so as to get anything she wanted, polished and spoilt since before the day she was born.

You merely shrugged your shoulders. "Can't say I noticed."

You didn't mean for it to sound as blunt as it did, but by the way Electra had eyed you for a second too long, lips falling just enough for you to notice, she must've taken slight offence. You didn't care to feel bad for her.

Clearing her throat and standing tall, she walked over to where Finnick was sat and brushed her long fingers upon his shoulder. You noticed the way he shifted, but smiled, nevertheless.

"I'm sure you're both aware of our most prized victor, Finnick Odair! He'll be the one to be mentoring the both of you this year."

She gave a quick 'come here' motion, patting to the seats that sat directly across from Finnick. Your eyes briefly met his, before you carefully lowered yourself onto the plush cushions. Nathan was quick to follow behind you.

You dared to open your mouth, to say that you did in fact know him. Knew him, you corrected. But you held your mouth shut tight. Finnick, the charmer he is, sank back into his seat with a lighthearted smile, the dimples you remembered showing themselves like a taunt.

"We'll see, these two might outshine me by the end of the week," Finnick said through breathy chuckle. You ignored the flutter in your stomach.

He placed his elbows on his knees, leaning in close and expression serious.

"I won't throw everything at you both so soon, but I do want you to be prepared before we arrive in the Capitol tomorrow morning. That means you both need to get your acts together if we want to make them like you."

You folded your arms, subtly glancing to your right. Nathan's brows were furrowed in deep concentration, leg bumping yours due to the closeness. You didn’t think he noticed considering he seemed to ignore it, attention solely set on Finnick’s every word.

He continued. "I need to know both your strengths and weaknesses. The Capitol will eat up whatever performance we give them. We can give them a reason to adore you."

Nathan cleared his throat, propping his foot up onto his knee.

"When are the interviews?"

"The interviews with Caesar won't be until the day before the games. However, the Capitol will be broadcasting every move you make. The tribute parade is tomorrow, so that will be your first official appearance," Finnick said.

He turned to you, and you straightened subconsciously.

"I know you can swim. Fast. Thats good, we can work with that."

Part of you was almost charmed that he'd remembered such a crucial factor about you, that he hadn't completely forgotten about you like you thought he might've.

Key word, almost.

The bitterness of the day was catching up to you, and you all but wished to find whichever room you were staying in and sleep until the sunlight hit your eyes and you were back home. You refrained from showing the frown threatening to appear, instead letting the words slip before you could think to stop them. In all honesty, you didn't have the patience to care.

"I didn't know you knew so much about me."

You saw the change. The flicker behind his eyes and the twitch in his jaw. He didn't look at Nathan or Electra despite the long silence that followed, eyes burning into your own like he was determined to break you down. It nearly amused you as much as it haunted you. His eyes narrowed, slow and careful.

"Look, Honey," he started, tone soft but edged with something deeper. "You can either accept my help or figure it out on your own if you wish it, but for now, I'm all you've got. I'd suggest choosing carefully if you want to survive."

You held his gaze, throat tight, and it was only when Electra hummed an odd tune that you tilted your head to her.

"I hear Nathan is quite strong, some Peacekeepers were rumoring that you can haul in large nets alone!"

Finnick readjusted, exhaling a long breath.

"Can you handle any weapons?" he asked to which Nathan lowly chuckled.

"I was trained through the academy for a few years, didn't think I'd be back in this year, but things change. Spears and strength are my strong points."

You didn't doubt that. You had occasionally seen Nathan out by the docks handling spears like an extra limb, and whereas those spears were always aimed at fish, it could soon be targeted right into somebody's chest. Nathan was already a big guy; you were sure he'd easily throw anybody and pin them in seconds if he wanted to.

You were a fast swimmer, no question. But you'd never been able to use spears as well as the fishers back home or gut fishes ready for dinner plates. Finnick had once tried to help you with that back before he left for his games, though you both discovered you were terrible for it when you kept stumbling over your own feet and missing every catch. You wished now that you'd have tried a little harder. You could handle knives, well in fact, using them to catch fish with Emma ankle deep along the shoreline, but other than that it was between net tying and swimming with your head above the water.

"We have something to work with, then," Finnick's voice snapped you from your thoughts. "For the both of you. We'll talk more strategy tomorrow, but for now I'll let the two of you settle until arriving. Show the Capitol your worth and that you belong."

You flexed your fingers, eyes once again roaming the room. Deep down, you thought if he felt something when your name was called. It might've been selfish, but you wondered if his breath caught just as yours had when his name was called all those years ago, if he'd watched you walk onto the stage with his chest closing in and thoughts spiraling into chaos.

"I don't want to overload you," he said, voice steady. "Rest before tomorrow. You'll need it."

You didn't argue.

The only thing on your mind right now was to leave this room and bask in the last few hours of silence before your world changed.

Tags: @lunar-stars-world @sundawn1990 @harlemdream @teataryn @fluffyflamingo20 @cheese10001 @heidiland05 @xoxpetals @katnipwintergreen @finnickodairsnumber1fan

You frowned. He wasn't one to leave the house without telling you, especially now considering his health. At the very least, he would have left a note right at the door for you to read over once you'd returned home.

Taking a cautious step forward, heartbeat quickening at the silence that stretched on, you called out again-louder this time-in hopes maybe he'd just missed your voice.

Then-a sudden clatter from the next room. The kitchen, you'd suspected.

You quickly walked over, head peering into the room and catching sight of who you'd been searching for. Despite the relief that washed over you once seeing him, your heart ached at seeing the state he found himself trapped in.

Like the many times you'd found him before, he was hunched over the dining table with clenched white knuckles, chest heaving and eyes burning into what you thought was a piece of white fabric folded neatly upon the wood. A chair had fallen at his side, how exactly you weren't sure of, but it wasn't the first time you'd come home to tipped furniture.

"Hey, Pa," you said, gentle and soft as you walked to his side and placed a steady hand on his shoulder. At your touch, his gaze flickered up to your own, eyes brimmed with unshed tears and vulnerability. You plastered on a small smile when his nimble fingers reached up to interlock with yours.

"Hey, my baby girl," he murmured, voice distant as he stood up to his full height. He wiped at his eyes, letting out a long shaky sigh as he enveloped you into a hug, his lips pressing against the crown of your head. "How were the docks this morning?"

You let out a steady hum, fingers playing with the edge of your frayed shirt. "Same as always," you said. "Emma helped out today. We managed to get through most of the nets."

"Good, good," your dad hummed with a low chuckle. "My girl will be taking my net weaving streak before we know it."

"I think I already have," you teased, to which he ruffled your hair with a fond grin, but it was gone just as quickly when he averted his gaze back to what laid upon the table.

It was like you visibly saw the emotions in his eyes, sad and uncertain like a painful memory. Again, you'd seen your father in this state many times after your mother had passed. You were young, barely even five at the time. Your dad had done a good job at hiding his pain, plastering on his familiar toothy smile, but as the years went on it had only gotten harder. Work was becoming painful, memories were almost too surreal, and as you got older, you saw the looks of pain he'd send your way.

'You look just like your Ma,' he had said one morning over breakfast. He couldn't look at you for the rest of the day after that.

He reached out, fingers tentatively unfolding the delicate material from the table. A dress you realized, definitely not new, but pretty. It was knee length, a small patch at the edge frayed from age and use. A bow wrapped at the waist, barely held together with ribbon, and a square neckline which added simple elegance. You felt the fabric carefully between your fingers, hesitant, almost feeling as though your hands were too rough to touch something so delicate.

"I kept it hidden in the cupboard for some time," your Pa said carefully, eyeing the dress. "I thought your mum would like you to wear it someday. It was hers."

He said it so fondly, so full of longing. In truth, you barely remembered your mother, only having small photos laying around the house of the three of you. Her voice had been lost from your memory long ago, her scent faded from her clothes, but your father never let her memory go. He'd tell you stories from when they were both young, your mother having loved the water just as you did.

You carefully took the dress from his grasp, holding it close and leaning close to give your dad a quick peck on the cheek.

You smiled gently. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

Just as you turned to walk to your room and get ready, his cold fingers quickly wrapped around your wrist, stopping you abruptly. You saw the fear flicker in his eyes, the tremble in his hand as he held you, and it took everything for you not to replicate it. He pulled you into one last hug that made your heart sting.

You had to be brave. Not for yourself, but for him.

You forced a smile, though it wavered at the edges. "It's ok, Pa. I'll be home later tonight, and we can cook some of the fish I caught from this morning."

"So brave," he hummed, squeezing you one last time before his grip slipped, nudging you toward your bedroom door. You held the dress carefully as you stepped into your room, closing the door behind you with a long shaky breath escaping your lips.

You hoped the odds would be in your favor. One last time.

"Pretty dress you got on there, Y/N," Tommy teased with a wriggle of his brows as you walked over. "Don't tell me you wanted to get all dressed up for us?"

You rolled your eyes, feigning a frown. "You don't like it?" you asked, giving a small twirl. Emma, who stood at Tommy's side, elbowed him in the ribs with a shake of her head.

"You can stop being a douchebag now," she scolded, the gates into the Justice building looming over them.

With a small grunt and gasp, Tommy held where Emma had elbowed him with his mouth agape, betrayed. "And here I thought we were all friends," he frowned, though you didn't miss the quirk in his lips.

As you stopped at Emma's side, your gaze wondered over your surroundings. All too familiar but never welcoming. The cement floor was cracked beneath your feet, darkened and dirtied from over the years, and Capitol flags were hung high over the tall iron gates. It was obvious however they'd had a minor cleanup, but nothing too extreme.

Tommy, clad in a light blue button up and brown shorts, adjusted the cuffs over his wrists. His blonde hair was combed back neatly, and it was almost weird seeing him cleaned up as nice as he was. Emma, however, wore one of the many dresses you'd seen hung up in her wardrobe. A sage dress that flowed neatly over her legs, a matching ribbon tying her dark hair back into a bun, and a familiar smell that clung to her. You recognized it to be her older sister's perfume, whether she had 'stolen' a few sprits, or simply been given.

"Don't worry Tom," you patted his back in fake sympathy, mischief hidden in your gaze. "Emma thinks you dressed up real nice today. Even if we both still think you're shrimpy."

You didn't miss the way Emma's cheeks flushed red, and Tommy's eyes practically rolled into the back of his head with a long dramatic groan.

"When will you two stop calling me that?"

Emma let out a small chuckle, cheeks still warm. "A name like that simply can't just go away. You earned it."

It was a year or so ago, when you, Emma and a few other friends had all decided to go fishing one late afternoon. The storm an hour prior had made it a struggle, barely any fish ending up in the nets. The waves had been restless that day, and despite everybody's efforts, no one seemed to be making any big catches.

It was only when Tommy let out a loud cheer, everybody turning to see just what had caught his attention. He was struggling with his casting net, legs dangling over the edge of the dock as he attempted to haul it back up onto the surface with all the strength he could muster.

Of course, it had everybody intrigued.

Finally, Tommy had managed to pull the net up onto the platform only for his expression to fall. The 'big catch' he had been so excited about stared back up at him, a shrimp that kicked its tiny legs around mockingly. You and Emma hadn't been able to stop laughing for the rest of the night.

"Earned it," Tommy repeated with distaste, a scowl on his face. "I'll remember that for the next time one of you embarrasses yourselves. I won't defend you."

"That's ok. Y/N and I have each other," Emma retorted, linking your arms as the three of you silently agreed it was time to go in.

Despite the small jokes, despite the smiles, you could practically feel the tension within your two friends. Tommy with his jaw locked and fingers flexing at his sides, itching to grasp onto something, and then Emma, the falter in her slow steps and flickering gaze. Despite the circumstances, you were grateful they were here with you. It was really the only sense of normality you had as you walked through the lines of trembling children, Peacekeepers lining the walls with guns in hand.

You thought back to your dad, choosing to dwell on the thought of going back home after this was all over. Maybe later in the night, the three of you could go for a late swim, racing between the rocks and crashing waves. It was one of your most favorite things to do in your free time, even if you had to sneak out past curfew and out of sight from the Peacekeepers on duty.

The further the three of you walked into the building, the more crowded it became. Some children, mainly the younger lot, clung to parents and older siblings, grasping at anything they could in fear of being separated. Fresh tears were shed, their small sniffles and whines filling the haunting silence of the room.

Small debris and pebbles crunched beneath your flat shoes, the air filled with the scent of salt and what you could only think to be the faint smell of paper and ink from the sign in sheets. You could make out the front desks a few rows ahead of you, parchment laid out and awaiting the fresh beads of blood. Your stomach churned in discomfort.

Tommy had soon split off into the boy's line, whilst you stood close at Emma's side. You didn't miss the way her whole body basically shook beside you, but you chose not to say anything. Instead, your grip on her was steady and comforting, grounding.

"I heard Nathan Castwell was going to volunteer this year," Emma mumbled, voice low as if she were fearful for anybody else to hear. "Imagine going into the arena with him. And all over a dare, apparently."

You glanced at her, sensing the discomfort in her tone. You didn't know Nathan personally, but you'd seen and spoke to him on few occasions during school and work. From what you'd gathered, he was very head strong and had a daring nature. It didn't surprise you he'd consider participating, he was a career, after all. You and your father could never afford to put you into the program much like a few others from District Four, not that you'd ever want to. People like Nathan, however, had a knack for adrenaline.

Even Emma had been brought into the Careers program with her sisters, though she hated it. She barely attended after she came home one day, spilling the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. Never again, she had said with watery eyes.

"I have a feeling the game makers aren't going easy this year," you spoke just as softly.

The words hung in the air between you, like a heavy weight placed on your shoulders. You basked in the thought that this was your last reaping, that after today, your name would never be entered into the glass bowl again. For a moment, just a moment, you let yourself imagine that the Capitols grip from you had loosened.

A lie, you told yourself.

Even if it were your last year in the bowl, you knew deep down that nobody could truly escape the games, whether that was to be reaped or not. Instead, you'd be stuck to watch as other children were ripped from their homes, sent to their deaths like their lives meant nothing for mere entertainment.

Just like how they'd taken Finnick from you.

The line for sign in became closer and closer, and you had to swallow down the lump forming in your throat when the capitol official held out an awaiting hand, to which you hesitantly placed your own in.

Flipping your hand palm up, the lady held a stoic expression as she brought the sharp tip of the needle to your finger, a small wince escaping you once the blood began to bead on the pad of your pointer. You pressed it down onto the parchment, watching as it soaked in, before she ushered you aside and called for Emma next.

She gave you a look when a Peacekeeper nudged you away, ordering you to get into your rows. You smiled encouragingly at her, before turning and finding your place.

You found yourself placed between two girls in your year group, shoulder to shoulder. You recognized one, Lily you think. She was shorter than yourself, but she held her head high. If it weren't for the way you saw her shift from foot to foot, you'd think she wasn't nervous at all.

You watched as the boys and girls filled in, boys to the left and girls to the right. You craned your head, looking down the few rows before spotting a head full of dark hair and the familiar ribbon. She didn't see you, since you were behind a few rows, but Emma had always been good at keeping her composure in front of others she wasn't close to.

The anthem began, loud and booming.

Everybody stayed silent, breaths trembling whilst some stood tall and proud. You glanced around, not caring to listen as Electra Vantell took the stage. Her manicured nails held the microphone, and she took a moment to fluff out the layers of her shimmering dress.

The stage held four Peacekeepers, two on each side of the stairs. Electra stood in the middle as chirpy as ever, then there were the mentors.

You couldn't help it. Your gaze had drifted to him almost instantly. Stood beside who you recognized to be his mentor, Mags, Finnick held his mask well. Charming and cocky, he looked out into the crowd with his familiar Capitol smirk. Skin golden in tan, and eyes just as piercing and sea green as you'd remembered them to be, if not more. It was obvious he'd changed a drastic amount since you were both young, tall and built with sharp features you knew the Capitol citizens fawned over. You wondered how he could hold up a facade for so long, seeing all the cameras practically shoved in his face, and yet he kept his head high and flashed his pearly teeth.

Yes, you'd seen him around the district many times. However, you never stared for too long, fearful he'd feel your burning eyes. But now, you let yourself observe.

"Welcome!"

You let out a breath, suddenly feeling the nerves wash over you like a tidal wave. Electra smacked her lips together with a grin, eyeing the crowd before her.

"Another happy Hunger Games to all! Before we start, as usual, a message from our President."

She clapped her hands together, lips stretching unnaturally wide to reveal teeth too white and polished to be natural. You were sure you'd be able to see your reflection if you were close enough.

The two large screens set above the stage flickered to life, a static hum echoing throughout the building when President Snow's voice boomed over the speakers. You knew this speech all too well, yet you never found yourself actually listening. The Presidents voice rang out throughout the hall, all too powerful and calm.

Electra seemed to glow once the screens shut off, her grin wide and fake. You supposed it was because her favorite part was about to come up, which again sent a wave of unease.

"Let's begin, shall we?" She sauntered over to one of the glass bowls, dipping her long nails inside and swirling her hand tauntingly between the small slips. You nearly felt the tension, the way everybody's breath held in visible anxiety. A moment later, she plucked one singular paper slip out from the bowl and clicked her heels back to the microphone. The air heavy with anticipation, she carefully unfolded the paper.

"Our female tribute for this year's seventieth Hunger Games, Y/N Y/L/N!"

You nearly didn't register your name over the singsong tone, but you knew you'd heard it right. Your ears drummed with your pulse; vision locked on Electra as she glanced around in search for you. You suddenly felt hot, the burning travelling into your ears and cheeks when you felt the eyes of many linger on you sympathetically.

You heard a quiet gasp, faint but there, and you glanced over briefly just in time to see Emma clasp a hand over her mouth, muffling the sob that threatened to spill.

It was almost felt like one of your many dreams, fear building up in your chest that you refused to let them see. Time seemed to stretch weirdly in that moment, everything feeling too slow to be real. Was this real? You really hoped it was just another nightmare. You'd wake up, crawl next to your Pa's bed and let him envelope you in a tight hug, but those wishes vanished when the girl beside you gently nudged you to move.

You did what you'd thought of first.

You plastered on your familiar gentle smile and weaved through the crowd easily. It wasn't until you were at the foot of the stage that Electra had landed eyes on you, not noticing the slight shake in your legs struggling to keep you upright.

"Oh! There she is!" Electra gleamed. "And look how lovely! Your elegance is truly admirable. A swan brought from District Four!"

Her words flew right over your head. Instead, you focused on getting up the stage without doubling over and keeping the tears held at bay. They were watching. You were on screen. You were a target. You wouldn't let them see you look so weak.

A Peacekeeper reached down, offering a hand to help you up the stairs which you gratefully took with a trembling 'thank you'. You saw the guilt flicker in his eyes, the flex of his hand in yours. Maybe you could run, turn and dash out the gates as fast as your legs could take you, but it was only false hope. They'd only catch you again, either dragging you back up the stage by force or shooting you dead right then and there.

Electra Vantell pulled you beside her, smelling too strongly of something sweet.

It was then you started noticing a small commotion at the back of the building, and your heart dropped upon realizing exactly who it was. Your Pa was pushing off hands that tried to stabilize him, throwing his arms out and staring back up at you with nothing but anger.

"Thats my daughter!" He screamed, and you felt your heart race when the stadium went silent.

You carefully glanced over to the many Peacekeepers as your fathers' shouts rang out. You didn't miss the hot tears trickling down his cheeks now as he was hauled away by one of the other dads, his shouts for you almost haunting.

"Nerissa!"

You inhaled sharply, struggling more to hold the tears that threatened to spill over. You refused to look his way any longer.

"Nerissa?" Electra frowned. "Who's that, my darling?"

She held the microphone so close to your lips you might as well have inhaled it. You weren't sure you even had the strength to speak, your throat feeling as though it was caught in a wire trap. You swallowed, thick and slow.

"It's my mother."

Electra frowned, though it didn't hold any sadness. "That's too bad," she hummed, twirling a strand of your hair between her skinny finger before moving away to the boy's bowl.

"For the boys!-"

"I volunteer!"

The voice seemed to have everybody pausing, murmurs breaking out, and then applause. You felt your head spin when you watched a familiar head of brown hair pop out from the crowd, tanned skin and nose littered in little freckles. Nathan laughed upon the many pats on the back he was receiving on the way up, laughter echoing from him and his friends as he easily kicked up the stage. You swore Vantell nearly fell flat on her back when Nathan stood at her side, eyes wide but filled with what you could only suspect was desire.

She let out a light airy laugh. "And our male tributes name for this year?"

Nathan leaned in close, taking the mic from her grasp.

"Nathan Castwell!"

Electra hummed, clapping her hands together along with the rest of the audience, sharp and practiced, though not all joined in. Some hands remained still, lips pressed into thin lines and the air too thick to breathe.

You looked around once more, gaze sweeping over the crowd for your father, Emma, even Tommy, only to become disappointed once you never landed them. The weight of what was to come was pressing on you, suffocating, and none of them were at your side. Your mind felt foggy and jumbled, but one thing played over and over.

You were going to die within the next few weeks.

"Our Tributes for the seventieth hunger games!"

Nathan stood at your right, and you felt his gaze linger for a moment too long before he flashed you a wink, a smirk curving his lips before he held up his hands to the cheers.

Behind him, your eyes met the ones you'd missed so much. You barely got to see the hurt and regret cast in Finnick's gaze before you were escorted to the doors behind you, shielding you from your home and sealing your fate.

Tags: @lunar-stars-world @sundawn1990 @harlemdream @teataryn @fluffyflamingo20 @cheese10001 @heidiland05 @xoxpetals

“What the hell, Rafe?” You gasped when you had walked into his room, seeing his body slouched into his bed and head tilted back against the headboard. Once again, the familiar sight of crimson blood decorated his hands, small cuts littering his face and a particularly large bruise below his left eye. He barely blinked, barely acknowledged your presence when you clicked the door closed behind you. Not even a hum to let you know that he was at the very least listening. Silence stretched between you, long and suffocating. You supposed that was how Rafe had always been, though, never choosing to share his personal problems with you despite how many times you had begged for him to.

You stalked closer, hands hovering over his own to inspect the damage. In all honesty, you couldn’t tell if it was Rafe’s blood or somebody else’s.

“What happened this time?” Your voice didn’t hold the usual care it did, instead it was filled with irritation as you turned to his bathroom, rummaging through cabinets in search for the first aid kit you had put there yourself. You heard a low chuckle, which only infuriated you more when Rafe flexed his bruised knuckles.

“Nothing to worry your little head about, Princess.”

You rose a brow, settling back at his side. “Are you serious?”

With his eyes still closed, Rafe blinked open the eye without the harsh bruise, flickering over your features before he let out a long sigh. Even with a split lip and swollen eye, you wondered how he still managed to look as handsome as he did.

As you dabbed away at the blood with a warm wet towel, Rafe shifted his body with a wince, bruises obviously hidden beneath the layers of clothing he was wearing. It nagged at you to know just exactly what had happened a few hours prior whilst you weren’t there.

“It was nothing serious,” Rafe drawled, pulling his hand away from your grasp as he reached into his nightstand and pulled out a small packet. One you recognized all too much. “So, you don’t need to keep asking me like I’m a child.”

If you didn’t feel angry before, you certainly did now. How could he think so low of you? Did he have no sense to see you were only looking out for him? You had known Rafe for years, grown with him and supported him through times that were obviously hard on him, but now, it was becoming overwhelming. The fights he’d occasionally get into before had started becoming more frequent, almost three times a week, and who had been there to kneel at his side and clean the blood from his body? Rafe was not a child, but he was beyond immature.

“You sure as hell are acting like one.” You said, the warm rag now left abandoned as you stood to your full height. You snatched the small plastic bag from his grip and tossed it onto his nightstand. “You can’t even talk to me properly anymore! This is becoming too much for you, Rafe. And me.”

“I never asked for your help,” Rafe accused, sitting up and biting down the wince that threatened to escape his chapped lips. “I never needed you here. What are you expecting, Y/N? For me to just suddenly be all fine and live the perfect Kook life? You can’t fucking fix me!”

You shook your head, angry tears brimming your waterline. “That’s not what I was doing! I’m being your friend, Rafe. I don’t want to just sit around while you come home every night bloodied and high. Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on? I can help you!”

A humorless chuckle fell from his lips, gaze now locked on yours and filled with something dark. “You really want to be helpful? Huh, Sweetheart?” His voice was low and scrutinizing now, his chest rising and falling with every step he took closer to you. For the first time, Rafe Cameron was not the boy who you’d laughed with every day, the boy who took you to your first party, the boy who had held you and cared for you when times were tough. No, now he was different. Blood shot eyes, form looming over you as if he were sizing you up, cornering you like prey. A hot tear fell down the slope of your cheek, though not from sadness, but pure resentment.

No matter how hard you’d try, you realized there was no getting through with Rafe Cameron. He would never let anybody in. Not Sarah, not Wheezie, not Ward, not his friends, and certainly not you.

Never you.

You were embarrassed. Embarrassed thinking that maybe, just maybe, you could catch a glimpse into what was holding him down. Binding him. But now as you stare back up at him, gaze unwavering, you realize that he never wanted your support. Never wanted you.

Rafe inhaled slowly, dangerously, pent up by whatever was swirling within his mind. “I want you to leave,” he said.

You hated feeling so small compared to him, not only physically, but mentally. The way your heart crumpled at his words was like a hard jab to your chest, and it was then you felt the hot tears spill.

You quickly looked down, furiously swiping away at the tears and mad at yourself for letting him see you so vulnerable. For a moment as you looked back up at him, you saw a flicker of something soft, something so him. But it was gone just as quickly.

“I can’t believe you,” you said, and you were surprised at how soft your voice came out despite the rage firing within your chest.

Pushing past him, you snatched your bag from where it had been left stranded on the floor beside his bed, head held down so he couldn’t see your face reddening with silent sobs. You didn’t see the way his gaze lingered on you when you stomped out his bedroom door, the way his fists shook at his sides and tears of his own trickled down his bloodied jaw.

You hated him. You hated him so bad that you wished you didn’t love him so much.

You couldn't help but laugh, circling the table to retrieve the crate she'd dropped onto the bench. It overflowed with tangled ropes, scattered dull fishing knives, and half-woven nets. Digging your hand in, you pulled out one of the longer weathered nets and set it down on the table before you.

"Unfortunately, I think you'll have to," you teased, feigning a pout.

Emma groaned, shooting you a hard glare despite her lips quirking into a small grin. "Look at my hands! And that's only after carrying a few."

Chuckling, you began to work on the torn net laid out before you, hands moving effortlessly as if it were second nature. "Poor thing. Maybe if you ask the Peacekeepers nicely, they'll let you off earlier."

Emma scoffed, her gaze flicking over to the few Peacekeepers stood on duty. "You're ridiculous," she muttered, leaning back against the wooden bench on propped arms.

"But you love me," you replied with a grin, tone light and teasing.

The shoreline buzzed with activity around you. Nets being hauled in, boats sitting at the docks ready to sail, fishers working diligently on small hooks and spearing fish with eased practice. You and Emma, however, were stood a little further off to the side weaving and mending torn nets. The sun had just barely come up, casting a golden hue over the beach, and yet the air was already warm against your skin. Wet sand clung to your feet as you worked, despite how many times you'd attempted to brush it off.

Emma leaned into her work beside you, brows pinched in concentration. Whilst you were the one actually mending the nets, Emma had offered to attach any missing or broken weights onto each corner. Her dark hair was thrown up into a bun, although a few stray strands flew into her face with the breeze the ocean swept in. She was quick to brush them away.

On most days, she was placed on the opposite end of the docks along with her younger sisters, sorting fishing supplies between boxes and sending them off to get used. Today however, you had needed the extra hands due to your father.

His days of work seemed to catch up to him. He was growing weaker with each passing day, his energy running low. The wrinkles on his face had deepened and his once steady hands now trembled when grasping ropes and tools. You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, worn and tired, and it made you ache to watch him. You'd insisted he have the day off, ensuring you'd take over to which he begrudgingly agreed.

Pushing aside your newest net, you drummed your raw fingers against the work bench in a poor attempt to get some feeling back into them. You glanced down at the crate by your feet, reaching down and pulling out a particularly tangled net with a grunt. It was covered in dried seaweed and sand embedded into the rope. You had to hold back the scowl on your face when the smell of rot and fish hit your senses.

"Help me drag this to the water?" You directed, lifting the heavy bundle in your grasp up to Emma's view.

She quirked a brow, eyes darting along the grimy net in your hands with skepticism. "I hope you're not planning on catching any fish with that," she stuck her tongue out as if gagging. "It's not even worth saving, at this point."

You rolled your eyes at her antics. "It will catch fish once I'm done repairing it. It just needs a clean."

You held out the other end of the net, and reluctantly Emma reached out to grab it with pointed fingers. They two of you hauled it into the ocean, now knee deep within the cool water. You knelt, beginning to scrub away at the dirt that clung to the material.

"How can you even touch that?" Emma scowled, nose screwed up into a grimace but was quick to shriek when you tossed a dried piece of seaweed at her, laughing despite herself.

'It's all-natural talent," you quipped, though she didn't seem pleased. She folded her arms over her chest, glaring down at you with a quirked brow as you continued your work, the water splashing around your waist almost rhythmically.

"Maybe you really are a fish, Y/L/N. I'm beginning to think you might be the fish kings' kid," she joked. "Dumped you here so that you could find your way back home."

You laughed lightly. "Maybe, or he sent me here to watch over the girl who can barely touch the water."

"Believe it or not, Y/N, I'm not usually placed on this job."

You stood back to your feet, drying your wet hands against your shirt. Emma nudged you with a playful glare.

"Not everybody loves the water as much as you. I'm more of a land person," she said, helping to haul the now cleaner net back to shore, its weight dragging behind you. Teasingly, you flicked the excess water from your hand in her direction with a laugh, a displeased smirk on her lips.

Emma huffed by the time you two had gotten back to the work benches, dropping her end of the net with a dramatic grunt. "Please, next time you need help, I'll do anything but that."

"If you complain any louder, the Peacekeepers might hear." You smirked when she narrowed her eyes, mischief sparkling in her gaze.

"Oh please," she waved you off. "I might just leave you to do the rest yourself. Admit it, you love my presence here."

"Maybe," you drawled, though before she could say anything else, you were pushing a new net in her direction.

You worked together in a comfortable silence, the easy rhythm of your work almost soothing, though that peace was quickly stripped away as the piercing clang of the bell sounded.

It was time.

Emma stilled beside you, and your stomach twisted uneasily. Glancing up, you managed to catch sight of parents and children already gathering at the Justice Building. Mothers and fathers stood with their children's hands gripped tightly in their own, some tears even being shed out of fear. The air felt as though it had grown heavy with dread.

Even though it was your final year being entered into the bowl, you would never truly be escaping the games. Every year after this, you'd still have to stand in the square and watch as children are ripped away from their homes and fight for their lives. The thought twisted in your stomach.

Your gaze flickered over the many families, and you couldn't help but to let your mind wonder to him. You'd heard that Finnick was to be the new mentor for this year, stepping into Mags' role due to her growing age. You wondered how he must've felt having to take on the responsibility of these children's lives. Scared? Angered?

It had been five years since Finnick had left for the arena, but the memory of his return home haunted you more than you cared to admit. You remembered the moment he had stepped off the train, the way it almost stung him to touch you, to look at you. His face was pale and shadowed in guilt, eyes going anywhere but onto you. It pained you more than you'd have expected.

At first, you couldn't even think of him without hot tears stinging your eyes. You'd tried to move on from the boy who used to race you in the water, who taught you how to tie ropes, who made you cry with laughter, but the distance he placed between the two of you was something you couldn't forget, no matter how hard you wanted to.

It was never his fault, you knew that. The Capitol was the one to take him and break him apart, leaving him to pick up the pieces. He had every right to pull away if that's what he thought was best, though it didn't make it hurt any less. Over the years, your sadness had morphed into anger. Angry at him for shutting you out the way he did, angry at the Capitol for inflicting all of this. You hated feeling the way you did; it was unfair and selfish.

You missed the boy who used to be your closest friend. You missed hearing his witty comments and teasing jokes, but that boy was long gone, turned into a man who wanted nothing to do with you. In the end, you'd stopped trying. He was nothing more than a memory now, one you couldn't afford to dwell on.

"Are you worried?"

Emma's voice snapped you from your thoughts. Her gaze was trained on the growing pool of children flooding into the building, a look of unease plastered over her features.

You hesitated, averting your eyes from the crowd. "No," you lied. "It's our last year. We'll be fine."

You didn't expect her to believe you. Emma had grown to know you well over the past few years, though you were grateful she didn't pry.

"Well," she hummed. "We should probably get changed out of these disgusting clothes.” She lifted the hem of her shirt up, cringing at the sight of dirt and salt water. It did little to ease the tension of the oncoming reaping.

You nodded, mind swarming with multiple thoughts at once. Your dad, Finnick, the games. You couldn't wait for it to be over and go back to your room, curled up beneath your warm sheets and finding a dreamless sleep.