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Chapter Text

His mother had said he looked handsome that morning, his blond and brown hair clean and bright, contrast to the grayed green of the trees in their backyard.

There was a certain glint in her eyes, something melancholy. He wanted to ask why she had looked so sad, but he knew. Everyone in Panem knew.

Today was the day of the reaping. Today was the day that two unlucky souls were sent from their home and across the country to lay down their life for entertainment…

For a game.

The thought made Sicheng’s stomach twist and turn, his small breakfast of two honey rolls and a cup of water nearly coming back up from whence it came.

His mother grabbed his shoulders and pressed them lightly with the palms of her hands. “Oh, Winnie… love, you are tense.” She smiled softly, but honestly she wasn’t fairing much better. The reaping was in only a few hours and nobody in this household was at ease.

They knew just how many times Renjun, Sicheng’s little brother, applied for Tessarae. They would have starved last winter if he hadn’t.

If they had known, they would have stopped him. Sicheng would have applied himself a thousand times over if he knew that Renjun even applied once.

But he hadn’t, and what was done was done.

Renjun had run off to the woods by himself again, most definitely to find peace of mind for the morning. He’d done that the past two reapings as well, Sicheng and his mother no longer surprised.

“Everything will be fine, Winnie. Would you like to come deliver a few honey rolls to the neighbors? Heeseung’s mother.” She asked, picking up a small basket with a fleeting smile on her face. “To take our minds off of this afternoon.”

Sicheng nodded, holding the basket and holding the door open for his mother with his elbow, the older woman smiling gently at him.

They walked down the street, the hushed voices of citizens flooding the road. Sicheng felt eyes on him as well made-up teenagers, nosy adults, and playing children all stopped to stare.

They knew, they knew just how much danger the Dong family was in. It wasn’t a secret.

They stopped in front of a shack identical to the rest of the street, Sicheng’s mother knocking hard on it. The woman who had appeared, their neighbor, was carrying a child in her arms about five or six years of age. Sicheng didn’t quite remember her name - Yoondae? Yoonah? Who knows - but she seemed nice and Renjun was friends with her oldest son.

“Oh, stop biting everything! Jungwon, you’re quite the- oh! Hello Mrs. Dong, how’re you?” She asked, shifting her attention from the child gnawing on her hair to Sicheng and his mother. Sicheng’s mother clasped her hands over her skirt and hummed.

“Oh, doing fine, Miss Im. How is Heeseung? Is he all dressed and ready?” Sicheng’s mother asked, voice quiet.

“Oh yes! He went to the town square to meet a friend, actually. He will be fine, though. I believe it.” Miss Im offered and smile, although void of anything but empathy. Her expression was dark as she looked Sicheng’s mother in her eyes before tearing her gaze away towards the boy in question. “My! I forget just how strong Sicheng has gotten! And tall! I remember when he came over our place for Heeseung’s birthday party and I made those fritters… gosh, those were expensive.” The lady huffed under her breath before turning back to Sicheng and his mother.

“Well of course… you must have strong hands to survive in Seven!” His mother beamed, bragging on Sicheng and making his ears turn a dark pink. She tended to do this, but he didn’t mind much.

“Interesting… but where is your youngest?” The lady inquired. Sicheng’s mother sighed and looked back at their house.

“If he is not in the house, he would be galavanting in the woods, darling. Please go and find your baby brother.” She ordered, voice gentle.

Sicheng nodded, bowing slightly to Miss Im and handing the basket off to her before jogging down the road again, where it trailed off into nothing but dust, but dirt.

Chapter Text

Sicheng entered the woods, grinning in nostalgia to the soothing sound of leaves underneath his dress shoes. The wind cooed a soft song as it blew through the trees and into his ears.

“Renjunnie?” Sicheng called out softly. It wasn’t quite illegal to be in the woods alone, considering that the forest was simply everywhere. It was just that if a Peacekeeper found him here, the exchange wouldn’t have been pleasant.

Renjun laughed softly, voice echoing and bouncing from the branches. Sicheng looked up, but hadn’t seen anything. Renjun was a master at hiding, at jumping from place to place and hiding himself from any onlookers.

Renjun peeked from inside the thick tree, the evergreen concealing him nearly completely. Renjun was small and could definitely hide himself well. When he was about six years old, Sicheng remembers their mother calling for a search party along the north end of District Seven for Renjun, who hid within the trees and their lush and thick branches and only came out when Sicheng got the brilliant idea to yell out that Renjun had won the game, although not even Sicheng knew that he was playing.

It reminded him of just how young Renjun was. Always Renjun brought it upon himself to take care of their mother and even Sicheng at times. His face was hardened into a nearly permanent scowl, but whenever Sicheng managed to soften it his pretty round eyes really did look childish, full of mischief and innocence.

He really was a child, only fourteen years old. It was one of the only things that made Sicheng truly smile, a real feeling of happiness anymore. He was in fact, his little brother.

The wind whistled in the trees carrying Renjun’s small noises, nearly giggled through the canopy. A figure dashed from one tree behind Sicheng to the next and he looked fondly at the child. It was only so often that Renjun was allowed to play like this.

“Come on out!

Sicheng ran to an area of the woods like slender, hard plants growing from the tall grasses. He smiled and plucked a few, walking back to where Renjun sat on the forest floor.

“Found it. You didn’t eat breakfast, come eat.” He peeled the wild corn away, unripened but edible. Renjun looked at him bewildered.

Wild corn sometimes grew on the northern edge of District Seven, where the border between them and Nine lay. It was pretty illegal to eat the wild corn, but of course Sicheng and Renjun did it anyways.

The cornfields met the woods, the tall pines overlooking the small straggling stalks of corn. Perhaps they could escape one day where the Districts met. Perhaps they could be safe, away from the grasp of Panem.

Sicheng knew better to think like that.

“It’s hard as rocks and if they find shucks out here, they’d have questions.” Renjun reminded. Sicheng shrugged and looked into the sky, the cloudy atmosphere foreboding the Reaping.

“Let’s see them try and even find us here. No Peacekeepers even dare to step one of their precious, booted feet into the woods.”

Renjun nodded and picked at the shucks. The words was quiet again and the pair said no words, just breathed as the wind whisked a low sound. “It’s your birthday tomorrow, Sicheng.” Renjun’s voice was quiet as the birds overhead chirped quietly, adding to the wind’s melody. “What are you gonna do?”

Sicheng’s heart slowed at the thought of Renjun and the Tessarae. What if Renjun wasn’t with him on his birthday. Others entered for more Tessarae than him, but his name was in for the drawing twenty one times.

He didn’t want to think like that, though, pushing it out of his mind and grinning. “I’ll ask mother to make a chocolate cake and me and you will invite all of the kids of Jilin square. And we’ll spend the day together in luxury, worrying about nothing.”

Renjun smiled at that and something icky pulled at Sicheng’s stomach, like guilt.

“That’d be fun.” Renjun’s smile quivered, almost faltering, before being plastered back on his face. “What time is it?”

Sicheng looked to the sky and hummed. “Before noon, I promise. It’s only been a few minutes out here. But we should head bac-“

“Race you!” Renjun giggled, and Sicheng was once again reminded just how young this kid was, just how much of a child his little brother was.

His dusty, worn shoes stepped on the empty and hardened corn shucks as he ran away from his brother and out of the woods. The sun peaked in from the dark clouds above and shed a midday light, reminiscent of a golden hour. Sicheng smiled and ran after him, letting out a song and a noise foreign to himself; Sicheng, still burdened by fear of the unknown, truly laughed for the first time in forever.

He wished he and Renjun could laugh like this again and again, forever until the end of time.

But the games are not so forgiving.

Chapter Text

The square of District Seven was overfilled with children and Sicheng began to feel his stomach twist again. Every year, the Reaping became more and more real to him, seeing people he knew or even people he saw around town being hauled away to the Capitol and never be seen again.

Sicheng held his little brother’s hand tighter as he weaved through the crowd, the pair definitely in the back and far from the stage. But that was fine, they’d stay right where they were.

“You’ll be okay, ge. We both will.” Renjun whispered and squeezed Sicheng’s hand, face staying stony. Sicheng wanted to believe it’d be true, but something pulled at his chest, something heavy and strong.

To take his mind off of it, Sicheng looked around for Heeseung, Renjun’s friend and Miss Im’s adopted son. He couldn’t find him in the sea of children and shortly gave up before looking back at Renjun.

Still holding his brother’s hand, Renjun looked forwards with his lips pursed and eyes narrowed. Sicheng frowned and wished he could comfort him, but there wasn’t much he could do past squeezing soft rhythms into Renjun’s palm.

The Panem anthem played its opening notes and Peacekeepers walked on stage with their guns in hand, the District Square quieting down. They sung lowly to the song, Sicheng only mouthing the words.

Of course, there was the propaganda video reminding the Districts why the Games were established in the first place. Because of a rebellion against the Capitol, the Capitol in defeating and bombing the 13th District, wanted to remind the Districts that they were beneath them, into scaring them into never rebelling again. And so, for the past 127 years, each District has sent two tributes between the ages of 12 and 18 to fight to the death in the Capitol as entertainment.

It was fucked up and Sicheng prayed it would never be him.

When the anthem and video ceased, the screens became black and the curtains of the stage before them opened. A short man with glittery eye makeup on and a friendly smile plastered over his painted face walked onto the stage in a dapper red suit. His black hair was slicked to the side and he wore a hat with red flowers on it. He looked like some kind of an insane clown, a bizarre figure who came back to the District annually.

Sicheng knew exactly who he was.

“Good morning, District Seven!” He chirped, holding the microphone and looking out into the grim faces of the crowd. It was silent and the man cleared his throat.

“As you all know, I am Chen!” He chirped again, doing a little bow. “Welcome to the 127th Reaping ceremony! I hope you all are well.”

No sounds came from the crowd. Sicheng hated this guy; every year he’d try and push and propagate the Games as an opportunity, but he supposed he was only doing his job. Still, it was sickening to him that the people in the Capitol actually did feel as if this were an honor, as if it were a rare opportunity to be grateful for.

He gestured to the drawing bowl, a glass case on top of a podium. “The drawing begins! Two lucky tributes will have the opportunity to compete in the 127th annual Hunger Games! How fun is that?” He asked, completely tone deaf to the morbidity of the situation. The crowd hadn’t responded and he huffed, holding onto the sides of the case and smiling again.

“May the odds be ever in your favor!”

Every eye was on Chen as he reached two delicate, painted fingers into the drawing and fished around for a sheet of paper. His hand lingered on a few before he smiled and felt the winner. He picked it up with such precision and every breath in the square was held.

Slowly, tantalizingly slowly, he opened the piece of paper and held it to his eyes. The world went silent and no one said a word.

“Renjun Dong-Huang!”

Sicheng’s heart dropped to his toes and his eyes widened. He couldn’t have heard that right, there’s no way his baby brother had been chosen. Out of everyone in Seven….

Should he raise his hand and volunteer? He wanted to, he would if he could; His body was frozen as he watched the Peacekeepers grab his little brother and grab him, forcing him to the front. Renjun cried out, squirming and fighting the Peacekeepers, who were much larger than him. Renjun kicked around, but didn’t scream or cry. Sicheng was frozen still.

This couldn’t be happening. He-

“Sicheng Dong!” Chen called out after unfolding the second piece of paper and Sicheng’s eyes widened.

No.

No, not both of us.

He felt a gloved hand on his arm, then another tugging him away. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, didn’t even hear the hushed voices and whispers of the crowd, the gasps and his mother sobbing out.

Every nerve in his body dropped, became cold and his brain became foggy. This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t have happened.

The Peacekeepers ushered him onto the stage, both siblings on either side of Chen being shown off like shiny new toys. His mother’s screams and sobs could be heard from the crowd but there was nothing she or anyone else could do but volunteer.

No one would, though.

“These are your tributes! From District Seven: Renjun Dong-Huang and Sicheng Dong!” Chen announced, clapping. Renjun only looked forwards as Sicheng looked at him, then to the crowd who clapped with relieved faces, yet still empathy towards them.

They were the tributes and there was no escape.

In a matter of minutes, they’d be whisked onto the train headed to the Capitol and never see the light of the District ever again. They’d fight to the death and be pitted against each other.

This was the game they’d be forced to play the hand they’d been dealt.

Chapter Text

The pair had been escorted to the trains without a word, the station close to the stage and the town square, the people watching as two children doomed to death boarded a train to never return.

And then Renjun bolted, made a run for it.

"No! Please, we just want to say goodbye to our mother! Please!" Renjun pleaded, nearly screaming his head off. After being silent for so long, Sicheng realized he was just strategizing his route to run. Sicheng hissed at him to get back inside of the train car, but he wriggled away and ran towards the fleeting crowd, migrating to watch their departure instead of standing in the yard. The peacekeepers ran after him and Sicheng paled.

Oh god, he's going to get himself killed before either of us even make it to the Capitol!

His legs moved before he thought, Renjun pushing through the crowd and clinging to their mother.

"Mama! Please-" he yelled out, his arms trapping hers and and holding on dearly. She was shocked that he would run back, but held onto him as much as she could before the Peacekeepers pried him off of her.

"Renjun! Darling, don't go!"

"Mama! I have to, I'm so sorry! Take care of yourself, okay? I'll be back. The game doesn't matter!" Renjun promised loudly, and Sicheng immediately recognized that he was speaking the lost language of Wenzhou, essentially a dialect lost to everyone but his family, northern District Seven, and himself.

He didn't want anyone of importance to hear that, that's why.

The Peacekeepers shoved his mother, who stumbled back into another woman who caught her. They grabbed the smaller boy so suddenly and hauled him off by his arms, the silence from Renjun was louder than the Peacekeepers's strict and threatening orders, louder than his mother's anguished yells.

Sicheng hid behind a wall as the Peacekeepers got closer, running back into the traincar. A tall man sat in the cabin open to him, sipping an odd, flat pinkish drink. His expensive looking shoes were propped up on the table and Sicheng grimaced, thinking mostly about the bacterias on the bottom of the soles.

"So, you didn't chase down the other Dong?" The man quirked up an eyebrow and offered a soft yet unsettling grin. "Mayhaps, if you'd like, I can speak your family's mother tongue. Victor's Village holds many libraries, Dong."

Sicheng marvelled at the man switching tongues; a person knowing more than one language was rare in Panem, the languages of the Past World dying out and becoming extinct. But this man spoke Mandrin still? He spoke Wenzhou, off all things? The dialect was dead! Only District Six even spoke the language in larger numbers than northern Seven. But this man wasn't from Six, he was Seven's own champion.

The cabin's door opened once again and Renjun was thrown inside harshly, the door shut as if they were caging in an animal.

Peacemakers shouted muffled threats at both Renjun and Siechng before walking away, a beeping noise and a murmuring robotic noise coming from above somewhere.

"Train leaves in five minutes. You're lucky if they don't execute your mother, you know." The man narrowed his eyes and Renjun looked at him with a serious look in his eyes, but Sicheng saw no tears, no tears to come nor remnants.

There wasn't fear in Renjun's eyes... there was determination. There was a drive, a fire. The real reason he'd run back to their mother was not out of fear. Renjun wanted her to know he'd be okay in the games.

He wasn't planning on losing, and that scared Sicheng.

"You're our Victor, aren't you?" Renjun asked. The man simply laughed and drank more of his flat concoction.

"No... you're the victors! I'm the previously Seven victor, your mentor." The man chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "One of you will emerge the victor. I, however, am Lay Zhang. I will be your mentor, your teacher, and for the next week that you're still guaranteed to breath... your friend."

Chapter Text

The hills rolled by into flat ground with mountains in the distance. The train was fast and Sicheng’s stomach screamed at him like it had been doing all day. He couldn’t tell if it was because of hunger or the nervous knot forming everytime reality settled in, but it seemed like a bit of both.

Renjun locked himself in a restroom, at least that’s what Sicheng assumed. He had a habit of that back at home and Renjun had been thrown back into the train and put on surveillance by a Peacekeeper before departure, so as soon as the train began moving hours ago, he holed himself up in a luxurious looking closet, pretty lights adorning an expensive looking sink and toilet. At least, that’s what he assumed it was.

But Sicheng sat in the train car with Lay, holding his hands clasped on his abdomen as he stared from the window at the plains and fields he’d never seen and won’t ever see again. His lips were sealed in a tight line.

Lay seemed to notice, though. He waved over an attendant and whispered something to her, the woman saying nothing back.

Moments later, the woman returned with a tray of foods and fruits of all different colors, things Sicheng hadn’t ever seen before. His mouth watered longingly and he hadn’t even noticed until Lay started chuckling and waved her away, the woman only nodding silently and bowing.

“It’s treats. Food. You must be hungry, hm?” Lay asked, Sicheng nodding excitedly. The older man smiled warmly and held out a fork, pristine silver contrast to his pale hand. Sicheng nervously met his hand and Lay handed the utensil over. The boy only stared at his mentor with wild confusion, eyes darting from him to the woman, who’d turned to walk away.

“She’s an Avox. Tongue cut out for rebelling, usually.” Lay clarified as the woman departed the train car. Sicheng shuddered and the train car door opened again, the woman leaving as a small boy with disheveled dark hair to his shoulderblades peeked in with a scowl. His arm was red and Sicheng could make out faint nail marks, as if Renjun had been scratching his arm almost compulsively.

“Ah. The other is here…” Lay drawled, Renjun all but hissing at him.

“Don’t speak our tongue.” He shot, narrowing his eyes and sitting in his he seat farthest from them and the table of food (although Sicheng noticed the lingering of Renjun’s stare on the platter as he walked to the corner).

Lay only chuckled again and turned to Sicheng. “He’s fiery, that’s good.” The man nodded towards the youngest and Sicheng frowned a little bit, not responding and only digging his fork into a weird pile of red mush that reminded him of the strawberries he could only try once, on his eighth birthday. He raised the cutlery to his mouth and closed his eyes, scared until he felt the sugar on his tongue. His muscles relaxed as he let the taste of sugar and faint fruit dance in his brain.

“Gelatin. Good, hm?” Lay spoke, looking at Renjun, then back to Sicheng. “Would you like some? It’s quite the experience!”

Renjun looked out of the window, saying nothing still. Lay sighed and looked out of the window as well before speaking again.

“You two are both very quiet, aren’t you?”

Sicheng nodded sheepishly. “Sorry about that. I don’t talk too much around new people and Renjun is just… angry.” He excused the both of them but Renjun snarled at him for it, narrowing his eyes.

Lay made a face of understanding and picked a chocolate strawberry from the platter in front of him on the compartment’s table. “I see. Well, as much as I hate it, we’re almost to the Capitol. I haven’t even briefed you, my apologies. When we arrive, you unpack in your hotel and return to meet a stylist during the evening, who will be showing you off at the Chariot Rides tomorrow. Now, you’re going to want to smile real big and show off your charming points to get sponsors.”

Sponsors. Sicheng knew that sometimes in the games, random aid was sent to tributes. Packages of medicine, food, water, weapons; extremely rare donations sent to the most beloved tributes.

“Oh.” Is all Sicheng could say.

“Any ideas of what those charming points are?” Lay tried. The cabin was silent again and Sicheng shook his head. The eldest man sighed and looked between the two, Sicheng’s quiet demeanor and Renjun looking as if he’d snap if you breathed wrong.

“Seems like we have quite a lot of work to do…”

Chapter Text

The sight of the Capitol made Sicheng gasp quietly, the beautiful city with its tall elaborate buildings drenched in sunlight. It looked like something from a dream, but the train only allowed for a few moments of ogling the skyline before dipping into a tunnel. He turned back to Lay, who slept with his arms crossed in the seat across from him. Renjun sat with his legs to his chest, his mind racing.

"Injunnie?" Sicheng's voice was quiet against the thrum of the train on the tracks, the car still dim as symbols and graffiti passed too fast to take notice. Renjun looked up quizzically, his brain seemingly on pause.

Sicheng looked at his brother and understood. Around Lay, around Peacekeepers, around everyone else Renjun was defiant and rebellious, refusing to go down without a fight. But he was one of the only people to see the real Renjun, a bright eyed little kid with a brain too fast for his own good and a habit of chewing on his hair when he was afraid.

Because he was. He was scared and wouldn't admit it, but Sicheng saw it in his eyes. It broke his heart.

"Injunnie, we're almost there." He whispered, Renjun nodding. He bit the ends of his dark hair nervously, face pale as the tunnels ended.

"Sicheng? What do we do when-" Before Renjun could finish his thought, they heard screams muffled by the glass of the windows. Renjun jumped and ducked and Sicheng's head perked up. As the train slowed, he caught the gazes of strangely dressed people in fancy and colorful wigs and loud eye makeup, lips adorning colors of blues and greens. It was bizarre, as bizarre as the Capitol people on broadcast he'd seen as a child.

"They look so... ew." Renjun marveled, Sicheng hissing at him to not be rude. The younger boy rolled his eyes and threw a half eaten bread roll at Lay, who jumped up suddenly and awoke. Renjun snickered under his breath.

"Ah! Oh, right. We're here?" Lay asked, looking around dazed. Sicheng nodded as the train came to a stop, cheering people clapping and whooping at the sight of them. His stomach hurt just looking at them, at how enthusiastic they were to see him die.
Sickening.

A woman with a pink wig and glass butterflies down her neck like a necklace. A man with purple lipstick and golden gloves, pointing at them through the window of the train, squealing. Someone in an elaborate coat with the single ugliest orange stitching Sicheng has ever seen.

The whole thing made his gut sink to his feet, even as the trio were ushered out of the train after it stopped and rushed out of the station and to an aircraft, a small thing flying them to a tall building with people crowding the lobby and entrance.

Everything was a blur; Sicheng and his brother bombarded by cameras and people asking questions, yelling and tugging on Lay after landing. They made their way into the lobby and their rooms, strange looks between admiration and sick sadism crossing the other's faces. The only thing Sicheng really noticed was when he almost bumped into a boy his own age, maybe older, with red hair and intense eyes that seemed to stare through him.

Lay showed them to their rooms on a floor supposedly with other tributes. He jokingly called it Death's Row, an old practice before the days of Panem, before Renjun cursed at him in every language he knew. Then he let the pair go.

Renjun was supposed to get settled in his own room before meeting their stylists, but simply followed his brother into his room instead.

"It's like we're pets or something." Renjun observed, looking around Sicheng's room and nodding. "The weird people at the train station. And below." He looked out of the window and sure enough was crowds flashing photos despite the windows being heavily tinted.

"I don't want to room without you." Sicheng admitted suddenly, Renjun laughing at him. The oldest frowned and rolled his eyes, Renjun never having been one for sentiment.

"You're just scared of the dark."

Sicheng shrugged and fell back onto his bed, nearly sinking into the softest fabric he'd ever felt. If he wasn't destined to die in a week's time, he'd be ecstatic, maybe even enjoying the luxury.

He was exhausted. Just this morning he was chosen for the Hunger Games of all things, fatigued, sleepy, and bombarded by lights and screaming. So, this moment of peace lulled him to sleep, a floaty feeling taking him over.

"Maybe I am. But I don't know how long we have; if I don't have to face the dark..." Sicheng yawned, tiredness falling upon him fast. "... then I won't."

His eyelids drooped as Renjun chuckled more. His body went limp on the soft sheets and blankets, still in his Reaping clothes.

Before sleep consumed him, the last thing he felt was a smaller body curl into his side and match his breathing, smaller arms thrown over his own as he whispered so quietly:

"I won't let you face it alone, ge. Don't worry."

Chapter Text

“Wake up! Oh my god, we’re late to your meeting!” Lay groaned, Renjun stirring and kicking him in his waist. Sicheng, a much lighter sleeper, sat up in confusion.

“M-Meeting?” He asked, words slurred with grogginess. Lay smacked Renjun’s leg and looked at the older brother worriedly.

“Yes. You’re an hour late to meet Choi-ce! Get your brother awake and fix your hair, we’re going now.” He shot back, clearly upset by this. Sicheng quite literally rolled out of bed and fell to the hardwood with a thud. Renjun woke up, eyelids fluttering open and hissing at the sight of their mentor.

A van ride this time, they arrived with a bodyguard at a glass facility, tall like the tributes’ hotel had been. Fancy Capitol people walked in and out of the building and Sicheng felt strangely conscious of what he was wearing. Drag gray slacks and an off-white dress shirt, brown and blonde hair slightly tousled.

Lay made them follow him through the facility and four different elevators before finding the east wing of the fifteenth floor. A man sat a reception desk, back facing the large glass window.

“Beomgyu? Are they in?”

“Yes, but they were debating getting dinner. Yeonjun convinced Binnie to stay and meet them.” A man with long black hair looked from Lay to Renjun to Sicheng. His lipstick was deep black with rhinestones matching his earrings and Sicheng was simply in awe.

“Perfect. May we see them? Consultation things.” Lay asked, Beomgyu typing something on a holographic board, like the one in District Seven’s city hall. Sicheng had only been once, but was amazed when he saw the board as a child.

Beomgyu pointed them to a door and Lay thanked him, before opening the door carefully for Renjun and Sicheng. A moment of silence followed and Sicheng worried about the stylist. Would they be uptight? Mean? Serious? Not serious enough? Lacking style themself?

He looked around a room furnished with fluffy periwinkle sofas and white tables and chairs, beautiful lights hanging overhead like beads. The glass windows showed off the Capitol’s beautiful city skyline and Sicheng was jealous in that moment that people woke up and simply saw the sight, as if it were nothing. Luxurious rugs and paintings adorned the walls, clothes and glitter draped over a few mannequins around the studio. Two flamboyant looking men looked at him, one nearly confused, one relieved, sitting across from each other on the sofas.

“Is that them? They’re so adorable!” A man with pink hair streaked with blue and blue lip gloss to match squealed, running over to the brothers. He almost tripped in his expensive looking boots, the heel nearly making him trip. He wore a light pink sweater that exposed his stomach and jeans too large, yet stylish.

The taller man shook his head and placed his hands in his coat pocket, blue hair matching the deep sapphire of it. “Yeonjun! Please, they already might be overwhelmed! You must have had a rather… hard day.” He sympathized, walking past the pink haired man and instead reaching a hand out to the brothers. “Poor things. I’m Soobin Choi. Half of Choi-ce. We’re some of the best stylists in the Capitol, promise that.”

The man with the pink hair stood behind Soobin. “Get it? Choi-ce? Because it’s like ‘choice’, but it’s our name? Oh, nevermind.” The man frowned when the pun was lost on the brothers. “Anyways, I’m Yeonjun Choi.”

Sicheng took his hand and didn’t know how to respond. “Ah. Nice to meet you, I’m Sicheng. That’s Renjun.” He nodded to his brother. Pink hair (Yeonjun, was it?) decided to make his way back up and messed idly with Renjun’s hair, picking at the split ends.

“Touch my hair and you die.” Renjun warned, Yeonjun just cooing and still playing with the dark, long locks of thin hair.

“Aw! Binnie, doesn’t he remind you of Tae? Oh, our sweet little Taehyun!” Yeonjun dramatically swooned, Renjun scowling. “You remind us of our son!”

“How fun.” Renjun replied dryly, Soobin pulling Yeonjun away from the boys and shooting him a look.

Soobin looked to Lay. “I’m sorry. After what happened last year, he’s been doing this toxic positivity thing, I’m sorry about that. I think he thinks if he smiles enough…” He pinched the bridge of his nose as Lay shook his head assuring him it was fine and that he understood. Sicheng looked on, confused. Soobin spoke again, explaining that all he had to do was have a few talks with the boys and take their measurements and they could be on their way. In the meantime, though, Soobin directed Lay to a mini-fridge in the room with a wink if he was thirsty.

“If it’s okay with the two of you…” Soobin addressed the brothers and they both peeked up. “Yeonjun would like to speak to the youngest, and I would like to consult with you.” He looked at Sicheng in his eyes, and the younger noticed the man’s wide eyes seemed empty. Seemed distant, despite his smile that curved upwards, Sicheng trying not to stare at his deep dimples every time he did.

Sicheng nodded and Renjun huffed, Yeonjun jumping up and squealing, tugging on the youngest’s arm and pulling him towards the periwinkle couches. Soobin rolled his eyes and motioned for Sicheng to follow him to another part of the studio, a room with more glass and two larger pink sofas, a singular sunset painting on the wall in between them.

“Do you have any ideas for your chariot costume?” Soobin asked quietly and suddenly this all became real to Sicheng. He was here as a tribute for the Games. He was to ride the streets in a costume to be shown off to the Capitol. He was to train and die within a week, the next week.

A sick feeling bubbled up as he shook his head, Soobin nodding and writing something down. Sicheng clutched as his abdomen thinking about the chariots. It was a tradition to be styled in your district’s garb or a costume representing it. Representing what your district provides to the Capitol. The sick, sick Capitol people and their twisted tradition.

“No. Not at all…” His voice was shaky as he messed with his nails, pressing them against his thigh to avoid biting them.

“No idea? We’ve got a lot of work to do.” Soobin chuckled, eyes becoming serious as he leaned across the table and placed his clipboard on his lap. “Now tell me, who is Sicheng Dong and what is District Seven to him?”

Chapter Text

“Woah. I’m… I’m hot.” Renjun blurted, Lay doubling over in laughter at the statement’s bluntness. The entire day was spent with the Choi duo making finishing touches on their costumes, hair pulled and face yanked, but Renjun sure found it worth it.

Sicheng hadn’t seen himself in the mirror yet, but his heart pounded in his chest in anticipation of what he would see. If he looked anything even a fraction like his brother did, he wasn’t sure he’d live to even see the Games; he’d die on the spot at his reflection.

✨💚✨

“So… Sicheng Dong is a son of District Seven, child of one deceased parent, the other a baker. Interesting.” Soobin looked over his notes, Sicheng itching at his thigh in discomfort. He nodded nonetheless as the stylist kept going. “He likes to hide in the woods with his brother and likes to write, but not read. Interesting.” He sucked in a breath and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, staring at him. “And he says red is flattering on him? We’ll see how well that holds up.”

There was some amusement in Soobin’s voice as he backed away, retrieving his tape measure for last minute double-checking of limb size.

“Lastly… he thinks he’s not pretty. Despite having a pixie face? Hm.” Soobin’s measuring tape clicked as he retracted it and moved to his legs. He said nothing else, jotting down a few numbers and offering a smile.

“Are we done?” Sicheng asked, tired. It was surely late at night, as they arrived fairly late in the evening. Soobin laughed softly and nodded as Sicheng yawned, the stylist situating his pen in his hair.

“Yes, Taeh- Sicheng.” His voice wavered as he spoke the wrong name, but the boy didn’t notice it, eyes drooping. “We’re finished. I’ll see you tomorrow for the fitting, okay?”

✨💚✨

The two stood in a mirror, the stylists standing behind them excitedly. Sicheng eyed himself and his brother in awe, mouth agape.

Renjun’s hair was washed and bleached blonde in the back, the front black. Two silver dangling clip-on earrings hung from his ears, matching his expensive looking watch. Plain black dress pants and a white shirt half-unbuttoned. Tall combat boots and a dusty-looking belt on his waist, holstering an axe identical to Sicheng’s own. A muted red jacket drowning in plaid fitting his thin arms perfectly. Renjun’s eyes accentuated with dark eyeshadow and some dusted gray color on his top lip.

Sicheng stared at himself, nearly looking the same with his hair brushed to exposed his forehead. Dark makeup, but his eyeshadow had a tinge of crimson when he looked closer. Same small axe in the holster. A slut in his eyebrows.

Yeonjun clasped his hands together as the boys stared at themselves in the mirror, barely recognizing themselves. “Is it okay? We’re better with female tributes, I think.”

Soobin nudged him. “But, we did attempt our best nonetheless! Really, we hope you like it.” He admitted, Sicheng turning to him with glassy eyes.

There was so much he wanted to say; He wanted to admit that if he died tomorrow, way before the Games even started, he’d be okay. He looked beautiful, more beautiful than he’d ever seen himself. Any insecurity he’d ever had seemed to wash away in that moment.

And yet, nothing came out. Just a deep bow and a sigh, a sigh to keep from crying. Renjun smiled slightly, tugging at his hair.

“Not too bad.” Renjun shrugged, turning back to himself in the mirror. Soobin let out a sigh of relief at that, Lay shaking his hand and then Yeonjun’s.

The two were escorted into a hallway. Again, Sicheng soon fell into a blur. Somehow, he found himself backstage after being escorted to a room with other tributes chatting in their costumes and makeup. Some sat tiredly on sofas and others stood in corners, away from each other. But mostly everyone talked to each other.

Yeonjun, Soobin, and Lay had left Sicheng and his brother alone a few moments ago and the older brother had forgotten to ask Soobin something fairly important about their routine. But as he entered the hallway again, the stylist was gone. Instead, he bumped into someone, chest against chest as they ran into him, Sicheng staying upright but whoever else nearly falling back.

“Oh… woah.”

Someone breathed out, standing back, about to speak but instead staring at Sicheng, gaze not wielding. His jaw was slack and Sicheng felt awkward having stopped whoever it was in his tracks. They wore a complicated suit of scales like a fish, a crown of shell fragments and flowers atop his head, pearl bracelets, anklets, and necklaces around his wrists, legs, neck. Beige sandals wrapping around his shin and contrasting to his tan skin, though decorated with scars.

“Have you seen Shotaro? Oh my god.” The other boy’s head whipped around and Sicheng quirked up an eyebrow. He realized was the boy in the hotel lobby he’d seen the day before, intense eyes and long, fiery red hair pulled into a ponytail now.

“Uh… no? I’m sorry.” Sicheng offered a little bow in return. He couldn’t help but stare at just how absurdly beautiful the other boy was; long jawline and a small, soft smile playing on the corners of his lips. He sighed dramatically and waved at Sicheng before heading off to another part of the backstage.

“Oh. Thanks, anyways!”

The boy was gone as soon as he came and Sicheng became curious. He more-or-less followed the other up the stairs and to the next level, watching his red hair fly behind him as he darted around for something.

That is, until he seemed to spot him. Red hair tugged into a ponytail, facing something in his tracks with his shoulder hunched defensively. His shoulders visibly relaxed however as the older boy saw a child about Renjun’s own age. His light brown hair framed is face and blue-green eyeshadow accentuated his small, yet doe-like eyes. His face curled into a smile as he saw the red-haired boy and Sicheng noticed they wore similar outfits.

“Oh, thank goodness! You weren’t in the lobby, I didn’t know where you were!” The older boy’s voice was soft and Sicheng raised an eyebrow at just how gentle this quiet, intense boy was being. The smaller boy grinned, and pulled at someone that Sicheng couldn’t see from behind his pillar.

“Yuta! This is Sungchan! He’s from District Six!” The small boy beamed, bringing over a tall kid who looked at the older boy, apologetically. The tall kid was lanky and awkward, smiling as if he were embarrassed. His red-brown hair was fairly long and he pushed a few strands from his face to look at the older boy.

“Making friends wherever you go, hm?” Yuta chuckled, shaking his head and ruffling the younger boy’s hair. Shotaro smiled brightly and Sicheng decided to duck farther behind the pillar, realizing it rude to intrude. A stern voice called Sungchan and he apologized to the pair, walking off. Yuta had explained that it was fine and that Shotaro and himself were some of the first to be presented anyways, so he understood.

Sicheng stared at the back of Yuta’s neck, now. His crimson hair was long, but the ponytail exposed skin dotted with purple, as if it we bruised. He couldn’t help but to wonder where awful purple bruises like that were from, as his own never bloomed on his neck. It seemed strange and the longer he stared, it seemed as if he stared a hole through Yuta.

Yuta’s head quirked up and he looked almost directly at Sicheng with a quizzical expression, the younger ducking behind his wall and sucking in a sharp breath. He prayed Yuta didn’t see him, but it felt like he could, like he’d definitely been spotted.

He tip-toed away to the stairwell and headed back to the main backstage.

“Well, now he probably thinks I’m a creep.” Sicheng muttered to himself as he entered the lobby, pushing through two tributes older than himself before sitting in a sofa near his brother. Renjun’s eyes became wild as they looked up at him, overhearing.

“I’m sorry, what the fu-“

“Tributes! Make your way to your chariots, please. The exit is this way, follow the Avoxes.” A man dressed plainly (considering the Capitol) in a black suit and vest, barely any makeup, and semi-long black hair approached with a device close to his mouth like a megaphone. He seemed unbothered, though his words more of a shout. He wore a cheesy nametag that read “Hello! My Name Is: DEAN” and Sicheng mentally noted the name. It sounded nice.

Other tributes shuffled away, some laughing and other jeering at Dean for simply doing his job. Sicheng looked back at the stairwell, wondering if Yuta got the memo -Yuta was such a pretty name, he noted earlier- and if he were on his way, before turning his head back to the exit.

He shouldn’t think like that, shouldn’t think in consideration. Even someone as gentle kind as Yuta could be a stone-cold killer, not thinking twice before murdering Sicheng for simply breathing wrong. Because the harsh reality of the Games reminded him that he wasn’t here to make friends and that he shouldn’t give a shit whether or not anyone misses the chariots. No, he should only think about himself, starting now.

… But really, he couldn’t help but to have Yuta on his mind; his intense eyes and gentle, healing smile plaguing his thoughts as he tried his hardest to put up a wall, a wall that Yuta was already beginning to take down brick by brick.

Chapter Text

Sicheng stood at his chariot, two Avoxes helping him into the large vehicle. A bronze chariot with paint resembling light rust and a smoothed wooden interior. There were, of course, two soft seats of birch wood, cushion. and faded crimson leather. Pulled by two stark black horses, it looked much more majestic than Sicheng had thought it would be.

The two sat restlessly and Sicheng was really hit by the realization that this was the kind of event he always saw on the broadcast. This had been his favorite part of the games; he always loved the opening ceremony, seeing the outfits and the chariots and tributes. It usually gave him hope but tonight as he sat in the position he thought unthinkable, a sickly, despairing feeling pooled in his stomach.

The chariots pulled away slowly as the announcers muffled out a “District Seven: Lumber”. The jolt of the vehicle nearly made Renjun fall as the horses began to trot on, right behind District Six’s train themed chariot (which both brothers found sort of lame in compared to how sleek theirs was). Sicheng focused on what Lay told him, smiling and waving cutely at the crowd as the chariot pulled forwards, his other hand grinning his axe tightly at his side. Cute semi-smiles all around as Renjun refused to pull any faces or even look at the cameras.

Down the main avenue as the crowds screamed and watched them, cameras and drones bombarding them to get every angle and every emotion, neither brother truly giving any real feelings up. Sicheng had to remember to stay guarded, as he knew he couldn’t trust anyone. He also wasn’t used to the wacky, strange outfits of the Capitol citizens, large wigs and exaggerated makeup, flamboyant coats and attitudes. The fashion still unsettled him a little.

The ride seemed to take forever and every so often Sicheng looked behind him to make sure that the District Eight chariot followed behind. Not that he gave a shit about them, but that seeing others in his place was comforting in a way; the feeling tethered him back to reality.

Eventually they approached their destination: a large cul-de-sac in front of a large building looking up to a golden box. Citizens screamed on the other side of the road’s barrier and Sicheng felt nauseous again.

An older man stepped from curtains behind the golden balcony and Sicheng paled; the man was President Sooman, the most powerful man in Panem. Sooman stood regally looking down at everyone without so much as a smile, stoic face and narrowed eyes. Renjun scoffed beside Sicheng, unimpressed and pissed off.

The man cleared his throat into a microphone as the last chariot arrived. He stood facing the masses and raised his arms to begin some rehearsed, half-assed speech that Sicheng wasn’t really listening to. As the President finished his speech, the Capitol clapped, most tributes clapped, and in turn Sicheng felt pressured to give a polite clap, looking upwards where the President was speaking to two officials, back turned and hands behind his back.

Renjun picked up his axe as the President turned his back, grinning and holding it in his calloused, tiny hands. Gingerly, he held the axe like he’d known to do back in Seven, as if he were to chop wood. Slowly and dramatically, however, it raised higher than poised to do chores. Sicheng’s eyes widened in fear and anticipation.

Renjun aimed carefully, holding his axe towards the President’s golden box above everyone. He reeled back the weapon as if to throw it, the crowd gasping as his hands flung forwards and stopped dramatically.

Sicheng was speechless that his brother would even mimic executing President Sooman. Renjun shot the cameras a sick smirk and put his hands down slowly, making eye contact with Sicheng himself. The oldest brother was livid, a thousand thoughts and angry words towards Renjun swirling through his head.

The insane amount of danger he’d put them in -the danger he put their mother in… was he out of his mind? The President’s back was turned, but rest assured he’d find out about this sooner than Sicheng would like.

As the President walked back behind the red curtain without so much as a farewell -thank the heavens he hadn’t happened to look backwards- cameras all turned to Renjun, flashing and blinding him as the chariots began moving again, turning back to where they came.

The ride back to the first building was full of screams and camera flashes his way, but all he could think about was the insanity that his little brother put him in. As if the situation wasn’t tense enough! The nerve of him to mimic hurting the President and fear no consequences.

Reporters flooded behind the barrier as they left their chariot, photos snapped in such hurry and haste. Every tribute rushed into the building where they were rushed to several elevators. Sicheng spotted Dean again, directing them upstairs for some sort of a meeting. Each teen was undoubtedly too tired for a meeting, but supposed that they didn’t mind dealing with one meeting rather than dealing with punishment.

A dinner was held between the tributes and mentors, not much talking between any of them. Some short kid with a pointed nose and a venomous gaze sparked up a conversation, though he seemed to be the only person engaged in it as he bragged and boasted about himself. At some point Sicheng noticed Yuta get up quietly and excuse himself, his hands subtly shook as he removed his plate and bowed at the others and the Avoxes. Renjun spoke briskly with the boy next to him, light pink hair brushed out of his face and crowned with a wreath of fruits that Sicheng couldn’t tell was fake. The dinner was brief and Sicheng avoided talking to most of them, spacing out again as he tended to do.

“You can’t just disassociate any time things become too much.” Lay reprimanded, though his tone was light. Sicheng shrugged and turned back to the head of the table, who announced that there would be two more dinners between them all before the day of the Games, to which elicited mostly annoyed groans.

After the dinner, Sicheng got himself together, noticing Shotaro smiling and talking with the tall boy from earlier and a group of rather intimidating tributes traveling together and whispering amongst themselves as they all departed. Something bit at the back of his mind and the back of his neck, something he forgot but itched to remember. Something urgent that he couldn’t quite place.

Another van to the tribute building -one shared with two boys from District Eight- and they were back in their lobby, dodging lingering cameramen. Renjun only smiled and repeated his earlier action, raising his axe above his head to scare the cameras away. He giggled as they all scampered and Sicheng grabbed his ear harshly for it.

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Winnie, what the hell was that for?!” Renjun whined as Sicheng pulled him into the elevator. Sicheng was livid, remembering exactly what he was pissed about like an itch that needed to be scratched; he was angry about Renjun’s little stunt.

“You could get us killed!” Sicheng growled, Renjun slumping against the elevator door and folding his arms.

“What good is killing us now?” He sassed back, staring at Sicheng and smirking. “We’ll die in a few days time. What’s a little fun? A little ‘fuck you’ to the Capitol?”

Sicheng only got angrier, his face staying stoic but his voice rising. “There’s still mother. Heeseung.” He reminded, pointing vaguely to the starry horizon through the glass elevator window. “They could kill them for what we do!”

Renjun’s throat went dry as he realized what he did. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Sicheng mocked, looking at the skyline as their elevator stopped and the doors began to open. “Don’t do that again, okay? One of us should return to mother safely, you-“

And in front of him, the thing that made him stop in the middle of his sentence, was Yuta. His bright red hair disheveled and his arms around himself protectively. He was shivering, wearing only his scale-like pants from before and a pearl bracelet. His crown of shells and jewelry was gone and red marks ran down his torso. He avidly tried to cover them up as his neck and ears became nearly as red as his hair.

“Yuta?” Sicheng asked quietly and cautiously, sensing that he wasn’t supposed to see Yuta, not like this. The other boy didn’t respond, eyes not meeting Sicheng’s. “Yuta, are you oka-”

“It’s none of your business! I’m just fine!” Yuta snapped, getting in the elevator and practically shoving Renjun out. If Sicheng hadn’t grabbed onto his brother, Renjun probably would have begun a fistfight.

Sicheng was a little put off by Yuta’s aggressiveness, considering he seemed so sweet and sedated when he spoke to him earlier. Something seemed very wrong here, that was for sure.

The elevator doors closed, Yuta’s eyes locking with Sicheng’s with a glint of fear and that was it. The brothers walked to their suite after that, Renjun ranting about ‘rudeness’ as they walked in. Lay was supposed to follow behind, but wanted to have a word with potential sponsors and sent the boys off on their own.

Sicheng turned on their suite lights and Renjun sighed in happiness, being away from the attention and other tributes all night, already taking off his earrings and unbuttoning his shirt. He headed to his bedroom before gasping and coming back to show Sicheng something.

“Hey! Winnie, look!” Renjun tugged on Sicheng gently, dragging him to his bedroom and showing him his window, identical to Sicheng’s own. At first, the oldest brother was confused until Renjun picked up a remote and clicked something. The ‘window’ began to change now, a screen displaying a shoreline, another city view, the starry sky in high definition, and the woods. Renjun left it on the view of the thicket of trees and threw the remote onto the small sofa next to his bed.

“Woah. Looks like the border of Seven.” Sicheng breathed, Renjun lying on his back on his bed and letting out a giggle.

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.” A pause and then: “What do you think the others at home are doing?” Renjun asked innocently and Sicheng frowned. More than likely placing bets on how long they’d last. Losing hope and paying respects already. Consoling their mother, hopefully, but that would probably only be the neighbors’ doing.

So he lied. “Hm… I don’t know. Already cheering us on? Maybe mother is getting comforted right now. Maybe your Tessarae is helping her eat well tonight.” Sicheng whispered, sitting in the sofa and moving the discarded remote to the bedside table instead of his seat. “Who knows.”

Renjun hummed and closed his eyes, pulling the soft sheets to his face. “I hope so. I miss mother.” He sighed, before getting defensive once again. “If you tell anyone I said that, you’re dead.”

Sicheng smiled warmly and made a zipped movement over his lips. Renjun relaxed at that and curled farther into his bed, breaths steadying into a sleepy rhythm.

And as Sicheng looked from his own spot on his chair, a million thoughts raced through his brain.

How cruel the Capitol was for wanting to see a child like this, and see him capable of murder; Other tributes are often even younger than Renjun. It was sickening everytime Sicheng really thought about it, staring at how peaceful and harmless his brother seemed.

Nobody wins the game. Not the tributes, not the victors, not the families… no one.

It’s a sick, sick game.

Chapter Text

“They could really throw you two into anything. Poisonous jungles, tropical islands, frozen tundras… you need to be prepared. Now, you’re lucky; There’s a lot of younger kids close to yours and Renjun’s ages this year, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t bloodthirsty and trained to do this.” Lay warned, looking out into the training gym through the glass windows, the large District Two boy swinging a weight as if it were a child’s toy before flinging it into the target. The room echoed with a large thud and Renjun looked away.

“He’s… strong.” Sicheng breathed out, shocked. Lay looked back with a grim look.

“He’s your age. You have a chance against him.” Lay nodded, pointing towards the doors. “Of course, mentors can’t enter the training ground. But, try to make alliances and don’t show all your tricks at once.”

Sicheng nodded, Renjun staying silent. The youngest walked through the doors without a word and Sicheng soon followed suit.

The room smells sweaty and yells and groans were heard throughout. On a mat, the District Three boys practiced what Sicheng assumed were chokeholds and pressure points. One tribute with bubblegum pink hair studied the graph and charts of berries and fumes possible within the arena and another one stood nearby in a glass case and protective armor, practicing with what looked to be a very sharp Chinese fan.

Renjun had walked off to the District Ten boy, who’d been practicing making traps in a corner of the training room. Sicheng looked around until spotting an approachable crowd; one of the District Nine tributes stood by as another tribute taught Shotaro how to shoot an arrow, a warm smile on his face as if he wouldn’t be pitted against this kid in a mere matter of days.

Shotaro shakily held the bow, docking the arrow and taking a deep breath before aiming and firing. The aim was off, but the older boy -Sicheng remembers hearing his name, Kun- cheered him on anyways. The kid beamed and shyly handed off the bow to the other boys, before standing by and waiting his turn again.

He seemed so… wholesome. He was only a kid, and nearly three years younger than himself. Sicheng’s gut twisted at the thought of poor little Shotaro, body mangled and bloodied in the unforgiving arena.

An older kid standing by Shotaro and the others -maybe the oldest- waved Sicheng over with a smile. Short in stature, the boy held a knife over a rope, more likely than not practicing cutting traps. His choppy brown hair barely fell over his eyes and his jacket looked a little bit too big for his small body.

“Hi! I’m Taeil.” He greeted, waving over Sicheng. “We’re cutting out of restraints and tying knots. I’m teaching… what’s your name again?” He asked a younger kid what his name was, memory fleeting.

The younger kid flashed a smile as Sicheng kneeled near them. He brushed his long, dark hair from his eyes and smiled sweetly. “Yangyang. Liu Yangyang!”

Sicheng nodded and looked over at the knives and ropes questioningly, Taeil showing him gingerly how to tie a knot to secure something and how to escape one as well. Sicheng watched dutifully, not noticing Yuta sit reminiscent to a guarding gargoyle nearby.

Taeil sat, glancing at Sicheng with a pink, blushing face. Yuta couldn’t help but notice the flustered glances he’d sneak at Sicheng as he taught him to tie knots, just the pair of them together and a kid about Shotaro’s age watching carefully that he hadn’t recognized.

Taeil led Sicheng’s hands and held onto his wrist as he cut, the moment much too personal in Yuta’s opinion. The two cut through the rope, Taeil already looking downright infatuated with Sicheng. Yuta rolled his eyes and got up from his spot where he sharpened a sword idly, making his way to the pair.

Yuta stood over them suddenly, prying Taeil’s grip from Sicheng’s arm, admittedly with more force than needed. Taeil looked confused as Yuta narrowed his eyes and let go, turning to Sicheng sweetly.

“You should come over here. We’re practice hand-to-hand combat. Come on, Taro.” Yuta whistled, attempting to get the attention of Shotaro, who was conversing with Sungchan once again a few feet away. It took two whistles before the kid snapped his head up, embarrassed, and followed Yuta and Sicheng.

Yuta made his way to another part of the floor to a open ring. He leaned down and grabbed something, quickly taping his hands and turning to Sicheng, tossing the red roll to him.

“Come on, we’re fighting.”

Sicheng was a little taken aback before remembering where exactly he was. Of course he’d be challenged, he shouldn’t be surprised. He wrapped up his hands and entered the ring wearily, standing awkwardly and glancing around the room.

Yuta pulled his long hair into a ponytail and smirked, taking off his jacket and leaving himself in shorts and his tank top. Sicheng noticed yesterday’s marks were faded, barely noticeable anymore, but perhaps that was just makeup working it’s magic.

A punch to his stomach caught him off guard and another aimed towards his chest, to which he blocked. Yuta smiled softly before punching at Sicheng’s face. The younger boy ducked as Yuta swung again, but both stopped as they were approached by an armored individual.

A short tribute stood in armor, his dark, cat-like eyes staring from inside of an ornate helmet. Sicheng realized that this was the tribute he’d seen earlier with the fan, small but intimidating. He remembers seeing the kid last night as well, boasting and bragging at the dinner table when all else was silent.

“Chittaphon.” Yuta confirmed, the smaller man smirking as he jerked away his helmet and shook his hair back and forth. A sly grin played on his features as he looked at Yuta expectantly, as if he were amused that Yuta even approached him.

Sicheng hadn’t remembered the name Yuta called him, but he was going to call him ‘the tiny one’ or something like that for now. That worked, he guessed.

“Yuta Nakamoto. Quite the pleasure.” The tiny one nodded again, a large figure approaching from behind. Shotaro whimpered quietly and Sicheng noticed him try to stand farther behind Yuta in fear. “This is Lucas. District Two.” His smile was wide, clever. Sicheng immediately put up his guard as if it were up enough in the first place.

Lucas was the kid he’d seen earlier who threw a weight with the effort of throwing a ragdoll; Sicheng shifted his weight away from the Careers, his hands nervously picking at loose threads on his pants now.

“And you’ve brought… oh cute, I hadn’t even noticed your little distractions! They’ll serve nicely, don’t they!” The tiny one clasped his hands together in excitement and Yuta frowned as he continued. “This one looks like he can’t even throw a weight if his life depended on it. And this one looks fast, but not smart enough. Pity.”

Yuta clenched his fists and took a deep breath before things got violent; A fight outside of the arena would ruin practically any alliance chances. “This is Sicheng of District Seven. And this is Shotaro, my own district.” He explained calmly, Ten’s face twisting into an expression Sicheng could only describe as disgust.

“Ah… from Seven. Didn’t even bring me another Career.” The small tribute clicked his tongue in annoyance and looked at Lucas, then back to Yuta. “I hope you have a plan, employing such useless specimens.” He spoke about them as if neither were standing right there and Yuta but the inside of his mouth, holding back a lot of pleasant words. Chittaphon took a step closer to Shotaro and Yuta flinched, braced to fight him with his bare hands. Chittaphon only smiled at the reaction as Lucas flew forwards, sensing a fight he’d have to fight for the smaller boy

“Down, Lucas.” The short tribute ordered as if Lucas were nothing but a guard dog, his piercing, dark eyes never leaving Sicheng’s. The biggest man nodded and backed off, standing behind the smaller. “Now, what makes you think we’ll make any deals with you, Seven? You’re nothing… I could kill you myself in a matter of minutes.” He threatened Sicheng, his dark eyes narrowing threateningly, head cocked to the side. Sicheng avoided his glare, but Yuta stood forwards.

“Chittaphon… I suggest you not threaten my partner, or else my help will be taken elsewhere. As strong as Lucas is and deadly you are, it’d be a shame if either of you fell to a poison berry or lack of water…” Yuta trailed off, grabbing Sicheng’s wrist tightly. “He will be back, or none of us will be.”

Chittaphon’s ears lit up red and he bit the inside of his mouth. Lucas frowned and stepped forwards, but Chittaphon placed a hand on his chest and stopped him from moving forwards. He muttered an order and within seconds, they slunk away. The tiny one shot Yuta a nasty glare, but in a matter of moments, the two were in the other side of the center, busying themselves with removing Chittaphon’s armor.

Chapter Text

That day, Sicheng met all of the tributes within the training center, one way or another.

There was Yuta, of course. He knew him well enough already; the older boy seemed to take a fierce liking to Sicheng, almost protectively. And Sicheng was happy to have befriended him. Or allied, whatever he was calling it.

There was Shotaro too, a talkative little thing who followed Yuta around like a puppy. He tried to befriend everyone who crossed his path, even one of the Peacemakers watching over the training center. He was clever, it seemed, but also dangerously naive and even more dangerously so friendly. Without Yuta, Shotaro didn’t stand much of a chance in Sicheng’s eyes.

Yuta had also taken a notice to a small kid, barely older than Shotaro. Dark hair, oblivious, large dark eyes… Mark was too good. Sicheng almost felt bad for him; Mark didn’t seem like the type to take the games and the circumstances too well. Sicheng imagined that even in the unlikely event of Mark winning the games, the trauma would get him in the end. The guilt, the pain;
Mark was quite soft, quite a kind soul who flinched every time a mannequin was attacked where he could witness it or a loud sound rang out. Sicheng doubted Mark’s ability to kill anything, even in a survival situation. Some people have the guts to do it, but Mark… Sicheng knew Mark wouldn’t last long.

Later that day, he’d also met Chenle, a rather stuck-up little boy younger than Renjun who laughed like a dolphin. He trailed behind a much larger, taller boy, about Taeil’s age, who Sicheng assumed was from the same District. Both children were built like Careers, was scrawny than the others and a perpetual glare on their faces, as if judging everyone around them.

The freakishly tall boy, Sicheng found out, was Johnny. And the small District Two boy (Chitta-something, Sicheng still couldn’t remember) had taken quite the liking to him, sweet-talking Johnny and Chenle to join him and Lucas. He didn’t know exactly what the verdict was, but he assumed that if the Careers all teamed up, there would be trouble.

Speaking of Careers, he had further met Lucas… Sicheng could tell that he wasn’t very smart, but made up for it in charm and muscle. Hell, Sicheng would be lying if he said that Lucas’s pleasant smile wasn’t just that: pleasant. He seemed kind, especially compared to the small boy from the very same district. Lucas was also the strongest tribute by a landslide and so far, acted as the smaller boy’s personal bodyguard. But Sicheng had no fights, no issues with him; he decided to keep an open mind.

Yuta didn’t seem to like Taeil. Any time the oldest would get too close to Sicheng, it seemed like Yuta would tote around the younger tribute instead, dragging him away to show him a cool sword technique or how to make a fire. Taeil still was friendly, but Sicheng noticed how his ears and neck became pink whenever Taeil’s hand grazed his. He wasn’t too sure how to feel about that, to be honest.

There wasn’t much to say about Jungwoo, in Sicheng’s opinion. He turned out much more physically capable than his gentle looks gave off, but something was off about him. Something similar, something familiar that he couldn’t quite place. Jungwoo simply stayed on the other side of the training center the whole time, so Sicheng had no real reason to approach him.

Yangyang was sort of a monster; the kid constantly stood in a glass room, swinging a sword at a moving target. One stab, two stabs, a slash here and there. At one point, the target malfunctioned and stopped moving, to which Yangyang jumped upon it and broke it even farther. By the time he’d left, the dummy had slashes, bite marks, tears in its cloth exterior, and looked downright maimed. Laughing, Yangyang was pried off of the mannequin, which had ended up decapitated by the end of it. The kid had a wild sort of hyperactivity and a feral survival instinct, but soon Sicheng realized he had no real coordination. One wrong move and Sicheng could already hear Yangyang’s cannon boom in his head.

Then there was Hendery. Sicheng didn’t remember much about him other than his large, dark, fish-like eyes. He had a strange name and an even stranger disposition.

Taeyong, an older kid with large eyes (Sicheng thought he was going to cry once, looking into his wet, slightly pathetic baby eyes), bickered every so often with another kid. Sicheng never heard their discussions, but noticed that Taeyong would be practicing throwing knives or would be looking over the other kid’s shoulder, which would make him get defensive and bother Taeyong back. Sicheng didn’t think much of them.

Sicheng didn’t make much of Doyoung either, other than his bickering with Taeyong. Clearly, Doyoung wasn’t a fighter; the boy was always busying himself with supplies rather than weapons and Sicheng found it hard to pay attention to him.

Hansol, a rather reserved kid who didn’t talk to anyone but Johnny, stood off to the side often. Sicheng noticed his observant gaze; Like himself, Hansol was watching the others, evaluating, waiting. Sicheng didn’t see him do any combat training, but noticed his eagerness to make explosives. Often, he noted, the other boy watched a screen and messed around with some wires, a few sparks and yelps of terror from Mark in return.

Jisung was the youngest. A tall child with hands too large for his body, Jisung was sort of lonely and wandered the training center, looking at everyone else’s with frightened eyes. Sicheng hadn’t taken too much notice to him other than when the boy was finished with his lunch and still looked hungry, prompting Sicheng to give the little boy the rest of his lunch. The boy had mumbled out a small thank you and that was it, avoiding Sicheng’s eyes like the plague.

There was Sungchan, who often giggled and talked with Shotaro. He was lanky and young, every so often practicing with the knives before the tributes from District Two kicked him out of the station. Poor guy.

Sicheng had met Jaehyun, who apparently was his age. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have assumed that the kid was closer to Taeil and Johnny’s age. Dimples and a flashy smile, clearly this boy had been depending on sponsors to get far. He did challenge Johnny to a few faux fistfights, but it was clear that Johnny overpowered him and did it easily. Jaehyun wasn’t quite the most physically powerful, he noted, but he wanted to keep an eye on him nonetheless.

Renjun had busied himself with two other boys, a kid named Jaemin and another named Jeno. Jeno was physically strong, with a strapping jaw and large arms; Sicheng had seen him earlier in the day making traps, but noticed him make his way towards Renjun and try to spark up a conversation. He was, of course, immediately shut down with a sarcastic remark, but that hadn’t lasted long when he simply resorted to following Renjun around.

The other, Jaemin, looked scrawnier. His arms were large enough to carry heavy things, but instead he busied himself with a screen all day, bubblegum hair facing the large screen of bugs and plants, as well as gases and weather. Was he memorizing them? Studying? Or was he just playing a game? Sicheng couldn’t tell, but inferred that Jaemin was more focused on survival than combat.

A fourth boy trained with the trio, a boy named Donghyuck (Sicheng remembered kept insisting that everyone call him “Haechan” instead) was witty and clever, Sicheng could tell. Sun-kissed skin and round, scheming eyes, Haechan watched everything around him as if he were planning four steps ahead of everyone. He had found a scythe and decided loudly to challenge anyone who approached him; Sicheng was impressed when the kid outsmarted everyone who took his challenge, only losing to Lucas’s brute strength (and leaving the ring with a sprained wrist as a result).

Kun was a sweet older boy with silver hair and a comforting smile. He was usually found at a practical station, teaching the younger children survival tactics, such as how to find water. Another tribute solely focusing on survival, Sicheng can’t recall seeing Kun with an actual weapon in training.

Xiaojun was a pretty tribute, but unless he had sponsors, he clearly wouldn’t make it too far. The boy really just played in his pretty, long blonde hair, combing through it with his fingers and watching others. He had tried his hand at a few weapons before giving up and sitting near Hendery.

And of course, lastly was the District Two boy with the long name. For the life of him, it seemed, Sicheng couldn’t remember the kid’s name. It didn’t matter much anyways, he guessed. Clearly, he didn’t like Sicheng very much if his glares and avoidance were anything to go by. He only trained between two stations: knife throwing and whatever the armored activity was. And woah, was he scary with knives. His aim was terrifying, never missing no matter how far we was from a target, a moving target.

Sicheng had sized them up and by the end of the training period, the sun had set below the clouds. He’d brushed up on axe throwing and lifted some weights with Taeil, but other than that he felt… regretful. He thought he could have done more with the day than simply observing.

As he watched the city skyline zoom past from his seat on the lightning-fast train, he thought back to each and every face he had seen that day. He thought wished he had more time to fight them, more time to talk to each of them, more time to plan an offensive strategy.

But as they say, know your enemy. Sicheng wasn’t like that, wasn’t very bold or much of a fighter. So he settled in that night pleased with himself; The best offense is a damn good defense.

Chapter Text

"Why can't the two of you sleep apart?" Lay groaned, shaking Sicheng gently. The oldest stirred awake to see his mentor snatch the blankets off of Renjun's small frame in order to wake him up, the boy simply cursing and going back to bed.

"I didn't even notice..." Sicheng mumbled, stretching as he stood up from his chair; Once again, Sicheng fell asleep in Renjun's room. His little brother had sprawled out, exhausted, on the large bed as Sicheng had fallen asleep in a comfy chair.

Lay clicked his tongue and looked out of the window (a window that Sicheng wasn't even completely sure was a real window) in thought.

"We have to be back at the training compound in an hour. You have evaluations."

Sicheng's breath got stuck in his throat and his eyes widened. "E-Evaluations?! But, I'm not ready! Nobody told me!"

"This is the Games, nobody should have to tell you. Figure it out." Lay turned his back on Sicheng and tugged on Renjun's leg. The youngest boy hissed and raised his fists as if he were going to hit his mentor, but grumbled and stomped away instead to the bathroom. Sicheng, on the other hand, ran a shaky hand through his disheveled brown hair.

What was he to do? He had no real skills, not much combat experience, couldn't even seem to charm the cameras! He was certainly done for if he couldn't think of something... and quick.

• • 🖤 • •

"Are you nervous?" Renjun asked quietly. Sicheng opened his eyes, his nap interrupted.

Yes... no...

"I don't know. Kind of." He snapped, Renjun closing his mouth and turning towards his window. Lay's conversation in the front seat was muffled by glass and Sicheng decided not to eavesdrop because of it.

"Do you have a routine? Or a fight? Or a dance! You like dancing!" Renjun tried again.

Sicheng groaned, getting more and more annoyed. He had a headache as it was, does Renjun not know when to shut up? "I don't have one. Dancing isn't going to get me anywhere, Renjun, this is the Hunger Games. That's dumb."

The car was silent once again, save for Lay's muffled chuckles and the hum of the car on the smooth road.

"Winnie? What are you going to do, then?" Renjun whispered, fidgeting with his hands. Sicheng tugged at his jacket sleeve and looked out of the window and at the passing skyscrapers.

"Ah, I don't know! I don't have anything, stop asking me stupid questions! I'm anxious enough!" Sicheng hissed back, Renjun recoiling at the unexpected aggression. The younger boy just looked down at his hands as the van pulled into a parking garage underground. Sicheng looked over and attempted to say sorry, but as soon as the van was stopped and parked in the training compound, Renjun practically leaped out of the car and away from his brother.

You ruin everything, Sicheng. You can't fight, you don't have a plan for evaluations... you can't even be nice to your little brother!

Sicheng shook his head as if to get rid of the bad thoughts as they walked to an elevator around the corner. A ride to a floor Sicheng had never been to along with his brother, Lay, and two bodyguards and they stepped into a wide hall where he recognized some of the other tributes.

He awkwardly stood by while Lay worked out some things -most likely questions- with nearby officials who stood guard. Kun, the sweet older boy he'd met the day before, had waved him over with a smile and he gladly made his way to the wall Kun was leaned on.

"They aren't letting us in yet." Kun hummed, his kind smile unrelenting. "Not until they check us and make sure we don't have outside items or weapons or things like that."

"District One goes first, right? Then Two, then so on?" Sicheng asked quietly. Kun nodded, but something in his eyes flashed with... fear?

Kun bit his lip, still smiling. "Yes. Two is being trained this year, though, by... a child. I think they're older than him, even. Well, the little one is. Surely you remember last year's games, right?"

Sicheng's face scrunched up as he thought back to watching the footage; Last year, he hadn't paid much mind to the Games at all.

Kun continued; "Oh, Jeon Jungkook! He..." His voice quivered, casting a glance towards the District Two tributes across the hall standing with a tall boy their age, tattoos and piercings adorning his porcelain skin who giggled along with another victor. Sicheng concluded that must be their mentor.

"Last year, he killed eight tributes all by himself. The Games only lasted three days and he finished off a third of the competition. He's a beast. Killed his own districtmate too." Kun's voice was hushed as he looked from Jungkook to Sicheng wearily. "But the worst part was... he murdered someone in cold blood, and ate him. Dismembered, bloodied... he didn't even look human anymore, just a strange suit of organs. It was so bad, the Capitol had to avert the cameras elsewhere."

He's a... cannibal. What if they take notes on what he did? Would Lucas eat me? I don't doubt it, he's humongous. How ruthless did Jungkook train them to be?

"Who did he kill?" Sicheng finally asked, pulling himself out of his own thoughts.

"One of the other finalists, Yugyeom. District One tribute, lived on the border of One and Two and would often visit him in secret. His... boyfriend. I know it hurt Jungkook; When he did it, you could see the utter despair in his-"

A muffled voice rang out and screens emerged from the walls suddenly, cutting Kun off. A briefing video was played, through the audio was too muffled to really understand. A door opened down the hall and mentors were told not to enter as the tributes did.

Sicheng stepped into a sterile, silent grey room. The walls were clean and there were spotless metal benches to sit on; Clearly, it seemed they'd wait here was evaluations were done, up until their name being called.

They had to sit in order, so Renjun sat next to him (still not acknowledging him at all) and the boy with large eyes from District Eight with the odd name.

One by one, names were called.
One by one, Sicheng's nerves became fried and his heartbeat became louder and louder.

He heard the names and watched as they all walked away into the evaluation and didn't come back out.

Renjun cast him a look as his name were called, then he too was gone.

At last, Sicheng's name was called. The District Eight boy with the large eyes looked at him and smiled, but Sicheng didn't return it. He walked as strong and unshakably as he could to the door and took a deep breath as he entered the evaluation...

• • 🖤 • •

Their stylists burst into the boys' suite as if on cue with a bottle of champagne, Yeonjun squealing and scooping up Renjun, hugging him to his chest. Soobin stood by, shooting Lay a sympathetic half-smile.

"Oh! Renjunnie scored an eight, how wonderful!" Yeonjun cheered, Renjun squirming and attempting to pry himself out of the designer's arms.

Soobin walked over, handing a small gift bag to Sicheng without anyone else noticing. "Congrats on the six... I'm sorry my fool of a husband didn't-"

"It's fine." Sicheng assured, peeking into the bag curiously. Soobin noticed and nodded, his dangling earrings seemingly nodding with him.

Soobin gave him a little grin and Sicheng couldn't help but notice how rabbit-like it looked. "You can open it, dear. Whenever you feel is best."

"Soobin, he truly reminds me of our little Taehyunnie! Oh, I do miss him." Yeonjun put a dramatic hand on his heart after letting go of Renjun. Soobin made a face and furrowed his perfectly plucked eyebrows, turning away from the pair and back to Sicheng.

"Truly, I am sorry. He's... he's still mourning."

Sicheng smiled; Although he and Renjun weren't talking, he enjoyed the bustle of the stylists, Lay, and himself celebrating loudly. He was whisked away to a moment, even so brief as to be insignificant and unreal, to a reality where this was normal. Where he wouldn't be dead in a matter of days.

As they cheered, whooped, and cried (which was mostly Yeonjun), Sicheng couldn't help but the feel happy, the serotonin so rare and foreign in his brain.

Happy.

• • 🖤 • •

The suite was dark and Renjun was sleeping already. Sicheng still had to go to his room, but more than likely would sleep right next to his brother.

"Tomorrow's the last day, kid. This is it." Lay whispered. "TV screens and after that... the Game will begin. You ready?"

Sicheng's heart dropped; He knew well that he'd have to enter the arena soon, but the week had flown by much too fast.

"I... I don't think I can't do it. I'm going to try and not die. Stay alive, but r-really, I-" Sicheng's voice was much more hoarse, weaker than usual. Much different from his happy cheers of the night. As if all of the anxiety, the weight, the worry were dropped onto his lungs by Lay.

Lay bit the inside of his cheek and seemed to contemplate himself. "I didn't think I could either. I was just this... scrawny kid pitted against near adults. But I survived." He began, finding his words carefully but not meeting Sicheng's gaze. "And... yeah, I don't know if you'll come out alive either. I really don't, none of us do. But, you have to promise me one thing. You and Renjun both."

Sicheng looked up at him quizzically, his throat dry and head spinning. "What?"

Lay finally looked into the kid's eyes, a foreign look of pleading in them that Sicheng hadn't quite seen before. "Don't just 'not die'. That's not enough and neither is winning. Sicheng, you have to survive."

Chapter Text

This was it; today was the last day.

Renjun cuddled up closer into Sicheng’s chest, snoring softly. All Sicheng could do was sit up, awake, and stare at the ceiling, unable to move.

Al he could do was stare as Lay woke them up, not realizing that Sicheng had long been awake.

All he could do was stare when the Capitol buildings passed again through the tinted windows of the bullet train.

All he could do was stare as the dark reality set in.

All he could do was stare as the stylists glamorized him one more time.

All the could do was stare as the sun set on yet another day, a day of nothing. A day of life, practically wasted.

All he could do was stare as he saw someone he barely recognized in the mirror, dark eye makeup and a slick black suit, red eyeshadow at the corners of his eyes and an eyebrow slit that hadn’t been there before.

Red lipstick, red tie, red blood.

All he could do was stare as he was paraded into a room to wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Waiting.

Walk. Walking.

And so, he took a little walk. He was supposed to sit and wait in this room away from the other tributes, waiting for his interview, but he couldn’t help but walk.

He opened a door and came to corridor with other doors identical to his own. And where the corridor turned to another hall, he heard giggles. Hushed voices.

Curiosity got the better of him, as it tends to do.

“You’re really pretty…” A hushed voice was heard, followed by a high pitched giggle. Sicheng looked around the hall and towards a stairwell, curious as ever, to find Shotaro and Sungchan whispering and leaning close to each other. It was interesting; a wholesome enough interaction with the two hugging and not letting go, eyes glistening with tears.

“Oh, don’t say that!” Shotaro giggled, eyes glossing up as he did so. “Really, tomorrow is the Games, I’m not sure flattery is going to get you very far.” He mused jokingly, face falling right after.

Sungchan noticed, holding Shotaro’s hand. For a child about his age -maybe younger- he was awfully tall compared to him. Taller than most of the tributes, actually. “What’s wrong?” His voice was gentle and Sicheng could barely make it out.

Shotaro smoothed out his vest with his free hand and sighed, his eyes far away. “Funny thing is… I don’t know what will get us far. I don’t want to lose you, Sungchan.” His voice was shaky and so were his arms, letting go of the other boy’s hand.

“I…” Sungchan couldn’t promise anything, he realized. Not his own safety and not Shotaro’s. Instead of empty words he couldn’t make promise on, he held the smaller boy as he hiccuped, the dam breaking. Shotaro shook lightly as tears fell, the two holding on to each other desperately. For two people so young, they seemed to become so attached quickly. Sicheng’s heart hurt a little bit at the thought of those two in the arena tomorrow.

“Listening in on people has become quite the habit for you, hm?” A deeper voice whispered into Sicheng’s ear suddenly and he violently flinched, jumping back now facing the wall. He scanned the person only to find Yuta, smirking at him with crossed arms.

“I’m sorry. Really, I didn’t mean to…” Sicheng muttered with a blush creeping up his cheeks and to his ears, Yuta stifling a laugh and looking to the younger’s eyes.

He unfolded his arms. “Not like they were doing anything wrong. Finding comfort in another person is weak… but we’re only human. We are weak. Of course they’d cling to each other like that.” Yuta turned his head to the pair, Sungchan now wiping the tears from Shotaro’s eyes with his own threatening to fall.

Yuta continues: “But you were right. The Capitol is full of sick, sick bastards, but we have the choice of what to do in the arena. We don’t have to be as disgusting as those bastards are. Disgusting like they want us to be, I get it.” Yuta reminded, Sicheng only nodding.

He looked at Yuta and then to his hands. “Really, I just said what came to mind. I hate it here.” He let out a weak laugh and clenched his fists. “But I hope they get it. I hope we get it.” He remarked, emphasis on the ‘we’. Yuta only nodded.

“You still aren’t dressed yet.” Sicheng blurted, noticing that Shotaro had been wearing his interview clothes and Yuta wore a faded hoodie that was four sizes too large. Sicheng held back the urge to glance at his collarbone or his neck for marks, suspicions rising.

Yuta’s face darkened. “Right. I had to do something earlier, I promised a… friend something.” He smiled, but Sicheng noted how the corners of his mouth didn’t smile with him.

“But you look really nice. Red is your color, I think.” Yuta mused, changing the subject. All Sicheng could do was nod.

Yuta sat on a bench as the hushed giggled continued. He smiled sadly at the two, who scurried away somewhere else. Sicheng sat with him, the two boy completely silent.

“This is it. Last day before tragedy.” Yuta smirked, though his voice was deadly serious. Sicheng sighed in exasperation, half-tired of thinking about his inevitable death and half-relieved that someone else had brought it up. Yuta, who seemed indestructible, had also seemed to be scared. Apprehensive, at least.

The corridor was silent for a few more moments. The two sat in an awkward silence, Sicheng playing with the edges of his suit sleeve.

“Do you miss home?” Yuta asked softly. Sicheng looked up with a surprised look on his face and into Yuta’s intense, dark eyes. His faces heated up ever so slightly as he shrugged.

“Yes. And no.” Sicheng lowered his gaze and placed his hands in his lap. “A sick, ugly part of me is glad that Renjun is here with me, though.”

“I could say the same about me and Shotaro, to be honest.” Yuta smiled softly. “He isn’t my blood brother, but I’ve been doing everything I can to protect him. If he has to be here, I’d rather…” Yuta trailed off, mouth shutting abruptly.

What does that mean? Sicheng wanted to ask, but kept his mouth shut. He’d rather not pry and make the conversation ugly.

So instead; “What about you? Do you miss home, I mean?”

“Home wasn’t much of a home for me, anyways. I don’t have a home.” The older boy admitted, messing with his long red hair, which Sicheng noticed was messy and slightly tousled.

“Are-”

“Nakamoto! You’re on in an hour! Where have you been?! Get over here!” A woman with luscious blonde hair scolded and interrupted Sicheng, her pretty features poking from a door down the hallway.

Yuta smiled sheepishly at Sicheng, then her. “Sorry, Nayeon! I’ll be there in a second!” He assured, before looking at Sicheng and grabbing his hands in his. Sicheng’s face dusted a pink color and Yuta grinned, his healing smile piercing the darkest depths of Sicheng’s heart.

“You look amazing, I do mean it. Take deep breaths. Don’t panic. You’ll do great out there. I’ve gotta go now, I’ll see you later. Fighting!” Yuta smiled and spoke hurriedly, letting Sicheng’s hands go and walking away.

And so, all Sicheng could do was stare. Stare and walk back to his door, stare and walk parallel to Yuta as he disappeared behind his own.

Chapter Text

“And what will you do if you win?” The interviewer’s voice recited in an accent Sicheng didn’t recognize. Chenle smiled sweetly and looked into the camera, propping his head up on his palms endearingly.

“I don’t really know, but I’ll have more than enough time to think about it after the Games, y’know?” Chenle’s smile was bright, but his eyes didn’t smile with him. “For now, I’ll just try my best!” He winked at a camera and the crowd clapped.

Renjun scoffed beside him, rolling his eyes. The boy’s long hair was pulled into a nice bun on the top of his head with bangs on either side of his face, revealing his annoyed expression.

Sicheng looked at him, but didn’t say anything -he only looked back at the screen as Yeonjun busied himself with applying more blush onto Renjun.

“Ugh! My poor Binnie is sick! I wonder if he’s watching from home… goodness, I hope he is!” The man murmured, daintily dusting a faint rosy color onto an irritated Renjun’s nose. “Gosh, I hope it isn’t anything serious like my little Taehyun…”

There were claps again from the screen and Sicheng paid attention again, Chenle apparently shaking the interviewer’s hand and smiling all the while, waving to the cameras and retreating backstage.

The next person was in a slick black suit like Chenle was, his tall physique filling out the suit quite nicely. The long seam running down his trousers was bejeweled and he wore elaborate earrings and necklaces adorned with gems, just like Chenle had.

Sicheng looked at Johnny and frowned. He had an awful little pit in his stomach that he couldn’t shake, but god, did Johnny make it worse.

“And what will you do if you win?” The interviewer asked, per routine.

Johnny only reclined in his chair, seemingly unbothered. His hands rested behind his head and he smirked knowingly. “It isn’t a question of ‘if’, is it. It’s ‘when’. When I do win, I think I’d like to become a Peacekeeper.”

There were claps on the screen and another scoff from Renjun. Sicheng half-listened to the rest of the interview, only noting how he seemed thrive off of the attention and seemed cocky. Unbothered and laid back.

He practically blinked and the next tribute was onstage in a flash. Sicheng remembers him; Lucas, the charming muscle-pig. His hair was slicked back nicely and he wore an expensive robe with dress pants, topless chest slightly exposed, but he still reminded Sicheng of the futility of putting a puppy in expensive clothing; It was still an rambunctious puppy in the end, one who still wouldn’t know when to sit down and shut up.

“And what will you-“

“I’LL BE THE RICHEST MAN IN DISTRICT TWO! YEAH!” Lucas exclaimed with excitement, practically leaping out of his chair. “AND I’LL, UH TRAIN THE NEW GENERATION WITH ALL I’VE GOT!”

The interviewer looked taken aback, eyes widened as Lucas sat back down in his seat. “Oh my gosh! Someone’s excited, isn’t he? The Games are tomorrow, not today!”

Sicheng kind of laughed at that. Lucas really was like a puppy in expensive clothing, so excited and loyal, but albeit… unintelligent.

“If his arms weren’t humongous, he’d have absolutely no chance in hell.” Renjun observed, Sicheng nodding wordlessly. There was a squeal and Yeonjun turned Renjun around in his chair, the two brothers now matching almost completely apart from Sicheng’s eyebrow slit.

“Isn’t he so wonderfully pretty, Sichengie?” Yeonjun asked, cooing as the youngest swatted him away.

“Yeah. You look really nice, Jun.” Sicheng agreed, giving a comforting smile and thumbs up to Renjun, who only huffed and turned away.

“Oh, don’t huff at me! I mean it!” Sicheng stuck his tongue out playfully at his brother and directed his attention back to the screen, where a new tribute sat in the plush velvet chair wearing a similar outfit to Lucas’s, waving at the cameras endearingly.

Sicheng watched intently, taking notes on whatever he could; Mannerisms, speech patterns, the way his hands moved… anything.

“Nice to meet you, Mister… Chi… Chitta… Chittaphon?” The interviewer asked, butchering the pronunciation. The boy winced but chuckled awkwardly anyways.

“I would say nice to meet you as well, but isn’t it a shame that you don’t know my name, yet I know yours, Mister Bang?” the boy replied cheekily.

Well, knowing the interviewer’s name was a given. Chris Bang was the Capitol’s favorite host of all time. He loved his job interviewing tributes and never made them feel uncomfortable, or so Sicheng’s heard. Everyone knew Chris Bang.

“Oh, I apologize. Did I pronounce it wrong?” Chris sat up straighter in his chair and he waved him off.

“Perhaps… but I’ll allow it since you’re cute. A nice face goes far. It’s quite nice to meet you, Mister Bang.” He mused with a giggle. Sicheng gagged internally.

“Call me Chris.”

As it turns out, the boy has a little sister and both of his parents at home. He apparently is also the nephew of District Two’s mayor, so his family had the resources to put him through a combat academy. The deadly fan moves were part of a routine, not just for fun or to be flashy. It made Sicheng shiver.

Somewhere along the way, he started telling some sob story about a cat, but Sicheng couldn’t focus on that. No, Sicheng was focused on how the tribute looked like a cat himself, ready to pounce and kill its prey at any given moment. His eyes were striking and narrowed like a cheetah’s might be.

“What will you do if you win?”

“Well, with my score of ten, it’s obvious I’d-“ he cocked an eyebrow suddenly and put on a playful grin. “Oh, sir! Are you just trying to get in with me good? Wouldn’t you like to say ‘I knew Chittaphon before the fame!’” He teased, both of them now laughing.

He scored a ten out of twelve last night. A perfectly even, perfectly pretty, perfectly formidable number for him, Sicheng thought.

“I just want everyone to know my name, that’s all.” Ten smiled, though his smile never actually reached his eyes. “And DONT worry… you will.”

The crowd clapped and Ten smirked, looking back at Chris, who raised his eyebrows. “How confident! I expect nothing less of District Two! Ladies and gentlemen… how do I say your name again?” Chris leaned over to Ten, who snatched the microphone and batted his eyes at the cameras again.

“Chittaphon Leechiyapornkul, everyone! Thank you!” Ten said, shoving the microphone back into Chris’s hands and blowing kisses at the camera.

The next tribute stepped onstage, and then the next. The District Three boys were interviewed without much fanfare, and the only part Sicheng caught was the Mark kid waving at the cameras, pitifully and shakily telling his family that he misses and loves them.

Soon enough, a tribute stepped onstage and Sicheng watched intently, this time in intrigue rather than strategy.

Yuta brushed back his long red hair, which matched his crimson vest and pants identical to Shotaro’s. His lipstick had also been done and Sicheng felt himself staring a little too intently at the bright, bloody red that glossed and shone as he spoke.

“Mister Bang! You’re much better looking into reality than on a screen.” He batted his eyes and settled into his chair, moving his long hair to his right shoulder, exposing the left. There were no dark marks, no purple like he’d seen during the evaluation or even earlier in the day. Sicheng sucked in a breath and watched the large screen.

The host blushed a little bit, then cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mister Nakamoto-“

“Please, call me Yuta.” He waved to the camera and his smile was brilliant, more luminous than the lights that bathed the stage. Sicheng marveled at how the man captured the attention of everyone watching, himself included. Yuta seemed so friendly opposed to the training grounds when Sicheng saw him.

It turned out that Yuta had two half-sisters at home and, despite living in the fishing district, was ironically allergic to shellfish. He’d also bragged a little about his family coming from Japan hundreds of years ago and settling in Panem. Sicheng was slightly envious, as he didn’t really know where he was from.

Yuta seemed unbothered, flirting with the camera and doing cute gestures for the audience. Sicheng loved when he’d talk with his hands and flash his pretty nails with pretty black nail polish with silver flames.

“Alright, Mister Nakamoto.” Chris tapped his cue card on his knee and smiled cheesily at the cameras instead of Yuta himself. “What would you do if you won the Games?”

Yuta thought for a moment, before shaking his head. “I’d hate to win if that means Shotaro doesn’t. It’s all for Shotaro, you know?” He nodded. Sicheng didn’t know, but nodded too from where he sat in his waiting room, eyes glued to the screen.

“Really, for me it’s more about the-“

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have crush, Winnie.” Renjun laughed loudly, interrupting Yuta’s speech. Sicheng shot him a dirty look and shushed him loudly.

But by the time he turned his head back to the screen, Yuta was already up from his seat and shaking hands with Chris, preparing to walk off stage. Sicheng groaned and looked Yeonjun.

“What did Yuta say? Did you hear him?” He asked frantically, Yeonjun shrugging.

“Oh dear, I have no idea. I zoned out, love.” Yeonjun replied sympathetically. Sicheng watched in disbelief as Yuta waved at the cameras and even blew one a kiss before walking off.

Of course, the next tribute was Shotaro. Then the District Five boys. Then Sungchan.

“Hello everyone! My name is Kun Qian and this is my story….”

As the next tribute stepped up and introduced himself, Lay walked in suddenly and pointed at Renjun.

“You. Little one. Let’s go, you’re on next.” He nodded towards the door and Renjun followed, muttering curses under his breath and fixing his hair out of his face.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Jun. Think very carefully before you say anything.” Sicheng warned from where he sat, Renjun nodding dutifully. Sicheng would have believed him if he wasn’t holding back a clear, definitely malicious smile.

The boy stopped in his tracks and he turned towards his brother. Something in his expression was unconvincing, but Sicheng couldn’t quite place it. “Don’t worry, Winnie. I’ll be okay.”

Sicheng wasn’t convinced. “Okay. I love you, Jun.”

Renjun stopped for a moment, sighing in exasperation and glaring at Sicheng. “Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

And with that, Renjun was gone and Sicheng’s eyes were glued back onto the screen.

Chapter Text

“Is there anyone special at home who you’ll fight for? Family or friends, Renjun? Perhaps a crush?”

“No.” Renjun’s voice was defiant and unwavering and Sicheng watched the screen intently. His brother sat upright, glaring at the cameras and answering every question in as much secrecy as he could.

“Oh, that’s a shame. It’s just you and your brother, then?” Chris asked. Renjun nodded as the host continued. “So, you’re alone in life? Do you think that the way your life has lead, you’ll fair well in the Games.”

Renjun nodded again and smirked maliciously. “This is where your life has lead you? How do you think you’d fair in the Games, Chris? Rather than me.” He parroted Chris in a mocking tone.

Chris gritted his teeth and forced a smile. “You’re quite inquisitive, I’ll give you that!” He complimented, though his tone was like venom. Sicheng winced as Renjun only stayed silent.

“Um, Renjun! What are your thoughts on the games? Are you nervous?” Chris asked, Renjun only staring forwards.

“Your games are pathetic, Capitol. That’s what I think.” Renjun’s face was blank as he sat straighter in his chair, chin tilted upwards. The crisp suit jacket he had been wearing earlier had been wrapped around his waist like a flimsy coat. His dark makeup only helped to accentuate his menacing demeanor.

Chris coughed nervously and shifted in his seat. His teased up hair was the only uplifted thing in the room as the crowd hushed. The host brought the microphone back to his lips as they quivered, barely noticeably. “Well, Mister Huang-Dong, it’s quite an honor to be chosen for the games. Not many get this golden opportunity-“

And then Renjun began to laugh. His head was thrown back as his stony composite was thrown away, even for the moment. The noise rang through the feed as nobody uttered a word. He kept cackling, holding onto the armchair for support.

“Golden opportunity? Honor?!” He cackled, doubling over and staring at the camera lens, little giggles slipping through as he tried to control the delirium. “You think any one of us wants this? You think it’s an honor? I would kill you here on the spot if I could, dickwad.” Renjun spat, giggles ceasing, but a wide delusional smile playing across his lips, baring his teeth. “If it’s such an honor, take my place. Do it.” Renjun dared, opening his arms wide.

Angry Capitol people in the audience suddenly gasped and stood up indignantly from their seats. Chris groaned in exasperation.

“Petulant child! The Games are tradition!”

“How dare he!”

The crowd shouted and security attempted to hush them. Chris sat in his chair across from Renjun, who came down from his giggle fit and leaned forwards, almost as if he were interested now.

“When you do win, what do you plan to do?” Chris asked, attempting to steer this into a redeemable conversation that doesn’t end in a shitshow of critique from the mouth of one defiant fourteen year old.

“I’m going to win this game and then I might kill myself. Who knows?” Renjun hummed without hesitation, sitting back with a satisfied grin. “Because even when I win, I don’t. Everyone’s dead, but me. It’s fucking flawed. You don’t deserve any survivors.”

Chris shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked wearily into the cameras. “Surely, you don’t mean that. You’ve got so much life ahead of you!”

“Something I realized a while ago was that the Game doesn’t matter.” Renjun spoke bluntly, now sitting up taller in his seat. Chris raised an eyebrow, but allowed Renjun to continue to speak. The child looked into the cameras defiantly and lowered his gaze to a chilling glare.

“However; there is one goal I have in mind, before I kill myself off. When this is over, President Sooman…” Renjun spoke slowly, punctuating each word with a brief pause. “… I will kill you. I will destroy you and I will destroy everything you love.”

Sicheng’s eyes widened in fear. He didn’t mean that… did he? Surely, even if his little brother won, he wouldn’t target President Sooman like that, right after. That’s insane, it’s defiant, it’s rebellious, it’s-

Oh.

The crowd hissed and gasped and Chris cleared his throat as security guards approached the child. “Ahem! Well, thank you Mister Huang-Dong! It was an honor to speak with you tonight. May the odds, uh, ever be in your favor!” He spoke quickly as two security guards ushered the boy off of the stage and into the wings, Renjun’s face returning to its usual stony scowl.

The security guards practically threw Renjun into their waiting room, muttering something about him being disgusting. The door was left open and Sicheng practically flew at his brother, grabbing him by the collar.

“Do you honestly find this funny?!” Sicheng snapped. “Your life isn’t the only one on the line. Mine is! Mother’s is! The people of Seven! The Capitol could order them all dead tonight, Renjun!”

Sicheng was beyond angry, looming over Renjun intimidatingly. Renjun wanted to pretend he didn’t care, wanted to be aloof, but all he could do was stare, tears prickling at the sides of his eyes.

That was the first time Renjun had seen true fear and true fury in his brother’s eyes. Sicheng was always level-headed, always calm. It scared Renjun to see him angry like this.

“You and I are gonna talk later. I have to do damage control for your ignorant actions! For once in your life, use your fucking brain.” Sicheng spat, letting go of Renjun and shoving him before turning on his heel to leave. His heeled shoes clicked as he walked down the hall in haste. Renjun’s tears fell silently, without a hiccup or even a breath. The room was deathly silent and Renjun could only stare forwards in a daze.

“What have I done?” Renjun whispered, though he was the only soul to hear it.

Chapter Text

“Hello. I’m, uh… Sicheng.” Sicheng waved timidly at the cameras. Chris laughed charismatically and nodded, speaking into the cameras again.

Chris batted his eyes, glitter sticking to his lashes. “Well, hello Sicheng! District Seven, would you look at that!” His accent was thick and unrecognizable, maybe from somewhere outside of Panem… somehow. “Sicheng, tell me this: do you miss the forest or do you hate the outdoors? Be honest, we want to know!”

Sicheng made a sour expression, before remembering that he had to smile and put on his best face. He leaned into the microphone that Chris was holding out to him. “Oh, well… District Seven is home!” He smiled fakely. “But, the Capitol has been so gracious to me and my brot- my districtmate.” Sicheng corrected quickly, trying his hardest to play up to the Capitol.

“So, do you prefer the Capitol?” Chris pressed on nosily.

Sicheng grimaced, replacing it with a pained grin. “No! Well, yes! Uh… Seven will always be home, I’m not sure I can choose a favorite.” His voice trailed off nervously, but nobody seemed to notice.

Chris clapped in excitement. “Oh, we all love home, don’t we? Ha!” He batted his eyes at the camera and Sicheng wondered if he should do the same.

“How did you feel when your name was called? You must’ve been afraid, no?” Chris continued, holding the microphone up again for Sicheng. He swallowed the lump in his throat and leaned forwards, nodding numbly.

“Yes. But it was…” Another lump in his throat blocked his words and he had to swallow that one too. “It was awful knowing I couldn’t do anything… anything, uh…” Sicheng felt tears prickle at the corners of his eyes as reality settled in. “Knowing I couldn’t save Renjun, no matter what I did. Since I was chosen right after him.”

There was a hushed “aww” in the crowd, meant to be sympathetic but not doing anything except pissing Sicheng off farther. Their sympathies meant nothing.

Chris cooed quietly as well. “Well, I’m sure you two have many people at home rooting for you. Anyone special? A lover or family members or other siblings?”

Sicheng frowned, uncomfortable with the invasive and specific questioning, but he understood it was customary. “No, it’s just us and our mother at home. We have a friend named Heeseung and sometimes I babysit him and his little brothers when his mother can’t. Or at least… I did.” He waved timidly at the camera with sad eyes as more Capitol people cooed sympathetically, as if on cue.

He was glad to be getting sympathy points, even if it was pathetic. Anything for Renjun, especially after that stunt he pulled earlier in the night.

But then a sickening nausea began to settle in Sicheng’s stomach; He’d thrown Renjun around in anger and screamed at him in a fit of hysteria, but didn’t stop to think what might happen after that.

Renjun, already scared of tomorrow, thrown against a wall. Where was he? Was he still with Lay or Yeonjun? Had he found any of the other tributes? Was he okay? In that moment Sicheng’s brain ran away from him, guilt sweeping him away from reality.

“…have one last question for you: What will you do if you win the games, Mister Dong?”

Sicheng blinked in thought, head empty, slowly returning to reality from his own anxiety. He blinked quickly, heart pounding in his chest. He was afraid for Renjun, afraid because his brother could be anywhere right now.

“Uh… really, um, I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far.” He whispered, just loud enough for his microphone clipped to his jacket to pick it up.

There was a cumulative chuckle from the audience, but Sicheng meant it. He hadn’t planned that far at all, he barely knew what he’d do in the arena when he got there tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

There was an even tighter knot in Sicheng’s stomach as Chris smiled and introduced him one last time. The words were a jumble in Sicheng’s ears and the bright lights only blurred in his vision. As audience members clapped, it took everything in his strength to reach the backstage area. Lay noticed something was wrong and furrowed his brow.

“Are you okay?” He asked with a hushed voice as the District Eight boy -Hendery, was his name- passed without noticing them. Sicheng shook his head, bile in his throat, and Lay carried him to their waiting room. Yeonjun’s eyes were still glued on the screen when they came back in. Sicheng practically wheezed now, only being held up by Lay. Yeonjun looked at him in alarm.

“Where’s Renjun?” Sicheng asked, voice weak but panicked. Yeonjun twisted up his mouth in a frown.

“I don’t know, darling. That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” He replied softly, thought it made Sicheng feel even sicker.

He wanted to vomit. Something, as he walked off of that stage, didn’t feel right. Something felt wrong, felt off.

Not only was he entering the Hunger Games in less than twenty-four hours, but he’d chased away his only brother…

His only ally, gone.

Chapter Text

Sicheng ran down the halls frantically. He, Yeonjun, and Lay had split up to find Renjun. His brother had simply disappeared and Sicheng was worried about him.

He raced down the empty hall, noticing that this one seemed abandoned. There were no stylists, no tributes, no officials or hosts anywhere. Just linoleum tiles and dim lights, with closed doors lining the whole corridor.

Except for one, which was cracked open ever so slightly. Sicheng paused in his tracks to hear sobs and heavy breathing. He opened the door slowly and carefully, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Renjun!" Sicheng gasped, seeing his brother curled up in a closet, face streaked with dried tears. The boy sniffled and looked up in surprise, before gasping and slinking further into the darkness.

"Go away!" Renjun argued, though his voice betrayed him. He didn't really want to be alone, but didn't want to face Sicheng after what had happened earlier.

Sicheng paused, taking in the silence of the hallway. He looked at his brother and sighed.

"I'm really sorry for losing it earlier. I'm not... I'm just tense. That doesn't make what I did okay. I just... you really shouldn't provoke the Capitol, Jun." Sicheng cautiously and slowly approached the teen on the floor, who sat with his legs to his chest and his head down. "Between the axe thing and this... I'm afraid of what's gonna happen."

"I know. I'm so sorry, I can't keep my mouth shut. And now mom's probably in danger and District Seven's going to feel the consequences and I-" Renjun stopped rambling to swallow the lump forming in his throat, choking him up. "It's all my fault. I fucked up."

"Jun..." Sicheng but his lip, trying to think of the most delicate way to put this. "You didn't fuck up. You made a mistake and got angry... and that's natural. They can't expect you to be okay with this."

"But they do. Winnie... I'm so sorry. I wish I could go back, I'm so-" a hiccup ripped through Renjun's voice. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. I... people are probably in danger now. It's my- it's my fault, I'm so stupid!"

Sicheng kept his mouth shut, but rubbed the back of his brother's scalp gently. He couldn't say he wasn't angry and incredibly worried that the Capitol might retaliate, but he also didn't want to make Renjun feel any worse. Renjun knew he messed up, so Sicheng didn't feel any need to reiterate it.

"There's a banquet." Sicheng reminded delicately, sitting down next to him. It was another dinner put on for the tributes to make alliances and learn about each other.

A last supper of sorts.

"I'm not hungry." Renjun sniffled, wiping his eyes frantically. "God, I look stupid anyways."

"Crying isn't stupid. Neither is making a mistake. All we can do now is move on." Sicheng shut his eyes tightly and tried to digest his own advice, but couldn't.

Renjun's tiny frame curled closer into Sicheng's, eyes puffy and exhausted from his long day out. Yeonjun and Lay were probably looking for the both of them, but that wasn't what Sicheng really cared about right now.

Right now, he needed to comfort his brother. His brother who very well could die in a matter of hours. His brother who he may never see again. His brother who he may never play hide-and-seek with in the woods, ever again.

His heart nearly broke thinking about a life without Renjun, his baby brother. Reality was closing in faster than either of them could register.

"Winnie?"

"Yeah, Jun."

Renjun's eyes welled up with new, fresh tears as he sleepily shut them. Sicheng held his brother tight, reminded again of how small, how young he is. A kid, a child who didn't deserve this. A kid who was scared and didn't wanna admit it. The two sat in silence, holding on to each other for a little while longer, before Renjun's whisper filled the small room again.

"Winnie, I wanna go home." Renjun's voice was sadder and more desperate than Sicheng had ever heard it. Sicheng's heart broke, reality sinking in further.

This was it. There was no escaping their fates. They'd either die in the arena or come out victorious, but there was no way both of them could exist together after tonight.

Sicheng held his baby brother, shutting his eyes tightly. Renjun pushed his face into Sicheng's shoulder, sobbing now. Sicheng's own eyes welled up with tears, feeling the despair looming above them.

"I do too, Jun."

Chapter Text

Today was the day.
Naturally, Sicheng couldn't sleep last night.

Of course, all of the tributes woke up early and were dressed in identical and regulated clothing; light, ashy brown jackets, long black pants with many pockets, combat boots, a gray shirt, and thin black gloves.

Their makeup and hair was done lightly as well because, of course, the Games are entertainment and the tributes are still expected to put on a show. So, even whilst fighting to the death, they're supposed to look pretty.

Yeonjun nearly cried while doing Renjun's hair, sobbing quietly about his little "Taehyunnie". Soobin had to stop fixing Sicheng's eyeliner multiple times to calm his husband down before he had another manic episode.

Renjun didn't even complain about being called Taehyun this time, too afraid for himself. Or maybe he just suddenly understood.

Both Soobin and Yeonjun gave Sicheng a tight hug by the time they were done. They'd bid him goodbye, Yeonjun breaking the hug to fuss over Sicheng's split ends and Renjun's eyeshadow.

They were shuffled to a runway towards midday and boarded some sort of aircraft, oddly shaped with convex walls and slick, black steel. The other tributes were sat by district, accompanied by their stylists and mentors who were supposed to see them off... as well as ominously dressed Gamemakers who said nothing.

The plane took off; Gamemakers dressed in white coats and shiny white helmets stood next to them on the hovercraft as they rode in silence. As the hovercraft hummed and soared through the air with little turbulence, the Gamemakers in coats retreated to the back of the plane and returned with syringes.

They started at the top of the seats with Chenle, pulling away his jacket sleeve and stabbing the syringe into his arm as he whimpered in shock and pain. Then Johnny -the tall kid- and then Ten, who didn't even wince.

They went down the line, injecting everyone with the mysterious syringe. Yuta had to calm down Shotaro, who was apparently afraid of needles. Subgchan's injection apparently didn't settle correctly, so they had to administer it again. Then they approached Sicheng and Renjun, preparing for some sort of a fight.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Renjun growled, thrashing in his seat as two Gamemakers held him down as another pricked his arm and injected him with the odd vaccine.

"It's a tracker, that's all." Jeno reassured from a few rows down, looking at Renjun with a soft, assuring smile. Renjun stopped thrashing as the needle was pulled out of his arm and thrown away. He growled once more as they approached Sicheng with a new needle.

Sicheng willingly offered his arm and looked away, feeling the stinging prick on his arm but refusing to look. He sighed and looked at Renjun, who rubbed his arm and muttered under his breath. Renjun's eyes locked onto his brother's and he smiled weakly.

The aircraft had soon gotten to the arena grounds and the mentors, stylists, and tributes were escorted away separately, to rooms in a mysterious and dark bunker.

After that, Renjun was separated from Sicheng without so much as a goodbye. Lay had explained that it was customary to keep all tributes away from each other until the Games began.

Sicheng felt sick to his stomach. Renjun's pitiful sobs replayed in his head as he realized he may never see his little brother again and he wasn't even allowed to say goodbye to him. Bile came up quickly and he gagged, but swallowed it down as Lay walked with him down the halls to his doom.

"Who's with Renjun? Lay, please-" Sicheng's voice was worried, but Lay stayed calm.

"He's with Soobin and Yeonjun. They're more comforting than I am, so I advised that they walk him to his launch." Lay reassured, placing a hand on Sicheng's shoulder. "That kid's tough. He's got a chance."

Sicheng still felt sick, but slightly relieved that Renjun wasn't alone, wasn't afraid and by himself while Lay was with him.

A countdown ordered the tributes to step into their tubes, which sat at the end of the hall. Every step Sicheng took, he felt his own legs threaten to fail. Lay had been holding onto his arm, urging him to breathe and keep it together.

Two Peacekeepers in white uniforms holding shiny, loaded guns stood on each side of the tube. Lay and Sicheng approached the vessel, but the teenager was too afraid to step forwards when the announcement demanded that he did.

So, Lay helped him in, holding on as Sicheng took shaky steps and stood in the tube, feeling the air around him become rather tight.

"Do what it takes, Sicheng. Only one of you can win." Lay advised, cracking a small smile as Sicheng's tube closed. Lay walked backwards, into the hall and behind the red line on the floor when it shut.

Sicheng's heart pounded in his chest and his eyes widened, realizing that there was no escape. The speakers counted down to launch, a mechanical woman's voice that made his throat dry up. He looked at Lay and panicked, starting to feel claustrophobic in the tube. It was airtight and it was going to launch in a matter of seconds and Lay couldn't even help him.

Lay stepped back with a sad smile and a wave, a gray metal wall closing between the two as the countdown ended. There was a whirring noise overhead and Sicheng braced for the tube to begin raising...

And then the whirring stopped and a screen appeared where the metal wall was.

Chapter Text

The tube did not begin to raise which made Sicheng immediately worry that something was wrong. The boy looked around and back into the small hallway, worried that something was terribly wrong. Was this a bad nightmare? Did it turn out his name hadn't been pulled and it was another Sicheng? The boy could only pray.

The hall was silent and Sicheng stood awkwardly in his tube, waiting to be raised into the arena. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes like hours. Sicheng quickly became stressed about what was going on, his mind immediately playing out various scenarios and explanations to try and calm himself down.

Nothing could have prepared him for the real reason for the delay, though.

"This is what befalls a traitor and a rebel." President Sooman's voice spoke out from speakers that Sicheng couldn't see. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked behind him at the unwavering Peacekeepers who had escorted him to his tube.

Where the hallway door had been was now a screen that was off. Shiny and black, reflecting Sicheng's confused face as the tube closed itself around him. Sicheng became restless and anxious, more so than he had already been.

Then the screen turned on and Sicheng was both intrigued and frightened with what he saw; On the screen was a grainy feed with four figures in a dingy, white room: A Peacekeeper in slight view of the camera and three kneeling figures with their hands bound behind their backs. They were nearly silent and Sicheng noticed the littlest one trembling in fear.

He raised an eyebrow, his stomach twisting in knots as he thought of the worst cases possible; Who were those people? What was this? What was the Capitol up to? Was Renjun watching this same feed? Yuta? Shotaro? Ten?

His nightmare was confirmed as the veils on their heads were lifted and Sicheng's heart fell to his stomach as he witnessed the fearful faces of Miss Im, Heeseung, and his own mother, staring back past the camera.

Someone off screen said something softly and the three stayed silent. Sicheng's mother stood seemingly straighter, a defiant glint in her eye that he recognized as identical to Renjun's. Heeseung hiccuped, eyes teary and looking away from the front.

The recording of Renjun's words played faintly over the recording to the three and Sicheng's face ran cold and pale.

This was the Capitol's response. Renjun's words wouldn't get him punished. No... everything he loved instead would be taken from him.

Him and Sicheng.

"... I will kill you. I will destroy you and I will destroy everything you love." The President's voice rang out suddenly in an oddly calm tone, mocking Renjun's own. Sicheng's heart beat against his chest like a wild animal in a cage, eyes widened as everything around him became eerily silent.

A moment's pause and a gunshot rang out. Miss Im fell over without noise, arms still bounded and body limp as Heeseung screamed for his mother, who bled out onto the ground. Sicheng's mother looked forwards, still defiant, still stubborn.

Sicheng screamed.

Heeseung trembled, eyes widened and his small body trembling as he pleaded quietly with the Peacekeeper behind the screen. Little utters of "please" and "no" escaping his mouth, face streaked with tears and eyes filled with the horror of witnessing his mother's violent death. Sicheng's heart broke; such a young child facing execution for something he hadn't even done, hadn't even caused.

This was beyond fucked up.

Another shot rang through after a moment of silence (save for the boy's screams) and what was soon left of Heeseung's face was bloodied and mutilated by a bullet in a matter of milliseconds. Sicheng's mother shut her eyes tight and grimaced, unwilling to watch the scene next to her. Blood was splattered onto the white walls of their holding cell and Sicheng felt the urge to vomit and cry. Heeseung was immediately dead, dark eyes looking at the camera devoid of any life.

Sicheng screamed again, tears now welling in his eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen! This was too much, this was horrible.

He knew what was next.

He whispered as if to plead, though nobody could hear him.

More mumbled speaking from behind the camera and Sicheng's mother smiled stubbornly. She looked directly into the lens and silently mouthed something, something that Sicheng barely caught.

"Everything will be fine, Winnie."

And then the last shots rang out, multiple bullets to the chest and head, ripping the woman apart quickly in a flurry of crimson. Sicheng lost count how many bullet holes the woman now had, his poor mother unrecognizable as the gunfire died down. He shut his eyes and his body felt numb.

His mother had been killed and he couldn't stop it. His family, his neighbors, his brother... himself.

There would soon be no traces of Sicheng or anything familiar to him. They'd all be dead soon.

"I don't take kind to threats, Mister Dong." The President's voice taunted, Sicheng curling in on himself in fear, traumatized, as his tube began to raise slowly into the arena. "Remember that, now. I will take away everything you love..."

And all Sicheng saw was sunlight, cloudy through his tears.

Chapter Text

The sunlight hit Sicheng, who gasped upon seeing the landscape. His tears fell onto his jacket as he realized exactly where he was after that brutal scene he'd just witnessed. Other tributes stood on their pedestals, confused and looking around at each other to try and figure out what the hold up was. Sicheng guessed that nobody else had seen the video but him and his brother, who he couldn't find through his tears that refracted the light.

All twenty-four tributes stood within the middle of a vast city that seemed as if it'd been bombed or destroyed. Ruined buildings towered over them, as if they'd crumble any moment. Sickly-looking vines grew on everything around them, curling through broken windows and around poles. The air was slightly smokey, dry and thick. In between everyone was what looked to be a city center, an intricate fountain in the middle, barely touched by assumed bomb attacks, the ruin. Within the waters and around it gleamed silver and steel weapons, as well as backpacks strewn across the street. They stood on their pedestals, small pieces of concrete above ground, pattern differing from the war-torn streets.

"Welcome to the 127th Hunger Games! The countdown clock will begin as shown." A high pitched voice called out, all eyes turning to the skies where a screen with a clock timer began.

Sixty seconds.

Sicheng looked around at the others, finally spotting a few people he knows; His brother stood across from him, ready to pounce into The Cornucopia with no hesitation. Other children his age looked less militant, leaning themselves to run the other way. Ten smirked, crouched down and ready to sprint forwards. Yuta looked nervous, intense eyes scanning the fountain.

Thirty seconds.

Sicheng looked around at the weapons. From what he could see, there was a bow with a small bundle of arrows, knives stuck into the tough granite of the statue in the fountain's center. Hammers, boomerangs, ropes, and armor sat in the still water. A backpack sat on the ledge of the fountain, but no weapons were near it. That was fine.

Twenty seconds.

It was insane, but he'd try the Cornucopia; he would run, grab the backpack as he went, and disappear into a building before anyone even knew it.
That was the plan.

Ten seconds.

The sun shone overhead, beating upon him. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his heart pounded in his ears as he looked across the way, Careers already plastering sickening smiles on their faces and bracing themselves for the game.

A game, it's all a game.

Three seconds.

Two seconds.

One second.

His legs moved before he could even register it, the cannon blaring as each tribute left their pedestal. Under half of them even dared to enter the Cornucopia, Ten already grabbing three knives - maybe four- and a bag, climbing to the top. Sicheng suddenly understood why he was given a ten in training as he watched him climb with unprecedented speed.

Sicheng kept running though, even as a knife was lodged into the skull of Kun's districtmate next to him, the boy immediately falling to his knees as another boy screamed to his right. The cannon sounded loudly, but Sicheng ran anyways.

"Sungchan! No! Please, Sungchan!"

Then Sicheng saw it: Yuta, holding back the little boy from his district as the kid screamed his head off. He tried running to the District Six boy, whose head bled from a huge gash, eyes instantly lifeless, staring up at Sicheng.

But no matter the yelling, the agonized screams, Ten wouldn't hurt Shotaro nor Yuta. Not yet. The Careers made a deal, that deal was still good and fresh in the minds of each tribute, the fear planted deep for everyone.

As the Careers were distracted by Shotaro's yelling, a small figure crept behind the Cornucopia and grabbed a few knives they'd missed, shoving them into his jacket before running off as fast as he could. Their jacket hood came off and Sicheng paled.

Renjun.

He fought every urge to yell Renjun's name, praying that the Careers wouldn't look back as his brother disappeared behind a building, dropping a knife with a loud clang. Only Yuta looked back, the others looking at the stragglers, eyes landing on a mortified Sicheng.

Sicheng hadn't even realized he stopped running halfway, pushing his legs to move again as two tributes fought over a bag, one giving up and running before an arrow shot into his back and he fell to his knees, blood splattering from his mouth. Sicheng felt sick, right then and there.

Another cannon sounded.

The tall District One boy smiled a sickening smile and lowered his bow. It terrified Sicheng how nonchalant they were being, how unbothered they seemed.

"I thought you don't like bows, Johnny." Another Career asked, a perplexed look on his face. His face was deceivingly innocent, not matching his tall and muscles physique. His stark white hair was stained lightly at the ends with blood as he retrieved the arrow from the tribute's back, slinging it away towards Yuta and Shotaro.

"I grabbed them for the kid, Lucas. Useless to me." Johnny yelled out, throwing the bow and quiver of arrows towards Shotaro with a sympathetic look as Yuta let go of him. "I told you we'd help. Let's clear everyone out."

Sicheng turned only came face to face with Yuta Nakamoto, a trident in hand and net in the other. He held the trident up above Sicheng and positioned his arms, ready to throw or stab, ready to end his life.

Sicheng froze, holding onto his bag as the tip of Yuta's weapon flew towards him. He shut his eyes, hearing only the sound of steel piercing skin, then a gurgled yell.

Behind him, the tall District Nine boy fell, mouth open, trident lodged in his chest. The cannon boomed again and Sicheng turned back to face Yuta in horror, but the older was already right there.

"Fucking run." Yuta's voice was oddly calm but the demand was laced with ice. Sicheng ran the other way, holding the moist bag to his chest and sprinting, bumping into a little boy with shaggy black and blonde hair in front of his eyes.

The boy fell down onto the gravel and stared up at Sicheng with wide, frightened eyes. Sicheng gasped, turned and ran as someone spotted the two. Johnny whistled loudly, jumping down from the fountain and running to them, as Sicheng rounded the corner. He ran down an alleyway, trying not to trip on broken and cracked old concrete as he did so.

There was a window that was blasted open, shards of glass poking the vines that grew on the dusty gray brick. Sicheng panicked, grabbing a downed telephone pole and climbing it as best he could, grabbing onto the vines and pulling himself up as someone's footsteps got even closer.

The window was small and he took a deep breath as the little boy he'd bumped into yelped from below him. Sicheng crawled into the window, hissing as the glass cut his fingertips and tugged his hair and jacket.

But luckily, he avoided the attacker, the Career who'd seemingly grabbed the little boy below. He silently thanked the skies for years and years of climbing trees in District Seven as he ducked down into the third story of the empty building, small shards of glass cutting his face as he crawled through the very small space.

There were grunts and yelling where the Career had grabbed the boy. A hard thud followed by pathetic pleas of "stop it!" and "please!"

Sicheng tip-toed through the dark interior of the building to a window facing the fountain. A dead tree grew from the ground floor and throughout the building, branches breaking the floors and walls of several floors. Sicheng hid behind a rather thick branch, peeking from the window to see the tallest Career, dragging the little boy towards Ten.

"Johnny!" Ten called in the distance making Sicheng's blood run cold. "You found one too? I told you not to play with your food, Johnny!"

"Of course the District Two guy would call these kids his 'food'. Sicko." Johnny scowled, throwing Yangyang onto the ground with a huff. "There was another, but he got away."

"Anything is food, dear. Jungkook said to do what it takes to survive. Now, lucky for them-" Ten held onto the arm of another boy, stepping into the clearing with a disturbing grin. He'd been trained by the feared Jeon Jungkook, of course. The victor of one of the most infamous Hunger Games in history (as Kun had mentioned) and District Two's cannibal lover-boy. And yet, somehow Sicheng was still disturbed as Ten continued. "- we seem to have enough to eat. But I can't just let them go, where's the fun in that?"

Ten stomped over, iron-soled boots cracking the unstable, broken ground. He kicked away a pebble and revealed a tall boy with large hands and messy, straight brown hair, whom he yanked on harshly.

"No! No, please! I don't want to die! Please I'll do anything!" The little boy pleaded, trying to scramble away before Ten dragged him back into the clearing.

"Oh, shut up!" Ten complained, kicking the child in the ribs and snarling as he stood over him. Sicheng's heart pounded hard against his chest, unable to look away from the scene before him.

"Ten, why'd you bring these kids?" Lucas asked in a hushed, confused voice. Ten smiled again, throwing the youngest child into the street and throwing a knife towards him, as if it were trash and not an actual weapon.

Ten smiled, nudging Chenle. "Oh, for fun! Say, Chenle: wouldn't you love to get your first real kill? Hm? Make District One proud, yeah?" He egged the kid on further, though Chenle's pale face was mortified. He could only guess what was inevitably to happen next.

"Well, they can't both survive. We should kill one, keep the other." Johnny suggested. Ten's face lit up and he clapped his hands in amusement.

"Aw, how sad! That means that one of you has to go! Tick! Tock! Decisions are hard, aren't they?" Ten's voice was condescending, the high-pitch tone chilling Sicheng's spine. He looked back to see the two young kids, younger than Renjun, standing in the clearing. "I doubt Chenle has the balls to do the job, he's in shock... pathetic. Now, either one of you kills the other and joins us, or..." Ten flipped a knife around in his hand. "... I simply hand you both off to Lucas. And trust me, that's the most painful outcome here."

The boys only seemed to stare in disbelief. No one dared to move, which was pissing Ten off.

"Time's running out!" Ten sing-songed, taking out another, sharper dagger and pointing it towards the two. "Don't make me make the choice for you!"

The clearing was quiet, nobody seemed to even breathe. And then, the boy from District Twelve took a deep breath, slowly grabbing Ten's knife with a terrified look in his eyes. He visibly shook as he stepped closer to the other, kneeling down to where the boy was curled up on the road.

"Please... don't do this." The younger boy begged, unable to move and staying on the ground in fear. He had to have been the youngest here, babyish face looking up in pure horror as the boy with the knife grabbed his arm. He leaned down to hug the boy, holding his head close to his own.

"This will be quick, I promise." He whispered, bringing the knife close to the other's neck and slashing quickly, a large crimson gash appearing in his neck, large eyes quickly fading.

Ten was too damn giddy, clapping his hands excitedly. "Lucas! Chenle! Johnny! I think we found just the right little cannon fodder! Cute enough to be expendable but scared enough to kill!" Ten's voice was excited, as if he'd been gifted the Capitol's finest diamonds. Sicheng felt sick, sick that anyone could take pleasure or happiness in this insane little game. He just forced a child to murder another child, who Sicheng assumed was even younger than him.

"What's your name? It's only manners!" Ten asked, reaching a hand out to him. The boy shook his head, still holding onto the younger kid, blood staining the road and his clothes. There was so fucking much of it.

The younger boy choked on his blood, words garbled, tears staining his now-pale cheeks as the other little boy held him close. Moments later the gurgling stopped and another cannon sounded. Sicheng noticed Chenle standing nearby, refusing to look at the scene in the clearing, turning to look at the dusty ground instead.

Sicheng remembers seeing Chenle laugh with the dead boy during a banquet. He wanted to hug the child; Maybe in another life, Chenle and that kid would have been best friends. Coworkers, buddies, classmates, anything.

"I said, what's your name, kid?" Ten pulled his knife and held it closer to the boy from Twelve, who quivered and shut his eyes. The tension was thick as the boy swallowed, afraid and not letting go of the little boy's corpse.

"My... my name, it's... it-it's Y-Yangyang." The boy began, not meeting Ten's gaze. Ten put his knife to his side and outstretched his hand again as Yangyang continued, voice now laced with hatred and pain; "But... h-his name was Jisung, and you should at least know that." Yangyang cried quietly, refusing to take Ten's hand. Ten made a face of disgust and disapproval at being ignored and climbed back onto his perch on the Cornucopia.

"Whatever. Someone go find Yuta, we've got a job to do. Too many tributes got away. We need to find those little rats-" Ten threw a knife at the ground, splitting a scuttling mouse perfectly in half. "-and exterminate them. And Yuta's our best bet to do it."

"And Shotaro?" Chenle asked with a quiet voice, poking at the now-bloody water of the fountain. Yangyang sat in horror, holding onto Jisung's body still. He said nothing.

"What about him?" Ten snorted, retrieving his knife and kicking away the dead rodent. "He won't last a day."

Sicheng gulped, crawling further into the building and away from the window. The tree in the center was calming him down; despite it being dead, simply seeing a tree- seeing something familiar- really calmed him down. He sighed and shut his eyes, trying to calm himself down. Where was Renjun? What just happened? Where was Yuta? His mind raced and he shook his head, as he were trying to physically get rid of all of the bad thoughts.

He opened his eyes slowly, expecting to be met with the snapped branches and dusty in the air. He was instead met with bright blonde hair and big, dark eyes. He really hadn't expected to find a young boy who sat upside down, perched on one of the thicker tree branches.

Chapter Text

Sicheng scrambled for a weapon before realizing all he had was a bag. He stumbled back as the boy on the tree nearly fell from the branch he'd been sitting on, scrambling to sit right side up.

Sicheng vaguely recognized the kid as one of the youngest tributes, specifically remembering his deep doe eyes.

The boy's soft, bright blonde hair was a stark contrast to what Sicheng was used to. When he'd first seen the boy, his hair was as dark as his large eyes were. Now it was shorter and blonde and slightly curly and somehow made him look even younger and more naive.

The kid's short stature and reluctance to look into Sicheng's eyes reminded him in a way of Renjun. His stomach twisted, thinking about where his brother was and if someone had gotten to him yet. He'd only heard a few cannons, but maybe he lost count somewhere in between.

Sicheng outstretch his hands with wide eyes. He hissed a shushing sound and looked at the boy pleadingly. "Don't scream. I'm not gonna hurt you, please don't yell. Calm down." He whispered frantically to the boy, who quickly shut his mouth and furrowed his eyebrows, now sitting up on the tree branch.

The boy scrambled to the next branch quickly, one that sat above Sicheng and out of his reach. His body shook lightly, trying to become calmer as Sicheng lowered his hands and stepped back.

"What's your name?" Sicheng asked.  The boy flinched, holding on tight to the tree branch.

"Mark." The boy's voice was unsure and frightened, shaky with uncertainty. Mark revealed a bag that sat on another branch towards his side, identical to Sicheng's own.

"Mine's Sicheng." Sicheng feigned a smile and placed his hands back at his sides, nodding towards Mark's bag.

"You've got a bag." Mark observed, pointing to the damp bag Sicheng had around his shoulder. Sicheng nodded and pointed at Mark's bag, which wasn't wet, but had bloodstains on the zipper.

"As do you." He smiled. Mark only frowned and threw it down.

"I'm not sharing." He clarified. Sicheng stifled a laugh and shook his head.

"I wouldn't want you to. How'd you get that? You actually went to the Cornucopia?"

Mark's eyes became glassy. "An older kid was trying to take it and one of the Careers shot him with an arrow. Right into his b-back. So I, uh... I took it."

"That's pretty brave of you, kid." Sicheng nodded. Mark visibly relaxed, looking away and at his own jacket, where blood was splattered over the front of it and was beginning to dry.

"I don't want it. The guy who tried to get it first... I know it's not, but I can't help but think it's my fault he's-" Mark trailed off, getting himself upset again.

Sicheng patted Mark's head, sighing. "It's not your fault. He might've killed you if he didn't die first. How old are you? To take on an older tribute, you've got balls."

"Um, I turned fifteen this past summer. In August." Mark clarified, fiddling with his jacket sleeve nervously.

"My brother just turned fourteen. I'm sixteen."

“Cool.” Mark nodded, dropping from the tree and landing on the ground with a small grunt. “That’s pretty old, compared to like, a lot of us. I think the youngest one said he… had just turned twelve in the winter. Jisung was too nice for this place.” Mark murmured, picking at the dead skin on his hand.

Sicheng cocked an eyebrow. He recognized the name as the name of the boy that Yangyang had killed in cold blood.

"Did you see... that?" Sicheng asked, hoping the answer was no. No child should have to see anyone -especially someone their own age- murder another child. It was disgusting.

Mark nodded slowly. "I... I looked away when they hugged. I knew what was coming. Yangyang is pretty determined, he knew what he was doing."

Sicheng swallowed a lump in his throat, not knowing what to do. Should he change the subject? Talk about it? Ask Mark if he knew the children?

"They were from the same district. They probably knew each other from school, that couldn't have been easy." Mark continued, as his eyes became glassy. He trembled as he spoke quietly. "This is sickening. Yangyang's a killer now and, oh gosh..."

Sicheng placed a hand on Mark's trembling shoulder. "Hey... there's nothing anyone can do about it now, kid. All we can do is survive."

Mark nodded numbly, still shaking. He took a few breaths and shut his eyes, leaning against the rotting tree.

Sicheng stared forwards for a while, just thinking. At some point he'd joined Mark at the tree, sitting close to its base where the floor hadn't broken through.

Mark stopped trembling and his breathing calmed as he shut his eyes. Sicheng assumed that Mark had felt safe enough to fall asleep here.

A few hours must have passed like this. The sun had shifted in the sky and the beams of light refracted through the shards of window and onto Sicheng's face. If he wasn't hiding and fearing for his life, he might have enjoyed the sun's warmth.

At one point, Mark jolted awake. Sicheng had to remind him softly where he was and what was happening. Mark began shaking again, laughing quietly to himself and trying to calm down.

Every so often they'd hear the hoots and hollers of the older Careers, always chasing someone and laughing about it. But no cannons went off, so Sicheng assumed that this was purely for fun. This was a nothing but a game to them. They enjoyed scaring the other tributes half to death.

The two agreed that they were staying here for a while; if they'd left, the Careers would immediately see. So, for now this was home. This was their territory. They'd sleep in shifts here and decide what to do in the morning.

The sun was going down and the light became golden. Mark smiled, basking in the sunlight before gasping and scuffling towards the tree, nervously chiding himself on something. Sicheng looked on curiously.

Mark then knelt, facing the tree. He glanced at Sicheng and shut his eyes. It was pretty ballsy to let his guard down like this, showing his back to another tribute. But Sicheng only stared in bewilderment as Mark tranced a finger along the rotting wood of the dead tree's trunk.

Sicheng raised an eyebrow. "Kid, what are you doing?"

"Gosh, I almost forgot to pray." Mark's voice was hushed as he began murmuring to himself, speaking to nobody and nothing that was there. He clasped his hands tight and bowed his head, and Sicheng felt awkward only being able to watch him.

Sicheng waited to speak again until Mark had stopped mumbling, the younger boy finally raising his head back up and opening his eyes.

"Why? Why here?" Sicheng asked, confused as to why anyone -religious or not- would let their guard down so much only to pray and mumble to something or someone they couldn't see.

Mark took a moment and shrugged, going back to fiddling with the buttons on his jacket. "I dunno. I think because the most powerful thing in this world is hope." Mark unclasped his hands and smiled weakly. "At least... that's what my mom told me. She said to find hope everywhere.

"But these days, it's hard to find any hope at all."

Chapter Text

Mark and Sicheng barricaded the doors of the building's second story with panels they'd found on other floors and thicker branches from the center tree. The tree was their way through the building, as it's old trunk twisted and broke through each floor's ceiling. Mark was surprisingly good at climbing for a tribute from District Three.

Sicheng emptied the contents of both Mark's and his own small bag onto the floor and sighed, no food rations in sight. Only two water bottles filled halfway, an empty plastic container, a cord of some sort, and a small, folded blanket.

Mark shook his head as well, whining to himself. His stomach hurt, and it was well into the night now.

"We need food." Sicheng whispered in the darkness. Only dim moonlight shone through the broken windows, mostly casting on their faces and the floor.

Mark shuffled from where he sat. "I dunno where food is. Like, there's not a ton of animals here. And we can't leave the building until the Career's move."

"I doubt they will." Sicheng snorted lightly. All day, he'd been looking for a chance to escape their building and run deeper into the city. But the Careers stayed planted at the city center, guarding their territory near the fountain.

Sicheng didn't blame them. The fountain seemed like the only real source of water in the entire city, unless someone was lucky like him and Mark to have found a bag with a water bottle already in it.

There was a distant rumble that shook the entire ground. Mark whimpered and curled in on himself, Sicheng running to the window to peer around as silently as he could.

In the distance, a building was collapsing. The structure was falling and the right side of it had fallen completely, bricks and beams falling multiple stories down with aloud crashes.

The entire building went down soon after that, reduced to nothing but rubble on the ground underneath where it once stood. A cannon sounded, which startled Sicheng and made Mark whine louder.

Sicheng beckoned Mark towards where he sat by the window. Mark crawled over as a toddler might and Sicheng opened his arms, inviting Mark in for a hug. Hesitantly, Mark let himself go limp in Sicheng’s hold, sleepily trying to keep his eyelids open.

The Panem anthem began playing and Sicheng looked into the clear light sky to see the face of the pretty District Five boy with the dimples. His portrait smiled down at the city, then vanished and was replaced with Sungchan's.

Sicheng's stomach knotted up again, thinking about Shotaro's bloodcurdling screech from earlier, when Sungchan was killed in front of his eyes.

Next, the portrait of the tall boy that Yuta had stabbed earlier had flashed by, smiling cutely.

He exhaled at the realization that they were onto District Nine and they'd passed over Seven completely. That meant that Renjun was still out there somewhere in this arena.

The boy that Johnny had shot an arrow at flashed next, nervous eyes peering forwards. They reminded Sicheng of a scared animal more than anything, like a rabbit or a mouse or something.

And then, lastly, was the little boy Yangyang had killed. His pouty lips and innocent eyes made Sicheng flashback to his murder and the pleas and cries the boy had made before getting his throat slit.

Bile rose up in Sicheng's throat, and before he knew it he'd doubled over and gagged rather loudly. Thank god the anthem was still playing, or the Careers outside would have heard him and killed him and Mark both.

Jung Jaehyun, District 5
Jung Sungchan, District 6
Kim Jungwoo, District 9
Kim Doyoung, District 10
Park Jisung, District 12

"Oh! Sicheng, are you okay?" Mark asked, holding onto Sicheng's shoulders as the anthem ended. Sicheng coughed weakly and nodded.

"I'm okay. I just got a little sick, that's all." He shook his head. He’d never gotten a flashbacks to anything before, never felt so quickly sick to his stomach.

That was the effect of the Games, he supposed.

“Homesick?” Mark guessed.

Sicheng shook his head, voice only slightly above a whisper. “Not quite. You?”

Mark thought for a moment, lip quivering. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I miss home.” Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes and Sicheng looked on in pity, upset at how lonely this poor boy was.

“What do you miss about home, Mark?”

"I… um, I miss the hills. The sunshine in the fall and the foggy summers. I miss my friend, Wendy. And I… I miss my mom." Mark mumbled, wiping tears from his eyes. "Do you miss your mom?"

"I do." Sicheng's heart raced as the image of his mother in front of a firing squad had permeated his brain. Bullets flying through her chest, her arms, her skull...

Sicheng hadn't even realized he was crying. Mark gasped and took his own jacket sleeve to wipe the older boy's tears.

"If you win this, then like... you'll get to see her again. That's good, right?" Mark tried. There was silence for a few moments and then Sicheng spoke up, raspy voice thick and sad.

Sicheng swallowed a lump in his throat. "Mark, she's not here anymore. She... she died this morning."

Mark's eyes widened and he lowered his arm. "I'm... gosh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume anything."

"Everything dies." Sicheng shrugged, turning to Mark and patting his head. “We all experience loss, it’s part of life.”

Mark was quiet for moment, pouting and thinking. Sicheng looked up at the stars and by the time he’d looked back at Mark, the boy was asleep. He peacefully drifted off in Sicheng’s arms, illuminated by only the dim moonlight. He looked for carefree and peaceful that if Sicheng hadn’t known any better, he might have thought the boy was dead.

Sicheng smiled softly and moved Mark’s blonde hair from his face, shifting slightly so that his back wasn’t so strained.

“Guess I’m standing guard tonight, huh?”

He didn’t mind it too much. He felt tired, but not so tired that he couldn’t stay awake until sunrise. And Mark reminded Sicheng too much of Renjun, of course he wouldn’t wake the boy up if he didn’t need to.

It was quiet outside. The Careers must have quieted down, he thinks.

He looked up into the sky -into the arena’s manufactured and fake starry night- and remembered exactly where he was.

He was in the Hunger Games.

Thinking about his mother and Jisung and now looking at Mark’s sleepy face was a sudden reminder that everyone will die, like he said.

Because we all experience loss.

Chapter Text

"Sicheng! Sicheng, wake up! The Careers are here!" Mark's voice rang out, quiet but full of fear.

Sicheng's eyes shot open as Mark whispered frantically, pulling and shaking his body awake.

"Oh my god, I fell asleep?!" Sicheng whispered back in disbelief. There were steps below them on the first floor and then a small thudding sound. Sicheng and Mark collectively held their breath, scared out of their minds.

The Careers were right below them.

Sicheng's breath hitched as he watched the smaller boy try and escape through a window, not having the guts to cut himself on the small, needle-like shards glass and instead pressing himself against the frame of the large door, wooden splinters piercing his arms as he did so.

Even from the next floor, Sicheng could see the other shaking. He had no idea how long the boy was in the building with them, but was surprised nonetheless to not have heard him there. The District Nine boy was suddenly grabbed by Lucas's who tackled him down and held his arms so that he couldn't get away. The other weakly thrashed until a laugh rang through the dusty room, a sadistic laugh that he recognized all too well.

There Ten was, smiling like a child on their birthday. His bloodstained beige coat looked too large on his body as he walked towards the boy, a small dagger being pulled from his coat pocket.

He crouched down to where Lucas held the boy and tilted his head, as if he were surprised that they had captured him.

"What do you know? A friend!" Ten's voice was laced with such saturated and faux surprise, clicking his tongue to the droid of his mouth as Taeil made a whimpering noise.

"Your name? It's only manners, you know." Ten reminded, shoving his blade to rest against the other's Adam's apple as Lucas held him down.

The other looked up with defeated eyes, a glint of pleads shining in them. "Moon T-Taeil..." the boy's voice was loud but stammering. Ten cooed and pulled his knife away, motioning for someone to come over towards him.

A figure stepped into the light.

Sicheng had no idea if Yangyang or Johnny or Chenle were there, but had no doubt that they stood guard nearby or outside of the building in case of an ambush.

However, there stood Yuta in front of Ten, not too much taller than him but matching his intimidating nature. Red hair hiding his eyes made him all the more deadly; His hand never left his axe and Sicheng caught himself staring at the scars and bruises adorning his neck, his hands, his face.

"Where's Shotaro? I had decided to give him this kill but he isn't here! Shame, our friend Taeil really is quite the beauty. Almost sad we have to make away with him like this." Ten tutted, looking at Yuta with hands on his hips. "He would have been an excellent gift to our dear 'Taro!"

"Ten, stop playing with your prey. Shotaro went to find rations, just kill the guy." Yuta's voice made a chill run up Sicheng's spine and he shivered from his place pressed up against the floor, still unable to move.

"Taeil, what a pretty name. This was your last Reaping, wasn't it? You almost made it out!" Ten taunted, Taeil not meeting his eyes. Ten grabbed his face and squished harshly, narrowing his eyes and leaning down to him. "I don't like being ignored, love. Listen when I speak."

Taeil stared at Ten with disdain in his eye, a fire of rebellion. Ten let go of his face, a scowl playing on his features as he stood up and brushed off his clothes.

"Pity. Our friend doesn't want to talk, does he? Taeil, love, look at what you made me do. Lucas!" Ten whistled and nudged his head towards Lucas, who instead of grabbing Taeil's arms had grabbed his head and gripped his neck and cranium tightly. Taeil whimpered, the noises turned into screams and pleads filled the room and from his ledge on the second floor, Sicheng paled and shut his eyes.

He held onto Mark's hand tighter as the boy shut his own eyes and placed a hand over his ear. Sicheng looked away, not wanting to see the carnage that followed; a snapping sound that quickly ceased the begging, marked by the cannon's boom.

Ten had scoffed as Lucas let go of the body, looking around the first floor of the building. "Anyone else wanna show their face? Johnny, we should search this spot! Or take it apart brick by brick!"

"Don't!" Yuta yelled suddenly, eyes widened. The Careers were silent, staring at him as if he were insane for going against Ten. Yuta froze, not knowing what to say next. His eyes darted from place to place, trying to think of a lie.

Yuta's eyes met Sicheng's through the floorboards and Sicheng's heart stopped. His eyes widened as Yuta swung his head around to face the other Careers.

"I just mean, uh, someone's outside. Someone's trying to steal our supplies." Yuta grabbed his trident and held it tight, facing one of the previously boarded windows. "I can hear it. We need to deal with that. If anybody's in here, they're not worth it."

It was true; someone was outside with a canister, stealing water from the Cornucopia fountain.

Ten's face curled into a grin. "Oh, we can't have that, can we?" He whistled lowly, kicking the corpse of the older boy and smirking. Ten did a  hand signal of some sort and the Careers crawled through the windows again.

Yuta smiled, seemingly relieved himself. He placed a hand on Yangyang's shoulder and led the younger boy out, glancing up at floorboards knowingly, before crawling outside again.

Sicheng let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and slumped down against the tree. Mark still shook where he crouched, unable to form much of a sentence.

Mark shuddered. "Sicheng, he... that big kid just-" He made a twisting motion with his hands, imitating Lucas. Sicheng swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded.

"Lucas is strong. I'd rather Ten himself do away with me than have my neck broken, holy shit." Sicheng nodded, shaking away the thought and not noticing the confusion on Mark's face.

"Who's Ten?" Mark furrowed his eyebrows.

Sicheng was confused for a moment before laughing quietly to himself. He'd forgotten that Ten was his nickname for the small District Two boy and that it wasn't his real name. "I call him that. He got a ten in training

"His name's Chitta... something." Mark trailed off, unable to remember it either. "Something or other, I don't remember."

Sicheng chuckled and leaned on a wall. "Oh, is that so? I like 'Ten' better than 'Chitta-something-or-other'."

They were quiet for a moment.

"What if they come back, Sicheng?" Mark's voice was meek and afraid. Sicheng couldn't answer, couldn't guarantee that they wouldn't. Yuta seemed to stall for long enough but he doubted they could stay here for much longer than another day.

"I don't know. I really don't know, Mark. Whatever it is, we'll do it together. Okay, kid?" Sicheng promised.

The building was quiet again as the morning sun's rays beamed on the duo. As much of a rude awakening the Careers were, Sicheng had to admit that he slept well and that the fake morning sun was quite beautiful.

The city sky was clear today, although dusty. There weren't any clouds or fog or smoke today and part of Sicheng wondered why.

"Good morning." Mark whispered after yawning, his words barely audible.

Sicheng smiled softly and ruffled the boy's hair, getting up from his spot. "Good morning, kiddo."

Chapter Text

"I'll stand lookout. You should get some rest, Sicheng." Mark offered, smiling. It was much later now and the two had spent the morning talking tiredly to distract from the fact that that Careers might come back and search the building.

Sicheng made a discontented face but nodded reluctantly. He took his backpack and placed it underneath his head as a makeshift pillow to avoid getting splinters in his cheeks from the floorboards. At first he couldn't rest, but after a while he gave in to the sun's warmth through the window's shabby barricades.

Mark traced patterns into the floorboards boredly, trying to stay awake. To be honest, it wasn't too hard of a task considering he'd slept well the past night. More than anything, though, Mark was hungry. He hadn't eaten since the Games started over a day ago and his stomach was screaming at him.

There was a bloodcurdling scream off in the distance, but Mark decided to ignore it. It was best to assume they were far away and that there was nothing he could do about it.

But then the person screamed again, a high-pitched noise full of pain. He was screaming out of agony, not fear. Mark knew the difference after hearing the same sound yesterday at the bloodbath after the first tribute was killed.

He peeked out of the barricaded window and frowned when he couldn't see anything. He looked around and thought for a second, before making sure Sicheng was asleep and crawling towards the tree cautiously.

He climbed down and snuck out and into the road. In the city square where the Cornucopia sat were the Careers surrounding a bloody tribute.

He stepped closer to the scene as the yells continued, followed by groans and heavy breathing. One foot in the street as he hid behind the wall of the alley and peeked forwards curiously.

There, a boy was tied to the fountain in the center of the square. His blonde hair was stained with blood, most likely from a head wound. He sat on his bottom, legs kneeling and hands at his sides, crumpled and mangled.

Mark gasped as Ten screamed in frustration and stormed back over to the blonde boy, slapping him and scoffing.

"I asked where your boyfriend is!" Ten stomped on the boy's fingers with his iron boots. The boy cried out and shook his head, which earned him another stomp.

"Liar! You know where he is! I wanna know how that buffoon got a ten in training! Nobody ranks that high unless they're a threat!" Ten screeched, stomping his foot like a child throwing a tantrum.

The tribute with the blonde hair shook his head, intense eyes looking up in fear.

"You're really not gonna tell me? I'll just find him myself." Ten sneered, grabbing the tribute's long blonde hair and jerking his head up. "I don't play nice when people don't listen to me, you know."

"Chittaphon, just do it." Yuta's voice was exasperated. They'd been at this whole "interrogation" thing all morning. It was getting old, the guy clearly wasn't going to tell them anything useful. They'd just find Hendery themselves.

Ten sighed and dropped the tribute's hair, scoffing. He bent down and grabbed an axe from their arsenal of weapons and tossed it Johnny's way.

"Bastard." Ten spat towards the tribute before whistling at Johnny. "You're up. You can have this one, he isn't worth my time."

Yuta looked on with a stony face, suddenly embracing the younger boys. He shielded Chenle, Yangyang, and Shotaro's faces in his jacket, the younger boys not wanting to see what was coming.

Lucas looked on, lip quivering. He didn't want to look, didn't want to see what would happen next. He shut his eyes tightly and grimaced.

"Finish the job, John." Ten's voice was taunting as Johnny raised his axe above the tribute's head. The tribute shook his head, pleading. He had nowhere to go, stuck at the mercy of the Careers.

There was a cry of fear that was cut off by a gross, sickening, wet sound. Mark's eyes widened impossibly wide in horror as he looked on and say the decapitated tribute, who's head was severed from his body. His once intense, pretty eyes were still and dull, unblinking and unmoving.

"Mark! I thought you were gonna be lookout! Get away from there! Mark!" Sicheng hissed as the cannon boomed, now awake. He'd grabbed Mark's arm and pulled him into the alleyway, away from the road.

Mark shook uncontrollably after seeing the dead boy's head roll from his body. He cried and Sicheng had to cup a gloved hand over the younger boy's mouth and drag him away towards their building, towards the vines that led them inside.

Sicheng hushed Mark harshly, climbing onto the vines and the light the shattered window, dragging a trembling Mark behind him.

"You're okay, you're okay! Breathe, Mark!" Sicheng urged once they'd gotten inside. He removed his hand from Mark's mouth after the boy had stopped screaming.

"He's dead! They cut his head off, he's dead! I saw- oh gosh, oh my-" Mark panicked, clawing at Sicheng and sobbing. "No! Please, I don't wanna be here! I don't want this, I don't want them to find us!"

"Mark, calm down. If you're quiet, they won't find us, okay? Just try to breathe." Sicheng reassured, hugging Mark close as if it were his brother. "You shouldn't have seen that. I wish you never saw that. Mark, I..."

Mark hiccuped, curling in on himself and staring at the winding, rotting old tree next to them. “I wanna go home! Sicheng, I can’t… I can’t do this! Please, Sicheng…” His sobs were hysterical and painful.

The older boy only cringed to himself and held Mark close, shutting his own eyes and running a hand down Mark’s back.

“I know, Mark. I know…”

• • 🖤 • •

Mark woke up shaking and screaming later that night, grabbing onto Sicheng desperately. Sicheng placed a hand over Mark's mouth so that they couldn't get caught by his yelling and so that the Career pack wouldn't wake up.

A nightmare as vivid as the moment he'd seen it, Xiaojun's head rolling from his shoulders and onto the pavement. Dead and dull eyes staring up at Mark, silently cursing him for watching and doing nothing.

Sicheng held onto Mark tightly, holding onto his head once again and shushing him as the little boy shook and trembled beneath him.

Mark couldn't play this fucking game anymore.

He wanted out.

Chapter Text

Mark had been thinking about himself for a while. About his life and about who he was.

His name was Mark Lee. He was fifteen years old and he liked watermelons. He lived with his mother, his father, and his older brother in District Three.

And due to the District's very analytical culture, he was sort of an outcast for being religious. And yeah, he was fine with that. Sometimes, though, he wished he never had any sort faith to begin with.

Because believing in an afterlife made things like this much harder to do without thinking of its consequences.

"I'm going out. The Careers are out and probably won't be back until nightfall and we need food.” Sicheng snapped Mark out of his thoughts, the younger boy thinking too hard and picking nervously at the sleeve of his jacket.

Sicheng frowned. “Mark, did you hear me? I said don’t leave, okay. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

"I promise." Mark nodded, smiling weakly at the older boy. Really, he meant it. Technically, he wasn't going anywhere. He was going to stay right here, he wouldn't leave his spot by the tree.

It was too much.

He couldn't do this anymore.

What was the point? He would die anyways.

He waited long enough and made sure that Sicheng was gone and wouldn’t come back before he took off his shoes and his jacket.

Mark laid his shoes and his backpack nicely against the wall. The sunlight hit his face and the warmth reminded him of home, the sunny and warm hills of District Three that he so rarely enjoyed.

Mark mumbled something to the air, knowing there was a camera inevitability watching his every move. He warned the cameras loud enough for the whole floor to hear, loud enough for his family to look away.

He took a shaky breath and whispered to nobody im particular that he was sorry, really sorry. He didn't want to do this, but he couldn't go on in this sick, sick game. He just couldn't take the pressure, couldn't take the hunger, couldn't take the cannons or the nightmares.

Mark took off his own jacket, situating it around the sturdiest branch he could find. He tied a messy knot and tugged on it for good measure, smiling to himself when it didn't unravel and tightened with weight.

He mumbled another prayer to the heavens above, prayed that they'd accept him after the act he would soon commit.

He hoped the heavens would forgive him.

He hoped Sicheng would, too.

• • 🖤 • •

"Mark, I found food! Someone left rations behind, some kind of dried fruit. Hey… Mark?" Sicheng asked, peeking into the building. There’d been a cannon about an hour ago, but the Careers still weren’t back yet, so Mark would be fine.

The building was quiet and Sicheng feared the worst. Had one of the Careers stayed behind and already found him? He hadn't been gone for more than a few hours and the others were terrorizing someone else on the other side of the city. So why was the building so silent?

"Mark! I finally found us some food, you should-"

Sicheng froze in horror as he inched forwards into the large room, staring at the tree that he'd become so familiar with. He'd expected to find Mark but, not like this.

Not Mark's body, limp and hanging from the old, crooked tree above him. Suspended up by the sleeve of his own jacket wrapped around his neck, his cold eyes staring forwards and towards the dusty, cracked floor.

Sicheng knew Mark wouldn't last long.

Chapter Text

Sicheng couldn't move, didn't know what to do. He'd never seen someone hang themself before, it was a jarring sight. Horrifying, the way Mark stared forwards into eternity, eyes dull.

In his District, there were occasional suicides. Neighbors who strung themselves up in their yards, unable to take hunger and poverty or parenting and stress anymore. But his mother always told him and his brother to look away while the Peacemakers took away the bodies.

The first thing Sicheng did was close Mark's dead, glassy eyes before taking his body off of the tree. He gently untied the knotted jacket, throwing it to the side and leaning a limp Mark against the tree, as if he were simply sleeping.

Throughout the day, Sicheng would talk to Mark and laugh to himself when he remembered that the boy next to him had been deceased for hours and wouldn't talk back. He felt like he was crazy, even though he knew good and well that Mark was coming back.

The viewers must have thought Sicheng to be maniacal, they must have. No one in their good mind converses with a corpse.

And then there were... the incidents. It's like the Gamemakers didn't want Sicheng to be near the body. All throughout the day, they distracted him from the body, most likely to take it away before it started to decompose. It was hot and ashy outside and more likely then not Mark would start decaying if they didn't remove him.

A part of Sicheng didn't want them to remove Mark, though. If they did, he'd be all alone.

There was a scream outside of the building that startled Sicheng, but he didn't leave. There were rats occasionally, bigger and more threatening than Sicheng had ever seen -but he didn't leave. Finally, at one point the building had begun to rumble earlier in the day and Sicheng had decided to leave in case of a collapse, leaving Mark's body alone.

He hobbled to another building, farther away from the center Cornucopia. That was just fine with him; he didn't want another run-in with the Careers. Sicheng clutched his backpack and stared into the smoky sky, watching as ashes rained down onto his hands and hair. He wondered how the Gamemakers kept so much ash in the air, but figured there was no point in wondering about it.

He snagged his leg on a wire at one point later, tripping and cutting his thigh open. All day after that he'd been hobbling around with and closed leg, simply tying a rag over it and hoping the bleeding would stop.

He watched his old building as it began to shake debris from its exterior.

Yet, it didn't fall.

Sicheng didn't want to go back. He knew Mark would be gone and he had grabbed his backpack already, so really there wasn't a reason. It would be pointless, and the farther from the Careers he was, the better.

It had only been three days, but it felt like a constant nightmare that dragged on for months. Hard to believe that he and Mark were only allies for less than three days.

So, why was he so apathetic about Mark's death? Should he have cried? Crying wouldn't really change anything.

Night fell after several hours and Sicheng tried his hardest to stay awake. He was by himself, there was no one able to stand guard now. Either he sleep now and risk being murdered while he dreams, or stay awake and watch his own back.

At some point when the moon was high in the sky again, he heard an orchestral sound; the Panem anthem always startled him.

He looked into the sky as the anthem played, staring sadly into the night at what he saw.

The portrait of Mark looked back innocently at Sicheng and his stomach twisted into a sickening knot. Gone forever, the innocent and sweet boy who befriended Sicheng -as unlikely as that may have seemed.

A boy from District Five apparently died earlier in the day and Sicheng doesn't even remember meeting him. His eyes were large, though, and he looked too kind for the Games.

What suddenly made his blood run cold, though, was his own brother's scowling face filled the night sky with his name and district below him.

Renjun, with his long two-toned hair and piercing, furious amber eyes.

Renjun, scowling in his portrait despite being told to smile when they'd taken it days ago.

Renjun, who Sicheng won't ever, ever see again.

And then in a matter of seconds, he was gone. His portrait disappeared and Sicheng's breathing stopped. He looked down into his hands and shut his eyes tight. He wished none of this was real, wished that the Games had never happened at all, wished that he'd see Renjun alive again.

There was one more portrait in the sky, but Sicheng couldn't even focus past the world spinning around him. Dizzy and nauseous, he held his head in his hands as the anthem ended.

Mark Lee, District 3
Lee Taeyong, District 5
Huang Renjun, District 7
Na Jaemin, District 11

Every cell in his body was screaming at him to cry, scream, mourn, anything. But the tears just weren't coming, which frustrated him even more.

He felt sick, he felt numb, he felt lonely, he felt scared, he felt... confused? He couldn't differentiate the millions of emotions he was facing and feeling. It was something he'd never felt before, not even when Mark died or his mother died.

Sicheng really was all alone now.

Chapter Text

Eight hours before Renjun died, Mark had killed himself.

Renjun -of course- didn't know this and didn't care, either.

Three teenage boys stared out at the sky through the broken window as another cannon sounded in the sky and Jeno shuddered, curling up closer to Jaemin.

"Who do you think that was?" Jeno's voice was quiet, looking up at Jaemin. Jaemin shrugged and looked outside at the bright sky and perpetual ash raining down.

A scoff resounded from a small figure in the corner, picking at his own skin.

"Another one down for the count. Every person dead and every day passed is good. Why should I care?" Renjun looked up from where he was picking at his arm and grabbed his dagger, sharpening it against a shard of glass below him.

"Oh, come on! Don't be heartless! What day is it anyways?" Jaemin asked, which made Jeno shrug.

Renjun grabbed his dagger and stabbed it into a wooden wall with dusty, old spray paint on it. "Day three. You both should really keep track of that." He chided, stabbing the wall again idly.

"We need to find food and water." Jeno reminded suddenly, hearing his own stomach growl.

Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows. "We have rations."

"We don't. Remember, the stupid rats ate them during the night and you failed to chase them off." Renjun grumbled, resuming his sharpening.

Jaemin got up from where he sat and got close to the window where Renjun was. "The rats are getting bigger, I'm telling you. These ones were the size of your fuckin' head, babe!"

"What have I said about you calling me 'babe'?" Renjun shot back, narrowing his gaze. "The rats aren't getting bigger, that's bullshit."

Jeno got up and pointed at the window. "Fighting isn't gonna feed us. I'm sure there's some source of water. They wouldn't make all 24 of us die of thirst. Think about it, that would be a boring Hunger Games."

Renjun thought for a moment and nodded. "Then let's go. I'm sick of this place anyways."

• • 🖤 • •

"I knew there'd be water nearby! I'm surprised no one else seems to have found this river. The bridge and winds around it, but it seems like it flows out where the force field stops." Jaemin tossed a rock into the river and smiled. "It's safe. Not acidic, barely metallic. Just a little salty and a little green. Still water, no currents and no rapids. And if this city wasn't destroyed, the soil could produce plants and maybe vegetation. Root veggies, mostly. However, the waterbed has a high chance of flooding if it rained. Fortunately, it doesn't rain here, so we don't have to worry about that. I wish we had seeds."

"How do you know all this? You're like... so smart, Jaemin." Jeno was bewildered, watching as Jaemin took off his jacket and shirt, throwing them on the ground.

Jaemin shrugged and took of his pants, causing Renjun to blush a bright red. He turned to both boys with a smile on his face and kicked over his shoes. "I'm really not, but thank you ."

He unclasped the necklace around his neck and sighed, holding the beaded jewelry. It was his one item he was allowed to have in the arena.

"You don't bathe with the necklace on?" Jeno furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Nah, never. I don't want the string to get worn and gross and moldy, y'know?" Jaemin shook his head, tossing the necklace against the riverbank's scarce, dead grass. Then, he peeled off his undergarments and waded into the river. "Sunset skinny dip?"

Renjun couldn't believe it. "This is the Hunger Games, there's no time for skinny dipping."

"Mmm right, but nobody else is around. And the sunset's really pretty. Live a little, we've survived this long, Junnie." Jaemin winked, dunking his head under the water. When he came up for air, he sighed happily. He loved clear river water like this; unfortunately, District Eleven had more swampy water than anything else, so a swim like this was rare.

Jeno looked at Renjun and started to take off his jacket. "I mean... he's not disintegrating. Jaem's still alive, seems okay."

Renjun looked on in disgust as Jeno stripped down to nothing and put his clothes into his backpack carefully, wading into the water.

Jaemin whooped, splashing Renjun from where he was. Renjun, on the other hand, was worried that he was being too loud and would compromise their position.

"Shut it, Jaemin!" He hissed, looking around and keeping his dagger close.

"Get in here and make me." Jaemin stuck his tongue out at Renjun, before yelping and being dunked under the water playfully by Jeno.

Everything in Renjun's body yelled at him to say no, but of course he gave in anyways. Taking off his jacket and his shoes, he laid them at the riverbank next to the backpack carefully, along with his dagger. He kept his clothes on, which made the other two boo him playfully for it.

Jaemin swam up to Renjun, popping his head up from the water and grinning. He had nothing on and Renjun really had to admit that the sunlight shone perfectly on his beautiful tan skin, his broad shoulders that glistened with river water, everything.

His eyes wandered, and then he yelped, shutting them in surprise.

"Gosh, put your junk away! Did you forget where we are?" Renjun mumbled, averting his gaze. "We should be looking for food!"

"You see me naked and you think about eating? Very suspicious, Huang Renjun. Is it because you like me?" Jaemin teased, making Renjun scoff incredulously and swim away from him.

"You wish." Renjun looked around cautiously, his dagger back in arms reach. "You're disgusting."

"You're the one who thought it." Jaemin shrugged, climbing onto Jeno's back with an excited giggle. The two thrashed around for a bit, much to Renjun's dismay.

After a while, things became quiet. Peaceful. Even Jeno and Jaemin had stopped wrestling each other and now just swam, enjoying the escape within the Games. The river felt like a blessing, like an oasis of some sort.

The sun was going down and Renjun smiled to himself at the thought of surviving another day. He thought about Sicheng, hoping that he made it too. He hoped that someone was with his brother and was strong for him, like Renjun would do.

Renjun floated on his back in thought, shutting his eyes and letting the golden sunlight beam on him. If he convinced himself enough, he might really imagine himself at a beach with friends in a world where he didn't have to kill his peers for entertainment and sport.

"You know, I really like you both! I think if we didn't meet in this place, we'd be inseparable!" Jaemin declared, swimming backwards in the river as if it were a swimming pool. As if they were simply there to have fun. "You're both so different. Renjunnie is so combative and my Jeno is so, so pacifistic. And I don't perceive violence at all, I'd prefer to think. It's beautiful, really.

"Beautiful?" Jeno echoed.

"Mhm. The three of us... I wish this moment wouldn't end." Jaemin continued. Renjun could hear the smile in his voice was he rambled on. "What if we-" Jaemin was cut short by a loud gasp and the sound of metal cutting something soft.

Metal... cutting something soft.

Renjun opened his eyes and grabbed his dagger, pointing it towards Jaemin and opening his mouth wide in shock.

Jeno had gasped from where he floated, staring at Jaemin. The youngest boy looked at the other two, then down to his chest where a large blade was lodged. His eyes were wide in shock as the blade was ripped from his body and he fell into the cold water in front of the other two.

"Well! Didn't go down without much of a fight, hm?" A short figure stood in the river, looming over Jaemin's body. Jaemin was trying to situate himself on the riverbank again, coughing in the shallow water and clinging to the small, weak plants along the edges. He held onto his chest wound, hand soaking in dark blood faster than he could think.

The blood was thick, and Jaemin was rapidly becoming pale -nearly gray.

Renjun then noticed a group of older teenagers behind him. A large group of polished killers that they luckily hadn't had a run in with... until now.

"The Career pack." Jeno whispered, backing away towards the riverbank as his eyes met the ringleader's; a short young man with cat-like eyes pointed a long, curved knife at the pair and grinned sadistically, hearing the coughs and sputters of Jaemin coughing on blood.

Jeno had crawled out of the water, still facing the group. He grabbed his jacket and wrapped the oversized garment over himself, almost forgetting how exposed he really was until he saw Jaemin, naked and bleeding out on the riverbank.

Renjun was poised to fight, but his blood ran cold. He knew that if it came down to a fight, him and Jeno would die almost immediately. There were so many more of them against Jeno and Renjun.

He gripped his dagger tighter and backed away, drenched in bloody water.

The short teen called out to the two, as if to get the attention of dogs. "You both! Because I like this sort of thing, I'm going to give you boys a ten second head start." He smiled a sick smile and turned to the tallest boy, nudging his head. "Johnny! Chenle! You know what to do."

He held up two hands, dropping his own knife with a gleeful smile and looked at the boys. "Ten! Nine! Eight!..."

"Jaem!" Jeno reached out towards Jaemin, who bled out into the water and dyed it a translucent, ugly crimson. Renjun knew they couldn't stay, not even to speak a full sentence to Jaemin- even though Jeno wanted to.

And that wasn't fair.

But that was the Games, and the Games aren't fair.

"Jeno! Jeno, we've gotta go! There's no time!" Renjun pulled harshly on Jeno's jacket sleeve and snatched up his backpack, not bothering to make sure if it was closed or not.

"...One!"

As he grabbed at it, a thick blade much like machete sliced at his arm and he winced, feeling a large cut form through his jacket, from his elbow to nearly his wrist.

Still, the two started to sprint away, unable to look back. It was do or die, they both knew it.

The cannon boomed behind them, but Renjun kept running. He and Jeno stumbled forwards, weaving through alleyways as someone chased them down.

The shorter boy ran quicker, some sort of crossbow in his hands, ready to shoot as they ran. Jeno and Renjun dodged, running in a zigzag to avoid being shot.

Renjun thought they were avoiding the two well enough until Jeno screamed and stumbled. When he looked down, an arrow was shot into Jeno's thigh, the area quickly looking yellow and sickly. Renjun pulled Jeno along as he groaned in pain, but they didn't stop for anything.

They seemed to outrun the little one, losing him in a maze of streets and alleys- but the largest was still on their tail.

Heavy footsteps followed them and Renjun's heart pounded in time with their quick steps. He made a sharp turn down a thin alleyway and dragged Jeno behind him, before making another left where the alley let out. He heard a thud and a curse from the tall boy who was chasing them. Renjun assumed he'd slipped and hurt himself, but the two of them still didn't stop running away until they were safely inside a building many streets away.

"Jaemin's gone..." Jeno murmured suddenly, slumping against the wall after they'd caught their breath. "What if they come after us again?"

Renjun stared at Jeno's infected leg and at his own arm, spliced open. He saw a small, blinking underneath his skin and furrowed his eyes

"The trackers."

"What?"

"Jeno, the trackers!" Renjun whispered, eyes lighting up. "They won't try and find us if they think we're dead. Your leg is fucked up and my arm is too. If they hear a cannon-"

Jeno grabbed Renjun's arm and tried to snatch away his dagger. "No! You're not killing yourself for me!"

Renjun snatched the weapon back. "I know what I'm doing, Jen." He narrowed his eyes and positioned the dagger at his arm, already bleeding and cut open. He forced the skin apart and shut his eyes, biting his tongue.

The pain was excruciating, searing heat in Renjun's arm as he grit his teeth and dug farther. Something small glowed and blinked and he carved it out, braving the pain as beat he could. Jeno didn't know what to do, standing by as Renjun dug out his tracker and threw it on the ground, stepping on it and breaking it up into small pieces, barely visible.

There was a cannon boom and both boys looked up at each other in surprise, only illuminated by moonlight.

"Holy shit. It worked." Jeno smiled, hobbling towards his backpack and taking out his shirt, wrapping it tightly around Renjun's arm. "The bleeding doesn't look too awful, but if you die too, I'll kill you."

That made Renjun laugh shallowly.

"As far as they know, I am dead." Renjun looked at the bits and pieces of metal, stomping on it a little more for good measure as Jeno finished wrapping his arm. "Let's make camp somewhere else, I have a bad feeling about this building."

"I hope this works." Jeno whispered, holding the necklace on his thick neck -the necklace Jaemin had laid on the riverbank before he swam. Renjun didn't know when Jeno had the time to swipe it and latch it on, but felt oddly peaceful knowing that they had something left of Jaemin.

"Yeah... I hope so too."

Chapter Text

The building the Sicheng had retreated to only hours before began to shake violently during the night. It must have been the early hours of the morning and he must have dozed off because when he came to, it was still dark outside.

Last time, the building shaking was a fluke, but Sicheng had a feeling that this time wasn't a joke. It was much more violent in its shaking, support beams creaking in the silent night. Frantically, he searched for his bag in the darkness, slinging it over his shoulder and running out of the building before it collapsed.

He sprinted away and down the road, his boots hitting the pavement louder than he'd like. The stomps echoed through the empty streets as the building finally started to come down, rubble and dust following him and clouding his vision.

The ash and sawdust fell onto his hair, his jacket. It covered him and messed up his perception, but still he ran. He ran as fast as he could before he froze, realizing he'd stumbled into the wrong place at the absolute wrong time.

He was back near the building he and Mark stayed in. Near where he started this whole game, a clearing with a fountain in the middle. And here he was, staring in plain sight when the Career pack could be anywhere.

And it didn't take long to find them.

His heart beat erratically in his chest, making it the only thing he could hear. He ducked into an alley, climbing onto a windowsill and peering down. Sicheng wanted to survey the area and find the safest way out, looking around for a little while before realizing two things.

There was light. The Careers were so overconfident that they decided to light a fire in the middle of the city at night. Smoke filled the air and his eyes traveled to where it disappeared in the sky above them.

The other thing he noticed is that where there was fire, something was cooking. A sickeningly sweet smell wafted into the air and invaded Sicheng's nose, making him sick to his stomach.

A mutilated body laid on the ground in front of them, ripped apart violently. Guts of all kind were strewn around and some sort of organ was suspended above the fire, charring and letting out a disgusting smell with it.

The face of the victim, though, was untouched. Forever frozen in an expression of terror and realization, greyed face and wide, dark eyes illuminated by the firelight.

Sicheng nearly vomited right then and there, faintly recognizing the corpse as Lee Taeyong, the boy from District Five who'd died yesterday. And here he was, being eaten and cooked by the Career pack- namely Ten.

The others seemed weary, at least. Yuta, Shotaro, and Chenle all sat far away, speaking to each other to take their minds off of what was going on at the fire.

The rest, however, picked at pieces of meat that surely must have come from the dead boy. Sicheng might have simply thought they were eating large rats if he hadn't already seen the mutilated tribute before him.

His backpack fell from his shoulders and onto the ground with a thud. He paused, frozen and unable to move or even look down at it. There was a noise from the Careers' camp and he gasped, losing his footing suddenly and sliding down the alley wall. Groaning, he sat up and tried to scurry away before the Careers heard, but it was too late.

Someone grabbed his leg, dragging him away from his backpack and away from the alley. A breath got caught in his chest. He wanted to scream, but all he could do is look on in horror as he was thrown into the center clearing, where Ten and the others looked much too excited to see him.

"Well, if it isn't Yuta's little rat!" Ten whistled, throwing away the bloodied piece of meat between his fingers and instead grabbing one of his equally bloody knives. Sicheng was petrified with fear, unable to move or yell or fight back as Johnny kicked him in the back.

The Careers all stood up now at full attention, staring down at Sicheng with various expressions of surprise. The only one who didn't was Shotaro, who was slumped over weakly, gripping the stone steps he was sitting on.

Ten stepped forwards, still playing with his weapon. Johnny stepped back and Lucas -who'd dragged Sicheng over in the first place- had backed away too, leaving Ten to stare down Sicheng psychotically.

"Oh... you look so fun! It's a shame, really. You'd be even more fun, but you haven't even put up a fight yet! What's your name?" Ten asked, smiling as he did every time he asked a victim this. Sicheng only shook his head, making Ten's smile falter.

"Don't you wanna join your brother? Don't you miss him?" Ten's voice was taunting, cold as it traveled through Sicheng's ears and down his spine. He looked up in horror, from Ten's face to the bloody knife in his hand.

"What? W-What are you talking about?" Sicheng's voice was shaky, pathetic. Ten only leaned down, kneeling as he stared into Sicheng's eyes wildly.

"Oh, you poor, dumb thing! We killed your little brother and now..." Ten flipped the knife around his fingers and pointed it at Sicheng's head, an evil smile playing on his features. "...we're gonna kill you too."

Ten raised his knife up above Sicheng, ready to cut into him. His life flashed before his eyes, replaying random memories as time seemed to slow. Sicheng shut his eyes as tight as he could, wincing and preparing for the pain.

But it never came. Instead, Yuta stood in front of Sicheng, shoving the boy backwards into a wall and standing up to Ten. The others murmured, but Yuta didn't move. He held Ten's wrist in his hand, holding the knife away from himself and Sicheng while holding his own weapon in his other hand.

"He doesn't have to suffer." Yuta's voice was quiet, barely audible. In the silence of the night, it was barely heard over the soft crackles of the fire.

"Yuta, let go of me." Ten's voice was chilling and calm, but Yuta still didn't stop.

"You were going to cut him, not stab him. You weren't going to slit his throat or aim for the skull, Chittaphon. You were going to make him suffer." Yuta pointed out as Ten yanked his hand from Yuta's grip.

The smaller teen didn't retaliate, only stepping back with an expression of confusion and anger. The other Careers looked on in shock, not knowing what to do.

"This isn't what we agreed to." Johnny scoffed in disbelief, kicking away the still-bleeding corpse of Taeyong, wincing at the crimson on his shoes. "We agreed to protect Shotaro, Yuta. Not either of these... scumbags." He gestured towards Taeyong's limp body and Sicheng, who cowered behind Yuta.

Yuta narrowed his eyes and gestured towards Sicheng. "He didn't do anything wrong." He argued, face stony and serious. "He just lost his brother. Either put him out of his misery quick or let him go."

"No, Yuta. Either you honor the alliance and back away or we kill you both. You lose our protection." Ten's voice was oddly calm and quiet, staring at Yuta with just as much ferocity. "I won't hesitate. You don't tell me how to kill."

Yuta didn't waver. He stood just as strong, gripping his own weapon with his other hand, ready to catch Ten's bony wrist with his empty hand if he stuck again.

"Oh? You're serious. Alright, Yuta Nakamoto! All bets are off then. This should be fun." Ten flipped a knife around his lithe fingers and grinned evilly. He pointed the weapon at Shotaro, but didn't move.

Yuta leapt forwards, shielding now both Sicheng and Shotaro. He bared his teeth and held his trident at the ready, facing Ten and Johnny. The other Careers stood by, either holding weapons or readying to fight hand-to-hand by Ten's side.

"This is a fight you won't win, Yuta. I suggest you, your rat, and your little boyfriend leave now before I actually do hurt someone." Ten's voice was taunting as he pointed at all five tributes who surrounded the trio and Taeyong's body.

Yuta grabbed onto Shotaro's sleeve and Sicheng's jacket sleeve without looking and shoved them towards the alley. "Fine. The alliance is broken then." He confirmed. Sicheng eyed his backpack, ready to grab it and run, but there was no need. The Careers didn't move a muscle, Ten's hand held up as an order to stay put.

Ten's unsettling smile stayed plastered on his face and Yuta stood to him, never showing any of them his back. Cautiously, he crawled towards the alley and onto a ledge, pulling the other two with them. Sicheng had grabbed his own bag, following Yuta's lead.

The three of them ran, constantly looking back and over their shoulders. But the pack never followed them, which Sicheng couldn't help but doubt and worry about. They were let off too easy, why did Ten simply let them go?

Shotaro was shaking, knees weak as he followed the older two. He stumbled as they escaped the Careers, but fell into an alleyway suddenly as they turned a corner, his body making a thud against the concrete.

Yuta gasped, ducking down to make sure the boy hadn't hit his head. He checked for head trauma, sighing in relief when he realized Shotaro hadn't injured himself.

The sun began to come up, drenching all of them in a gentle and dim dawn light. Yuta knelt down with worry, scanning Shotaro's body before noticing how pale his skin really was and the rashes forming on his neck. He shook lightly and groaned, looking at them through droopy and eyes. His skin and energy was lethargic and sickly. And it was then that they realized that Shotaro hadn't spoken a word that night or even screamed when Ten threatened him, and became even more worried with his condition.

Something was clearly, very wrong.

Chapter Text

"His skin is pale and flaky. I don't know what's going on." Yuta's voice was frantic as he wrestled Shotaro's jacket off, examining his arms and neck. "What's wrong with him?"

"Has he eaten? It's been days." Sicheng looked between the two with wide eyes, remembering how sick Renjun had looked last year at home in District 7 before he received any tesserae. Shotaro now looked like he had some sort of an infection or rash and his body couldn't fight it off because he hadn't eaten. His was thin and his breaths were deep and raspy.

There was a silence as Yuta stopped examining Shotaro's body. "He refused to eat any of it. Not just the tribute's body, but any rats or bugs, anything." Yuta realized, looking at Sicheng worriedly.

With his worries confirmed, Sicheng frantically dug through his bag, taking out a small container with dried fruit and opening it. He held Shotaro upright so that he wouldn't choke and as quickly as he could, he fed it to Shotaro hurriedly.

Shotaro coughed, his shaky lips not wanting to take the food in. Still, Sicheng made sure he ate all of it, helping the boy chew it and everything. Shotaro's weak body slumped against the wall as Sicheng fed him the last of the rations, tossing the container to the side and checking Shotaro's pulse and temperature the best he could. He dragged his hand against Shotaro's forehead, nodding to Yuta that he seemed okay and stable.

The sun was coming up finally over the dusty streets. At some point, Yuta decided that they needed to get farther away, putting Shotaro on his back and trekking farther into the city.

Sicheng followed, the trio only taking dark alleys to avoid getting caught by other tributes. If it were just Sicheng and Yuta, maybe they could fight other people off and win, but they were carrying an ill and unconscious Shotaro. If they got attacked now, they wouldn't stand a chance unless the person was alone.

Yuta kept mumbling to himself, his eyes darting from street to street. Just as Sicheng was about to ask Yuta what he was looking for, the oldest boy gasped and hurried towards a bridge underpass with a smile on his face.

Sicheng followed anxiously before noticing the murky blue-green water below the bridge. His eyes widened and at that moment he realized just how much his head ached under the hot morning sun, having run out of water rations last night.

"I had no idea there was any water here." Sicheng remarked, suddenly noticing how thirsty he was.

Yuta nodded and smirked. "The other Careers probably don't even know it's here either. We found some kind of river last night, but they're not smart enough to figure out that a river doesn't flow one way."

Sicheng only watched as Yuta threw a rock into the water and watched it sink. Still, he didn't want to get too close to the stream considering everything in the Games was meticulously placed -especially to kill.

Instead, he sat on the riverbank where Yuta eventually sat down with Shotaro's head laid on his legs. Sicheng sat close enough to Yuta, but kept his distance. He didn't dare dip his feet into the water.

"Sicheng, right?" Yuta asked, voice barely audible. He raked his hands through Shotaro's matted, light hair and looked up at Sicheng through his own red bangs.

Sicheng nodded, not knowing what to say in response. He knew Yuta's name well, what else was he going to ask him?

There was a cannon so suddenly in the morning sky, which made Sicheng jump. He would never get used to the noise, he doesn't think.

"Where's the kid?" Yuta asked quietly, looking around as if to see something. Sicheng's eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what Yuta was asking.

"The kid? You were hiding with the boy from Three, right?" Yuta elaborated, dipping his foot into the river's water.

Sicheng was silent for a moment. "No, Mark... he killed himself. Two days ago, I think."

"Oh. I'm so sorry." Yuta's voice was weaker than Sicheng was used to. "He seemed like a good kid."

"He was." Sicheng nodded, looking at his open backpack. A tree branch stuck through it , making the top poke up a little bit. He'd taken the tree branch before he had abandoned he and Mark's shelter, before the Gamemakers stole Mark away from him. "It's fine. He's resting now, that's what matters."

"He is. They both are." Yuta gave Sicheng a pitiful look and when Sicheng didn't understand he elaborated; "Your brother, I mean. They're both resting now."

Sicheng's mouth went dry. He'd almost forgotten seeing his brother's face in the night sky, almost forgot that his brother was dead. His mother, his friends, his only brother... gone.

There was a silence only occupied by Sicheng's own thoughts. He didn't even get to see his brother's body. How did Renjun die? Did he fight back? Was it quick and painless? Slow and painful? Is he relieved that Renjun doesn't have to live out this hellish game anymore, or does a little, selfish part of him wish his brother was still here? He can't tell.

"Is it true?" Sicheng's voice was quiet. Yuta looked at him in confusion, only to realize it seconds later. Yuta looked down at his hands and nodded slowly.

"I dunno. Johnny and Chenle went after them and there was a cannon right before they came back." Yuta's voice was low and careful as he avoided Sicheng's gaze.

There was another painful silence before Sicheng spoke up again, voice breaking.

"Was he alone?"

Yuta shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "No, of course not. He was swimming with two other boys. Looked like they were having the time of their lives, really."

Sicheng felt a weight lift from his heart. At least if Renjun passed, he passed quickly and with others around him. That made him feel better about Renjun, having thought his brother died alone and suffering. The way Yuta painted it, it seemed quick.

"I'm sorry." Yuta added quickly, something in his tone wavering.

"If you didn't kill him, then you've got nothing to be sorry for." Sicheng placed his hand on Yuta's and smiled weakly. Yuta only stayed silent for a while, not moving his hand.

"I actually... have something for you. Here. You're kind of stupid to run around the arena with no weapons."

Sicheng's head snapped up and he looked at Yuta with a perplexed expression. Yuta smiled, digging through his and Shotaro's bag and pulled out a small handheld dagger. The blade was fairly dull and rusty, but otherwise it was in good condition. It was better than nothing, better than having no weapons at all.

"Thank you, Yu-"

There was a violent coughing noise a few feet away where Shotaro laid down. He started to move, which startled the other two boys.

"Oh, gosh! Shotaro!" Yuta immediately dove down where he laid the younger boy down, feeling his skin and forehead nervously. Shotaro kept coughing, opening his eyes slowly to the blinding sunlight. He tried to sit up, but faltered.

"Is it safe to drink?" Sicheng asked, looking at Yuta expectantly. Yuta shrugged before shaking his head and dipping his hand in the stream.

"Probably not. That's probably the illusion: safe to swim in, most likely unsafe to drink."

"Maybe we can filter it with something." Sicheng murmured as Shotaro began to sit up and try to stand with shaky steps. Yuta watched on, concerned for a while. After a few minutes, Shotaro seemed stable enough and Yuta took his eyes off of the youngest boy. Sicheng was just relieved that Shotaro was so quickly recovering, only within a few hours of eating again.

Eventually, Yuta and Sicheng started a relaxed conversation about their homes and what life was like before the arena and things they liked, disliked, were interested in. If it weren't for the Hunger Games, they might have forgotten and simply laughed for hours on end.

Sicheng really liked Yuta. He realized that underneath the intimidating exterior was a kind boy who enjoyed lots of the same things he did. Yuta enjoyed rainy days and giving people gifts and holding cats. Apparently, he'd hated fishing despite being great with a net. District Four was known for fishing and Sicheng smiled at the irony of hating the district's specialty- it was very Yuta somehow.

Sicheng liked Yuta pretty red hair (which was apparently naturally black) and his pretty brown eyes. How healing and sweet his smile was and how it made something flutter in Sicheng's stomach.

He examined Yuta more, getting closer to the other boy. He noticed the fading marks on his neck and something in him wanted to trace them with his fingers. Something about the marks wasn't right and Sicheng wanted to pry and ask what they were and where they came from.

"Yuta? What are-" Sicheng began, before he was interrupted by Shotaro yelling. Immediately, the pair jumped up and grabbed their weapons and bags, Yuta running as fast as he could towards Shotaro's voice.

Shotaro yelped as he stepped on something lumpy, swollen with bites and skin that was pale and green with disease. He'd wandered off, farther down underneath the overpass and found something he'd rather have never seen. He held back a scream as he recognized the lump as a former tribute, cold and dead and gnawed on and sickly-looking.

"Taro! Are you oka- oh." Yuta began, headed down the hill and under the bridge. The oldest spotted the tribute and grimaced, keeping his distance from the grotesque corpse.

Sicheng only looked on in horror, disgusted with the flesh and fluids oozing from the torn up body.

"What could have... could have done this?" Shotaro asked, horrified. He backed away and grabbed his bow, which sat on the concrete. He didn't even remember grabbing it, but supposes that Yuta had grabbed it before leaving the Career camp.

There was a hollow skittering sound and as Yuta and Shotaro looked on at the body, Sicheng turned around cautiously. His eyes scanned the dusty riverbank, looking in the shadows for what might make the sound. After finding seemingly nothing, he nearly gave up before spotting it in the shadows.

"I think I know what killed him..." Sicheng began, pulling out his new dagger and turning to face a snarling rat about the size of a child, with yellowy, sickish eyes and teeth the size of their entire hands.

Shotaro docked an arrow onto his bow, hands shaking and unable to aim. Yuta gripped his trident, facing the creature now with a determined glare.

The three of them stood still after readying their weapons. They stared forwards at the mutt, waiting and watching. Time seemed to slow to a stop, tension thick between them. Eyes darting, hands clammy.

And then, the rat lunged itself forwards off of its hind legs, hissing and shrieking as it tore its teeth into the flesh of Yuta's leg.

Chapter Text

Yuta yelled, trying to pry the creature off of his leg with his trident. Shotaro shot his arrow off as quickly as he could, but missed the creature and ending up hitting pavement instead. Sicheng stood by, temporarily too afraid to move before snapping out of it moments later after hearing Yuta's screaming.

He tightened his grip on his dagger, practically throwing it into the back of the mutated rat. The creature shrieked and leapt off of him, thrashing against Sicheng now. He pulled the weapon from its rough, thick back and fell backwards, falling into Shotaro and knocking him over.

The creature snarled again at the trio, skittering against the pavement as it bled a deep black color. Shotaro dove down where Yuta was knelt, ignoring the animal. The oldest boy was gritting his teeth, holding his bleeding, discolored thigh whilst looking over in shock at Sicheng's bloodied dagger.

The rat looked at Sicheng with its feverish yellow eyes, only to hiss and slink away suddenly, leaving the trio alone again by the riverbank. They caught their breath, watching it fall away into the shadows and Yuta finally slumped over on the concrete, his trident hitting the street with a loud metallic clang.

Shotaro gasped, sitting next to Yuta and checking his pulse. When he found that, he nodded and started examining the wound. So far, it looked rapidly infected, with bite marks slashing through his tendon and turning the skin a sickly pale yellow color. Sicheng could only stand by, putting his dagger into the pocket on his jacket and looking on with a horrified expression. Yuta himself looked rather unbothered, despite hissing in pain every so often if he was jostled around.

Shotaro grabbed Yuta, who groaned in pain. He hoisted him up on his bony back and looked at Sicheng worriedly. "We have to get out of here. Someone might have heard Yuta scream, they might come after us."

Sicheng nodded, grabbing his own backpack and Yuta's, throwing them on his back and picking up the trident from the ground. The two walked for a while, still weary of other tributes who might be lurking. The sun rose in the morning sky, the day becoming hotter and hotter, still looking for a place to lay low. A few buildings shook and were heard across the city. He looked around, trying to find somewhere to go from here when he noticed an open sewer cover adjacent to an alleyway and ran towards it.

He peeked inside, seeing a hollow room leading to more tunnels. Hesitantly, he grabbed a nearby stone from the road and tossed it in to test any invisible acids or traps. But no, the rock only hit the bottom of the tunnel without any visible consequence. Sicheng leaned his head back upwards where Shotaro and Yuta were hiding and nodded his head, crawling into the sewer cautiously.

He waved them down, helping Shotaro grab Yuta and help him down, attempting not to agitate the wound any farther. Sicheng laid Yuta down against the tunnel wall along with their backpacks, before whipping head upwards towards the tunnel opening.

There was a faint bell sound above them, Shotaro gasping excitedly and spotting a capsule with a small parachute floating down from the sky, the bell noise playing louder as it descended. Shotaro leaned out of the sewer to grab it, standing on his tip toes so that it would land in his small hands.

Shotaro ripped off a small notecard that was attached to the parachute, handing it off to Sicheng.

Sicheng squinted, reading the smudged note as Shotaro fumbled with the lid of the container. "'Do what you have to do'. What's that supposed to mean?" He asked, turning towards Shotaro who shrugged.

"I have no clue. But hey, that was pretty fast, huh?" Shotaro asked, eyes lighting up as he opened the capsule to find a small tube of ointment with a torn off label. He grabbed it and positioned it towards Yuta's leg, cringing at the sight of the yellowing infection.

Yuta smacked his hand lightly. "Taro! Apply with your fingers, don't just waste it!" He chided, making Shotaro pout and nod dutifully.

As Shotaro started to rub the ointment on Yuta, it stung and he winced, holding onto his trident for support. Sicheng laid down both of their backpacks as Yuta writhed, feeling the cold, painful medicine invade his cut.

Much more hissing and groaning later,Yuta had laid down against the tunnel wall, slumped over. He was barely conscious, which worried Sicheng. Still, he figured that Yuta must be alright, considering that the wound was visibly less swollen, skin growing back without its pale and sick tint.

The oldest was running his hand lazily through Shotaro's hair, eventually stopping to bicker about Shotaro staying still, to which the response was a mocking tone repeating what Yuta was saying. Sicheng smiled softly, the scene making him miss him brother and the times they used to bicker.

"You're like brothers." Sicheng observed, which made Yuta smile fondly. The oldest ruffled Shotaro's messy hair and nodded.

"We might as well be. I've known this kid my entire life."

Shotaro furrowed his eyebrows and shut the cap of the medicine, wiping his sticky hands on his jacket. "You're older than me, how the heck have you known me your entire life if I'm only fourteen?"

Yuta sighed again, rolling his eyes. "Dummy, it's an exaggeration. Less talking, more healing. Come on, Taro." He urged, making Shotaro open the tube again and hesitantly apply even more ointment. "But yeah, we pretty much are siblings. I'd take down a million rats for Taro, honestly."

Sicheng looked around, hearing a distant echoing skitter. He looked down at Yuta's calf. "The rats seem pretty far off. We're lucky you've got sponsors. The cut already looks so much better."

"I think they live down here. I don't know how that one escaped, but I feel like it was planted by the Gamemakers." Yuta huffed, hissing lowly as Shotaro applied more cream onto his infection. "And the sponsor was a given, some people owe me favors. A lot of people, actually."

"Favors?" Sicheng asked, eyebrows furrowing. Yuta nodded but decided not to allude to it, suddenly shifting uncomfortably where he sat. He messed with his hands and frowned, looking away nervously, so Sicheng decided not to pry any further.

Instead, they sat in near silence. Somewhere along the way, Shotaro decided to scout out the tunnels. He took his bow with him, deciding that he'd practice shooting if he found any small rats or bugs around or near the surface. Yuta (though reluctant after what had happened earlier in the morning) let Shotaro go off on his own considering how quiet the tunnels were.

A special anthem played suddenly at some point, an odd song that Sicheng found vaguely familiar. No cannons were shot off and Sicheng could see through the manhole opening that the sky was still very dusty and bright, so the song wasn't that of the dead tributes. That only happened at midnight, the start of a new day.

Yuta looked perplexed and sat up from where he was laid down. He ghosted a hand over Sicheng's before touching his own wound gently, staring into the sky with determination.

"Must be something special" Yuta mumbled, looking from the sewer opening above them to Shotaro -who explored nearby- climbing the ladders of the tunnel and looking upwards. He smiled at how curious Shotaro was, always wanting to explore.

"An event." Sicheng realized, earning an odd look from Yuta. He elaborated, pointing to the sky. "I mean, that's the sound of an arena event, right?" He asked, looking around the damp, dark sewer as if the event would spontaneously spawn where he was. Yuta nodded, still looking around nervously with his gaze fixated on the sky above the tunnel, mumbling something to himself.

"Only question is, what's it gonna be?"

His eyes narrowed, as if trying to see something far out into the sky. His nose twitched ever so slightly and he looked around, becoming even more jittery as time went on. Seconds passed, then minutes. It was silent, save for Shotaro's metallic clanking above them.

"Taro! Get down!" Yuta yelled, grabbing Shotaro and pulling him into the tunnel suddenly and harshly. The youngest boy yelped and ducked down avoiding the mist that Sicheng finally spotted. Translucent blue fumes crept over the sewer, but didn't seem to crawl into the cracks and opening, as if there were a glass sheet or barrier preventing it from doing so.

The trio eyed the gases, covering their mouths and noses cautiously, in case the Gamemakers decided to direct the gaseous flow towards them.

Sicheng looked between Yuta and Shotaro once again, before staring up into the blue haze.

"I think we found the event."

Yuta snorted, still staring upwards. "No, I think the event found us."

Chapter Text

"Stay still, would you!" Renjun hissed, wrapping the bandages onto Jeno's leg as the younger boy whimpered and tried to squirm away. They found shelter in a building with a basement, so they've been hunkered down so that Jeno can rest and heal after being shot in the calf with one of Chenle's arrows.

This afternoon, though, Renjun left the basement to bask in the sun. Jeno had just woken up after the events of test day and hobbled up the creaky stairs to find Renjun, staring up at the building's skylight. He was thinking, messing around with his knife and twisting it into the shabby and itchy rug beneath him.

Jeno asked quietly if Renjun was okay and crawled to sit down with him, eventually asking what he would do about his now-infected wound. Renjun sighed, getting up and retrieving a small tube of roll of medical tape and bandages.

Some time last night, Renjun received bandages for Jeno's wound and a pair of shorts. Not as convenient as medication would have been, but he'll take what he can get. A message was written on the capsule in Yeonjun's messy signature, reading: "Go get 'em, loverboy!"

Renjun quickly crumpled it up and threw it out before any cameras could catch it.

He wondered why the cameras still followed him, why the Gamemakers kept him alive after he took out his own tracker. Perhaps they liked the spunky, rebellious action or how clever it turned out to be, or perhaps they didn't care at all.

The Gamemakers had also let them run away and hadn't done any dirty tricks to lure them closer to the Careers, which he was grateful for. After the group had killed Jaemin, he wasn't sure if they could face off against them again with their lives.

After escaping the first time, Renjun dragged Jeno to the closest building they could find after losing the Career pack. Jeno passed out and it was all up to Renjun.

"What day is it?" Jeno asked, voice quiet. Renjun let his own hand linger on the other boy's, offering up a small, sympathetic smile.

"You didn't sleep for that long. It's only day four. The sun's high in the sky, probably noon." He looked up at the skylight, where the sun beamed down directly. It was the middle of the day and it was as hot as such, too.

Jeno looked down, seeing that he was still shirtless, but now wearing a pair of loose shorts instead of nothing at all. He furrowed his eyebrows, not remembering when he'd put them on after escaping with only an oversized jacket.

Renjun laughed softly, as if he read Jeno's mind. "Dressing someone who's asleep is not an easy task." Jeno's face burned red hot at that and he was quiet for a while, only fiddling with Jaemin's necklace around his neck.

"Should we go back to the sewers?" Jeno asked eventually, before wincing as Renjun finished bandaging his leg.

Renjun scoffed and tossed the bandages in a corner, leaning closer to Jeno, who noticed the large scar on his arm was freshly healed and still red. "No way. We have to stay here, the sewers aren't safe anymore. Only one of our cannons went off, Jeno. They're looking for you."

Faintly, a song played in the sky. A special version of the Panem anthem, indicating an arena event. Renjun only groaned in exasperation, mind racing a mile a minute.

Jeno only nodded in understanding, leaning back with a groan and lying on the floor. He looked up at the sky, unable to forget that the Careers knew he was still alive. At some point, he'd have to face them and they both knew it.

"Can I tell you... um, a secret?"

Renjun nodded, not taking his eyes off of the skylight. Jeno could only look at the other boy and admire the way his eyes sparkled in the sunshine, gathering the courage to speak.

With a stammering voice, he shut his eyes and spoke. "I'm glad I, uh, met you Renjun. And I think that if I-I've ever-"

Renjun gasped and cut him off, backing away something in terror. Blue fumes crept into the building through the skylight and through the doors and windows and grabbed downwards, like misty, poisonous arms. He quickly covered his mouth and nose with his jacket, only breathing in the safe air of his clothes.

"Renjun!" Jeno's eyes were blown wide, worried that something bad happened to Renjun, before doubling over as he breathed in the fumes.

Renjun's vision became faintly fuzzy and distorted, colors oversaturated. His lungs burned faintly and he stumbled dizzily, trying to gain his footing as he stood up.

Jeno laid on the ground, writhing without a sound and Renjun could only stand by and watch with shaky eyes, only breathing in the air from his jacket. He couldn't risk breathing in the air to save Jeno, but his heart hurt watching him twitch and seize on the ground, eyes darting around unfocused.

The blue fumes licked at Renjun's feet, as if to taunt or tempt him. Renjun only breathed in his air, and after a while, the fumes dispersed through the broken windows, as if it were finding a new target after terrorizing them.

Renjun still didn't trust the air, keeping his garment nearly up to his eyes. The fumes left them alone and left as fast as they came and Renjun could only stare at Jeno, who's breathing was shallow.

Jeno's pupils dilated and he didn't blink. Renjun watched the agonizingly slow rise and fall of his chest, flinching when Jeno stirred and got up slowly from where he laid down.

Too quickly to register, Jeno swung a punch at Renjun's head. The older boy let go of his jacket and ducked down and faced Jeno with a confused expression.

"Jeno! Woah! You're okay!" Renjun was relieved to see Jeno up and moving after his little seizure episode on the floor. Jeno only swung again, scaring Renjun now. He realized that this wasn't some kind of a game Jeno was playing.

Jeno was genuinely trying to hurt him.

"Jeno!" Renjun holds Jaemin's fists up with all of his strength, eyes wide. "Jeno! It's me, dumbass!"

Jeno held onto Renjun's small arms, facing the basement. Renjun, tried to get free with no avail. He bit Jeno, to which the boy screamed and glared with a bloodthirsty expression, leaping at Renjun and missing, instead tumbling into the basement, away from the skylight.

Renjun caught his breath, stepping back at Jeno before realizing that he wasn't trapped and was starting to crawl up the stairs. Jeno grabbed at him, dragging him down into the darkness with him.

"Stop it! Jeno!"

The way they moved was oddly elegant, reminding Renjun of a ballerina he'd once seen on the television. One step, two step, in perfect synchronization. Despite Renjun being smaller, he did a good job of matching Jeno's energy and holding him back. If his life wasn't in danger, Renjun might enjoy how close they were to each other, practically dancing.

But there wasn't any time for that.

Renjun scowled, still holding the other boy's fists. With his entire body, he shifted his weight to his arms, swinging himself on Jeno's arm and cracking it to kick Jeno in the stomach. The bigger tribute stumbled and landed with a thud, with Renjun falling on top of him, legs at his sides.

He straddled the other boy, using his own jacket to tie the boy up. Jeno, facing down, was whining and unintelligibly yelling about something and Renjun had to shut him up by putting him in a light chokehold. It was just enough to make his breathing shallow without causing damage.

But in that moment he realized that if he needed to kill Jeno, he would. If he needed to tighten the chokehold, for his own sake he'd do it.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Get off of me!" Jeno's voice was much more loud and aggressive than Renjun had ever heard it. He writhed underneath him, clawing and growing with his arms bound, screaming about someone letting someone else go. Maybe this was some sort of trauma response or hallucination, Renjun didn't know. All he knew as that Jeno was a danger and he needed to be bound and contained until he calmed down. If he didn't, Renjun could truly die this time at his hands.

His vision became worse, fuzzy and unclear. Distorted images flashed by, some more disturbing that others. Renjun shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see the disorienting images flashing by, the hallucinations in his head while he looked around. As Jeno's yelling began to die down into small sobs and cries, Renjun held on tighter and refused to open his eyes, afraid.

At some point, the fumes started to wear off on Renjun. A cannon sounded above him and without much of a pause in between, another sounded just as quick. He started up at the blue fumes, which began to disperse above him. They never moved, never travelled downwards, stayed stagnant as if a glass door prevented it from entering the basement.

Jeno stopped struggling, breathing slowed again. Whatever that gas was, Jeno's dose was wearing off and he went limp underneath Renjun. The building was silent for a moment, apart from their breaths. Renjun was shaken up, couldn't move and could barely open his eyes.

"I think I love you too." Renjun finished, holding onto Jeno's tied arms with one hand and softly stroking his cheek with the other. His voice was a whisper, one that Jeno wouldn't have heard even if he were conscious.

Chapter Text

"Are you going to tell us why we're leaving camp?" Johnny asked impatiently, looking into the sky. It was past midday now and (if he could remember correctly) now the fourth day of the Hunger Games. There was the special anthem of an event earlier, which should have been further indication to try and hunker down and be on defense.

So why was Ten dragging them out into the city all of a sudden with nobody playing lookout over their territory?

Ten didn't say anything and the others seemed confused, staying quiet. But Chenle understood; they hadn't left camp until today and coincidentally, today was the day Yuta betrayed the pack.

And nobody betrays Ten.

"We're finding Yuta and Shotaro, aren't we? I thought we weren't gonna go after them." Chenle began, earning an icy glare from Ten.

"You don't question my authority and my decisions, Zhong! They couldn't have gotten far. And they'd be stupid to run to the riverbank, so where else could they be?" Ten's voice was laced with frustration as he walked the streets, occasionally kicking over anything he saw. The clanging sound of boots on metal made him smile.

"There's an event today. I just meant-" Chenle began to apologize, before being cut off by someone else.

"The fuck is that?" Lucas's voice was frantic. Ten rolled his eyes, about to tell him off for being afraid of a few little rats- but he stopped in his tracks.

In front of him was a blue haze that crept closer. It was translucent at first glance, but Ten realized it was much, much thicker than he thought. And it swept across the asphalt, crawling towards the from across the street.

It happened too fast; Ten's head became dizzy, he and Johnny covering their mouths and noses as the others coughed and sputtered. The blue haze licked at their clothes and their feet, practically begging the other two to ingest it, but they stood firm and watched as the others falling over in the street.

Their breathing shallowed and for a moment, Ten was hesitant. Was his alliance dead? Or dying? Were him and Johnny the last two left of their pack?

They stood still in the street, as the blue wave below them crept along the concrete and left them alone, with little remnants left.

The air was tense and still. Slow, labored breathing was the only thing heard. Johnny decided to kick at Yangyang, but the only response he got was slowed breaths and dialated pupils staring back.

They examined Lucas as well, who shook and seized. His limbs twitched where he laid on the ground. Ten's heart dropped, afraid that his only real defense was going to die. He didn't know if the movement was because of a seizure or the mist, the whole event had happened so quickly.

Chenle's breathing evened out to normal but as the others tried to examine Lucas, the boy had gotten up with shaky linbs and crawled forwards across the ground. He murmured to himself, a relieved smile on his features as he dragged himself forwards towards the boots of someone who wasn't supposed to be there.

Ten followed Chenle's eyes and finally saw him. In front of them was a boy with long, dark hair peeking from his hood, which shrouded his face in mystery. He held his hand out for Chenle as the hallucinating boy had crawled to him. Ten wondered how he hadn't seen him yet and how he'd avoided the hallucinogen.

Chenle grabbed onto the legs of the unknown tribute, chattering excitedly as if he wasn't dangerous. The tribute leaned down and held onto Chenle, whispering something gently before standing back up to face the other two.

Then -standing behind Chenle- he watched as Chenle grabbed his own small sword from the ground where it had fallen and pushed it into his own abdomen. He twisted it harshly and pulled the sword out with hands stained in blood, blood that soon fell onto the ground in a pool around him.

Blood flowed like water into the street. Chenle let go of the weapon, small hands flying to his wound. The light began to leave his eyes as Ten and Johnny could only watch in shock. For a split second, his eyes flickered with fear as if he'd realized what he'd done. And then they glassed over, his body going limp with shallowed and slow breaths once again.

There was a boom in the sky and Johnny paled at the sound.

Quickly, Johnny grabbed his only weapon left: a rather small spiked mace and ball that hung off of his belt. He gripped the weapon tighter, backing away from the boy, who took off his hood and stared forwards with dark, deep eyes that seemed to look through them.

"Son of a bitch." Ten muttered under his breath as he pulled his knives from his jacket, though he couldn't stop smiling ear to ear.

They finally found Hendery.

Chapter Text

"Don't you dare breathe in that stuff!" Yuta yelled, running behind Shotaro and Sicheng. Their quick steps echoed off of the sewer walls and Yuta kept glancing upwards, afraid that the fumes would creep down into their shelter.

The blue gas was one thing to deal with, but the rabid rats that the Gamemakers sent after them? That made the event ten times harder.

And the rats were fast, scurrying after the trio and gnashing their disgusting yellow jaws, snapping at Yuta

Sicheng ducked into another tunnel, taking Shotaro with him. He expected Yuta to follow, but Yuta only ran forwards and clung to a ladder, climbing to the top. The rats followed him and ignored the other two, biting at Yuta's leg frantically.

Yuta struck any rat that got too close with his trident, but it didn't do much to their hardened, armored backs. They frenzied around Yuta, only nipping at his legs without getting tired.

"They can smell blood, they like it." Sicheng gasped, watching as the rats passed him and Shotaro without attacking. Instead, they continued to claw at Yuta, who'd climbed up the rungs of the ladder and sat on the top, head lightly scraping the top of the sewer.

Yuta touched his bloody leg softly and his eyes went wide in realization. Earlier, he'd gotten attacked because of a fresh cut on his hand, with only one rat finding him. This time, though, the wide cut along his leg attracted many of them... but didn't pay any mind to Sicheng and Shotaro.

"We need to get to high ground." Yuta yelled, prying another rat off of the ladder. He pointed to the manhole cover hurriedly and Sicheng lowered himself onto the ground so that Shotaro could use him as a step stool to open it.

With shaky hands, Shotaro twisted the opening and pushed it up. Sunlight flooded into the sewer and blinded them temporarily. Sicheng grabbed his own dagger, watching Shotaro crawl out of the sewer and offer his hand to Sicheng, who crawled after him.

Yuta stabbed another mutt, hurling himself off of the small ladder against the walls and throwing himself towards the surface. He crawled out and looked on, before realizing the rats were chasing him down and that the blue has had dispersed to another part of the arena.

The three ran as fast as they could as the pack caught up. They climbed up the fire escape of the nearest building, before climbing into the broken window and traveling up to the roof, scaling multiple flights of steep, dusty stairs that they'd prayed wouldn't collapse underneath them.

The rooftop was about seven or eight stories high, higher than the tallest tree Sicheng had ever climbed. If they fell, it'd mean death. The rats still pooled down below like ants, swarming them but never climbing up. Instead, they dispersed and found a new group of targets.

The Careers fought someone off down below. Another boy Sicheng doesn't remember meeting. Long black hair down to his shoulders and swift movements as he ducked away from Ten's knifes and Johnny's sickle. Jumping along the sides of buildings, avoiding projectiles and punches that Lucas swung his way.

Sicheng was breathless as he watched the boy fight them off. Nobody fought off all of the Careers like that, not even Yuta. This guy must have been the tribute Ten was screaming about finding, the guy who got a ten in training. He was swift and he evaded them masterfully. Sicheng doesn't remember the guy at training at all.

Lucas stepped forwards with glassy eyes, no longer swinging at the other tribute, but instead holding his hands out towards the rats. Ten himself had to pull Lucas away, screaming about how stupid Lucas is and how he shouldn't have breathed in the gas. Johnny and Yangyang tried to pry the rats off of themselves while looking for the mysterious tribute they'd been following earlier, who still managed to remain unscathed.

The more they fought the rats off of each other, the more battered and bloodied they'd become. Cuts and scratches everywhere. Yuta smiled when he realized that their enemies were making themselves even bigger targets.

They watched as Ten climbed onto a fire escape about three stories up. Faintly, the limp and lifeless body of Chenle was thrown towards the rats by Johnny -who needed a human shield. The mutts snarled and scurried around it in a frenzy. Sicheng shivered as the boy's body was lost to the pack of rats, no doubt in the same condition now as the body they'd found earlier that morning.

Yangyang screamed, trying to fight off the remaining rats without a weapon. He climbed up a window and stood on the ledge of the second story, yelling for Ten to pull him up, desperately waving his hand in the air.

Ten leaned over the fire escape and grabbed Yangyang's hand. He pulled the younger boy close to the railing and stared at him with a sick smile, taking the handle of Yangyang's knife and tugging it out of the boy's hand. Yangyang s eyes widened as Ten let go of his other hand, throwing him forwards. The younger boy tried his hardest to grab onto the railing on his way down, but failed.

Sicheng heard a resonant cracking sound in the air, followed by a cannon. Yuta held his hand and said nothing, only staring down at the scene. Ten leaned back onto the fire escape, fixing his long hair and looking away from the rats. Johnny and Lucas still fought them off, rats bleeding onto the concrete near them. Ten yelled for something, climbing down to the second story and waving them over.

Johnny moved first, jumping into a window and onto the ledge. He swung his sickle at another rat, beheading it before it could follow him. Each Career was frenzied and afraid. The mysterious tribute they'd been fighting off had disappeared, but Sicheng hadn't heard a stray cannon so he assumed that the boy was alive.

It's chaotic and Sicheng can only watch in awe. Shotaro, on the other hand, docks another arrow onto his bow and pulls back, aiming it down below with shaky hands like he had before.

Except, he doesn't aim at the rat pack. No, Shotaro's arrow flies quickly into Ten's shoulder and he screams, falling over in shock. Ten's heaving and yelling and looking around frantically for the person who could have shot him, when he finds Shotaro. The two lock eyes for a moment and the blood rushes away from Shotaro's face.

Ten's gaze is more murderous than any of them have ever seen as he holds his bleeding arm. Ten doesn't dare take the arrow out, but reaches for one of his knives and poises it to throw Shotaro's way with his good shoulder, before being dragged away by Johnny.

"We don't have the time, let's go." He yelled, grabbing Ten and running with Lucas. They leave the swollen corpses of Chenle and Yangyang behind, lying on the cold concrete.

The rats follow them in a pack and the city is still once again. The trio stands still on the roof overlooking other buildings, trying to grasp what just happened.

Yuta breaks the silence, smiling like an idiot and whooping into the evening air. "You're the first person to wound him, Taro!" Yuta hugs Shotaro tight as the youngest drops his bow on the rooftop and his eyes well up with tears.

Shotaro shakes his head, looking at his hands with guilt. "I could... I could have k-killed him."

Yuta wipes at Shotaro's tears and shakes his head, unable to control his proud smile. "No, no, that was amazing. Nobody's ever done that before, Taro. I'm so proud of you."

Shotaro stayed quiet but nodded and hugged Yuta back, waiting for the oldest boy to put him down. Eventually Yuta did, ruffling his hair for good measure and making him whine in annoyance.

Yuta whooped again, grabbing Sicheng and holding him close before rearing back and kissing him on his lips. Sicheng's eyes widened and when Yuta realized he hadn't reciprocated, he pulled away nervously.

"Oh. I thought, maybe..." Yuta's face was red, looking at Sicheng apologetically. "That was really fast, but I-I thought maybe we had the same idea, I, um..." He stammered, sorry for what he did.

Sicheng smirked softly, grabbing Yuta's face to lean in and kiss him back again, their dry lips clashing with one another. Yuta only blushed more, pulling Sicheng in closer and shutting his eyes happily in giggly bliss.

Shotaro laughed softly, sitting down and looking at the setting sun and letting the other two have their moment. The sunset was beautiful, paintings its pinks and oranges and yellows across a dark sky. For a moment, Shotaro forgot that the sun wasn't even real here. He nearly forgot where they even were, but the sun was that much brighter and that much beautiful this evening. Especially after the huge victory of the night.

Maybe... just maybe they've got a chance.

Chapter Text

Ten could imagine it easily. His name in the minds and on the lips of every citizen of Panem, the only person left to survive in this cruel game. His teammates, the other tributes... all dead.

His psychotic smile only wondered as he imagined the bodies of his allies. Was it sick to imagine Lucas, dead at his feet with a knife in his skull? Maybe, but who's fault was it that Ten found him as dumb as a box of rocks? Lucas was really just Ten's muscle, a vessel to finish the job when Ten didn't feel like it. His brain honestly wasn't needed now, who cares if Ten gave it a curious little poke with a sharp object, such a poke leading to the color in his face and eyes draining?

And Johnny? Him too, eyes gouged out and lips bloody red as Ten imagined painting them with his own blood, making a pact even beyond the grave. A shame really, considering that Ten was just starting to like Johnny. He was tall and oh-so charming and maybe Ten would have fallen for him in a different setting, another circumstance. But Johnny was in too deep, clearly enamored and amazed by Ten's horrific nature; like a poisonous flower alluring it's prey, prey knowing none the wiser.

Poor Yangyang would have joined them in the pile if he hadn't been so weak. His little horrified eyes ingrained in Ten's memory, Ten imagining himself moving the corners of his mouth into the smile that made the Capitol swoon over how adorable the child had been.

Pity, truly. Maybe in another life they all could be friends with one another.

Or perhaps sworn enemies after what transpires here.

He didn't particularly like that he thought this way, didn't try to either. It just amused him how easy it was to end a human life. He wasn't any sociopath, he just enjoyed the game.

He was supposed to. One and Two train their entire lives for this moment. Just a second of weakness or empathy would be shunned, would be humiliating. Death was a better option.

It was only the way of the world, the rules of the game.

"...up this area." Lucas trailed off, snapping Ten out of his rather disturbing thoughts. He pulled a knife from his jacket and turned around defensively. Lucas was feet away, boarding up the windows of their hideout, kneeled down near the window as he grabbed the wood rubble and a heavy rock.

"Oh, Lucas. I hadn't heard what you said." Ten admitted, nose towards the sky as he looked down on the younger boy. He finished tying the tourniquet around his own shoulder, hissing when his blood soaked through the rough material.

"I said that Johnny and I would board up this area. There's a pattern to the building demolitions." Lucas whispered the last part. "Johnny told me that if they follow that, we're safe in our building."

Ten hummed and looked out of the window before the evening's light fleeted, blocked by Lucas's wooden boards, hammering them into the window frame with such vigor and a small boulder in his right hand.

"Right... where's Johnny?" Ten asked, Lucas gesturing towards the doorway, a metal beam holding up the door's foundation.

"Looking for food the others left behind. Y'know, the dead ones." Lucas added on, Ten rolling his eyes.

"Oh, sorry. I thought Johnny was looking for the living tributes's rations, idiot." Ten spat, tone laced with sarcasm. He scoffed to himself, thinking about how stupid Lucas really was.

It was quiet after that.

Then Lucas broke the silence with a pitiful voice.

"Why did you let Yangyang die? I liked him." Lucas's voice was small, not deep and booming as it usually was. He didn't looked at Ten, only kept bordering up the windows, waiting for a response.

Ten rolled his eyes. "He was weak and begging. I thought he was stronger when he killed that one kid at the beginning, but all he'd done after that was disappoint me. I regretted even keeping him alive in the first place."

Lucas didn't nod or speak again, silently putting up boards across the room.

The Panem anthem played again, loud as if it were taunting them. As if the portraits of his fallen allies tainted him, flashing in the sky, never to be seen again.

Some allies, Ten thought.
Yuta and Shotaro betrayed his trust, Yangyang and Chenle were too fragile and died too easily. Now there were only three of them left.

"We rest tonight, we strike tomorrow." Ten's voice was quiet. He stared at the moon and grimaced, hating how brightly it shined. The more light, the more vulnerable they were. Yangyang and Chenle were gone, Hendery had found him, Shotaro had shot him... there was too much to lose.

"Wait, but aren't we... the Fours are off limits, remember?"

"You're an idiot, the alliance was called off last night. You were there, you idiot. There's fewer of us. Other tributes are running around rampant. The one from Eight. Both from Four. They might have teamed up with someone else, and then what?" Ten asked rhetorically. "We die? They already shot me, Lucas. It's us or them, Lucas."

"How do we draw them out of hiding? We know where they are." Lucas asked after several minutes of silence. Ten looked over at Lucas, then to the bloodied arrow on the ground. A blank stare glazed his eyes over and he curled his mouth into a small smirk.

And then he laughed. The sickening sound rang too loudly for Lucas's liking, Ten doubling over in an absolute cackle. It felt like forever, Ten letting out small chokes in between hysteric giggle fits, before stopping and narrowing his eyes at Lucas, the smirk never leaving his face.

And in Ten's mind, more bodies joined the pile, his mind's trophy case of corpses. One with small, innocent eyes. Lightly tanned skin sunken in and sullen without a pulse. Eyes wide open and body beaten, maimed, bloodied. Another with long red hair, matching the deep red of his clothes, knives adorning his chest like jewelry. The two held each other closely, the bruises and wounds matching each other a sickly color. Ten desperately wanted to see it come to fruition, a giddy and excited feeling bubbling up through his spine.

The moonlight illuminated Ten's face, highlighting just how horrifying his cat eyes looked in the moment. It terrified Lucas.

"The kid" Ten suddenly looked to the moon rising into the sky, the last piece of light let into the room, before meeting Lucas's gaze again.

"That's it, Lucas. We'll kill the kid."

Chapter Text

"The sky tonight..." Yuta's voice was quiet, the silence broken. Shotaro looked at him with a moonlit smile as the smiling faces of Chenle, Hansol, and Yangyang lit up the sky with their district numbers and full names, never to be seen again smiling like that. They were all gone and part of Sicheng was grateful for that, as sick as it was.

The game was beginning to thin out.

Zhong Chenle, District One
Ji Hansol, District Three
Liu Yangyang, District Twelve

"I'll keep watch tonight. Something tells me it's all quiet tonight." Shotaro offers with a wink before mimicking a rat and baring his teeth playfully. Sicheng chuckles as Yuta walks away into a closet they'd hunkered down in in this broken and dusty apartment, where they kept Sicheng's backpack and most of their weapons.

"Be safe, Taro. I'll kill you if you die." Yuta warned, Shotaro giggling and saluting him with a nod. Yuta went into the other room, mumbling something to himself and Sicheng would have investigated if Shotaro hadn't sighed dramatically as the rickety door closed behind them.

"Sicheng? You can go to bed too, I don't mind. I'm not a kid, I can keep watch." Shotaro smiled, Sicheng looking to the floor.

"Are you sure, Taro? After this morning, I'm scared that they'll retaliate. They might show up..."

Shotaro's grin got unsettlingly bigger. "We broke the truce but... they're gone now. And from the looks of it, they're not coming back. The mutts got most of them, that's what matters. That's two of their members gone in a day." He looked to the moon and moved closer to the window, curling his legs towards his chest. "And the scary one's hurt now."

Sicheng stayed silent. There was a skittering outside of the window -maybe a beetle or a small rat or something. Neither boy said anything for a while.

"I think you should go to him." Shotaro nudged Sicheng and looked towards the room that Yuta went into. Shotaro made a teasing kissy face and Sicheng blushed red and swatted at the younger boy, flustered.

"Oh, what do you know?" Sicheng chided, though his tone was not unkind. A part of Shotaro really reminded him of his brother, but Sicheng couldn't quite figure out what it was.

Shotaro had a mischievous glint in his eye. "The kiss earlier gave it away. Go to him." He repeated in a soft tone, smiling as he watched the moon very carefully.

• • 🖤 • •

At some point in the night, Sicheng gave in. He has no idea how he got here, in Yuta's arms as the older boy held onto his waist. The two were quiet, pressed against each other in the dead of the night.

"Yuta..." The older boy's name fell quietly on Sicheng's lips, pulling away from their touches. Yuta's hands fell from his waist in the dead of the night and Sicheng hadn't realized until then that Yuta felt at ease enough to take off his belt with Ten's stolen pocketknife in it, discarding it somewhere on the floor.

"Yuta..." Sicheng began again, Yuta putting a finger up to his lips to shush him.

"'I know. Taro's on lookout tonight. He went to the roof, it'll be fine. For now, I wanna be with you."

Sicheng wanted to ask a million questions, but his brain turned to static when Yuta silenced him with a sudden, warm kiss.

"I think I love you, but I don't know how else to show it. I'm sorry." Yuta mumbled quietly against Sicheng's lips, before diving in again.

Sicheng knew that the cameras were on him even if it was dark. But Yuta's lips were so addictive and he couldn't help but wonder what else was too.

"Oh, Yuta..." Sicheng breathed heavily, not quite knowing why. Like a broken record, he'd been repeating Yuta's name and had no idea what he was asking for. Yuta pulled away and paused before messing with the scarred cut on his hand and looking away. Even in the dim light of the moon, Sicheng saw his embarrassed red-tinted cheeks as he sat farther from him on the pile of jackets, gloves, and supplies.

"I'm sorry, I-" Yuta started to apologize, but Sicheng wouldn't let him.

"Do it again."

Yuta was shocked, but Sicheng simply nodded in confirmation. A million thoughts swarmed his mind at once about Shotaro, about Ten and the others, about the cameras everywhere no doubt.

But right then, the Games didn't matter.

Just tonight, maybe they could pretend this was normal. Maybe they could be in love.

Yuta leaned in, cupping Sicheng's face gently as his lips pressed against the younger boy's. Sicheng closed his eyes and whined softly, Yuta smiling into the kiss and whispering about how cute he found him.

Then they tumbled, tumbled into something much less innocent than a second or third kiss. Sicheng laid back as Yuta continued his barrage of kisses, leading from his mouth to his earlobe to his collarbone, then farther.

Sicheng breathed out his name into the silence of night, trying to keep his pathetic little noises as quiet as possible. Yuta keeping from giggling, finding the noises adorable as he focused on working Sicheng's pants open, hands fumbling.

Warmth.

Mouth.

Hands.

Burning, burning.

Sicheng could feel everything. Yuta played with and explored his body, yet all he could do was try and undress the other and return the favor. He succumbed to the feeling, throwing his head back in ecstasy as Yuta worked magic on him. The feeling of searing heat pooled in his gut and he tugged on Yuta's hair frantically in response, in warning.

So Yuta finally gave in and sat atop Sicheng, panting in the moonlight. He grimaced in trying to fit the other boy in, unprepared but knowing. Slowly, he descended down until the younger boy was in all the way and the two gasped for air, searching each other's flushed faces for signs of discomfort or pain.

And then when all was clear, Yuta began to move.

Sicheng felt a feeling like no other. He'd never done this before, had never been so entranced by the warmth and tightness of being inside someone, never so spellbound by the glimmer of another person's skin in the moonlight. He'd never felt the thudding of butterflies fluttering against his stomach or the dizziness of the sensation of being connected.

Maybe Sicheng was in love too.

Their love was messy, spontaneous, juvenile, and confusing. Everything all at once, a barrage of emotions and pleasure surging through both boys as they moved clumsily against each other.

Bodies rocking with one another, neither of them thought about the fact that they'd die soon. Neither thought about Shotaro or Renjun or the other tributes or Ten, or the cameras or the Games...

They didn't think about friends, nor enemies. Not home nor the Capitol. All they could think of was each other and the warmth their bodies exuded together.

Perhaps love was rushed or perhaps it was true. Maybe it'd been there the whole time or maybe it's just even a spark.

They don't know.

They only thought about each other, the feeling of skin upon skin and bodies upon bodies on the rough floor and on top of their discarded clothes. Sicheng moaned into Yuta's mouth as they rocked forwards, then back. Sweat making them both glisten like opals in the moon's glow. The adrenaline of both falling in love and facing your inevitable death, something about that rare emotion so raw and so intoxicating.

The intoxication becoming a plateau to fall off of, hands grasping for anything they could as their bodies shook simultaneously. Both teenagers held each other tightly and didn't let go -couldn't let go- until their highs were long and gone.

And then there was silence, as the two laid in shock of the reality of what they'd just done and where they'd just done it.

Chapter Text

The air was quiet and still smelled of sweat. It was early morning now, the rising sun flooding in through the shattered windows. They had no idea when the door to their room (or closet, rather) had been opened, but Yuta was grateful that he didn't wake up in sweaty darkness. Waking up in a lack of light might have brought back the flashbacks and Yuta can't deal with that, not here. Not after last night.

Yuta smiled to himself, rolling over onto the ground and sighing when the heat of his own body made contact with the cold floor. Sicheng meanwhile, couldn't help but grab one of the jackets they'd laid down and wrapped it around himself, shivering softly.

Yuta wordlessly sat up and pulled Sicheng in closer, pulling his jacket over the two. The younger boy stirred awake, eyes fluttering gently as they adjusted to the light. Neither of them spoke, they just reveled in being together, warm in each other's embaraces.

"Good morning, sunshine." Yuta smiled softly, running a hand through Sicheng's knotted hair. It was dry and crunchy the night before, but the sweat must have softened it a little. Yuta might have found that a little gross if he wasn't head over heels for Sicheng.

Sicheng blinked awake and looked into Yuta's eyes tiredly. There was a pause and then Sicheng started to blush a furious red, as if all of the memories of last night flooded back at once.

"Something tells me you've never done that before." Yuta's voice was quiet in Sicheng's ears.

Sicheng sat up suddenly with wide eyes and stared at the older boy. "You have?!"

"Yeah. I mean, I've done some things I'm not too proud of. There's nothing wrong with that... right?" Yuta's voice was calm, almost disappointed. He shook his head and sat up with Sicheng, cradling his face in his hands. "But you! I enjoyed every moment with you! I'm proud of this, I'm proud of us!!" Yuta beamed and Sicheng realized then and there that Yuta's smile could single handedly heal the world.

"Anyways, enough about me. You're really cute when you sleep." Yuta continued, giggling and moving a stray piece of hair in front of Sicheng's eyes.

Sicheng furrowed his eyebrows. "I didn't realize I fell asleep." He admitted, voice hushed. He stared at Yuta and laid back down. A part of him wished they could do this again, maybe regularly. In another universe, perhaps, they woke up next to each other every morning.

I know love now, he thinks. He couldn't imagine himself waking up next to anyone else in the universe.

"Yeah. You passed out right after our little... y'know." Yuta clicked his tongue and looked out into the empty building before him. He squinted his eyes and went dead silent.

He stopped in his tracks and held his breath. Sicheng panicked and was about to ask Yuta why he'd suddenly stopped breathing, when the older boy put a finger to his lips.

Yuta's face was stern and serious and Sicheng remembered exactly where he was. He only listened and held his own breath, hearing nothing but the soft chirp of beetles.

After too long of silence, Yuta stopped in a panic and breathed again. He jolted up and called out for Shotaro, but heard no response. He called again, horror painting his expression when there was no answer.

"Taro." Yuta's eyes were wide as he pulled on his pants frantically. He stared at Sicheng again with the seriousness he'd seen when they defended him and broke the Career alliance. His eyes were dull, back to being dangerous, glinting in the sunlight. "He's gone."

Above them, a cannon sounded and the two teens paled.

Chapter Text

"Everything hurts." Jeno groaned softly, holding onto his lower leg.

Renjun only looked forwards, replying with a monotonous "I know".

"I'm not healing, Renjun. I can barely move." Jeno urged, trying again. He hoped Renjun, would get the hint, but instead he received the same monotone response.

"I know."

"The infection's only getting worse, Renjun."

"I know."

Jeno sighed deeply from next to him. "I'm just waiting to die now, Renjun."

That time, the "I know" went unsaid.

Renjun bit his lip raw, messing with his hair anxiously. After the hallucination event, Jeno had taken a nasty fall that was partly Renjun's fault -or at least, he thought it was.

A wooden plank logged itself into Jeno's calf and infected the wound that was already there after Chenle had shot him with an arrow. They'd taken the plank out, but any hope they had to heal the wound was gone now, as it was a nasty sore that spread to the rest of his legs and hurt like hell. He could barely move and it had only been a day since the infection begun to spread. No matter how much of the ointment they used, it wasn't enough.

"It hurts so bad. There's no fixing it, Jun. I attacked you, it's my own fault. Not yours."

"It wasn't your fault! It was the event!" Renjun blurted, grabbing Jeno's face and cupping it. "The event made you lose it, you... you didn't do anything!" His voice cracked a little.

"Even if that were true, it's obvious they did an event to thin out the competition. They wanted me to hurt you. I'm just glad it wasn't worse. I wasn't going to last long anyways." Jeno whimpered, cupping Renjun's face again and falling into a comfortable silence.

"I don't know where my brother is, I don't have any allies, everyone I know is dead. Jeno, I can't lose you too." Renjun's voice was soft, breaking slightly at the end of his sentence. Jeno only nodded in understanding, eyes sad and glassy.

"Renjun, we tried. I told you I'd wait a day and see if I heal, but there's no fixing this. The debris and the fall made it worse. I woke up last night crying because it was excruciating." Jeno shook his head. "I don't usually cry. It's useless to hope."

"So what do you want from me, huh?" Renjun's voice was cracked, interrupted by a hiccup. He threw his hands in the air and glared at Jeno fiercely, knowing exactly what the answer was and asking anyways.

"Kill me."

"You're fucking insane." Renjun spat without missing a beat, backing away in disgust. His heart wrenched in his chest and his eyes welled up with tears that he barely managed to bite back.

"Who cares? I don't care how you do it, I just don't want to do it myself." Jeno's voice was pleading. "Call me insane, it doesn't matter. Please. I won't win anyways, at least I'd give you a chance if I were gone."

The building was silent once again.

"Jeno... please. Think about what you're asking me. I can't just..." Renjun let a tear slip from his eye, but furiously wiped it away. "Fuck. I can't kill you. We're just kids. I'm just a kid. I can't kill anyone."

"I know. I'm sorry, I just can't do it myself."

"So, what? Huh? You want me to just, stab you? Hang you? You expect me to murder you in cold blood and not to be bothered? It's too sudden!" Renjun exclaimed, tears freely falling. "You're giving up too easily! You and I... we can make it! You're not trying hard enough!"

"'Not trying hard enough'? Like hell I'm trying!" Jeno raised his voice, sitting up on his arms. "All I've ever done is put up with whatever life gave me. All I've ever done is try and make things easy for myself, tried to be approachable and kind and tried as hard as I could to keep going. I've been putting up with the worst pain of my life in this insane arena for an entire day and didn't complain once until now. You think I'm not trying? Maybe Jaemin was right; you do need to get your head outta your ass and realize where we are." He yelled, making Renjun flinch. "You wanted me to make my own decisions, right? Well, here I go! Doing what you wanted!"

Renjun puffed up his chest, shoving Jeno's arm. "Don't be a selfish bitch about it! Do it your damn self if you're so tough!" He screamed, before clapping a hand over his mouth suddenly.

He shouldn't have said that.

"I miss Jaemin." Was all Jeno said after minutes of nothing but breathing. Renjun's stomach twisted into a knot and he scoffed, rolling his eyes and getting up from where he sat on the ground.

"I don't care. I need air, anyways." Renjun picked up his bag and turned around, tugging his jacket on over his skinny arms. "I should go. Don't try to follow me."

Jeno didn't say a word when Renjun left the building and didn't look back.

Chapter Text

"Taro!" Yuta yelled hysterically, running up and down the city streets with Sicheng behind him. "Shotaro! Taro!" He hollered, not caring anymore if he triggered a trap or brought attention to himself. All he wanted was Shotaro back and he was worried that he ran out of time.

He shouldn't have spent the night with Sicheng. He shouldn't have left Shotaro alone for even a moment. He forgot where he was and now Shotaro might be hurt or lost or... worse.

Everything he's done would have been for nothing at all if Shotaro was hurt. All for love, all because his emotions blinded him.

He ran as fast as he could, tears brimming at his eyes. He could only think of the worst things, panicking and desperately trying to find the younger boy.

When Yuta ran out of breath, Sicheng tried to help him; "That cannon might not have been him, Yuta. Let's calm down and try to think where he might be-"

"You don't understand!" Yuta yelled, making Sicheng flinch. His eyes were wide with fear and his cheeks were pink. "Do you know what I've done to keep that kid safe? If Shotaro's dead, then I'm dead. Then all those Capitol bastards that I sucked off for a favor were for fuckin' nothing! The past three weeks would have been useless, and I can't fucking have that! Do you understand me?"

Sicheng's throat went dry. His mind raced a mile a minute but before he could ask any more questions, Yuta sprinted away, yelling Shotaro's name again.

They ran all the way to the other side of the city aimlessly before finally spotting Shotaro on a narrow road, picking at something in the street and putting it in his pockets.

Yuta screeched, barreling towards Shotaro as quick as his legs would allow. Shotaro looked up in surprise, kneeling by a sewer grate where dried fruit was left sitting out next to a few stray sticks. There weren't many trees in the city, but he rationed that the wind must have carried them over, since they weren't too heavy. He smiled when he saw Yuta, opening his arms for Yuta to tackle him down.

"Taro!"

"I was looking for food. Someone left these behind, some rations over here." Shotaro's voice was calm as Yuta frantically checked him for injuries or marks. But no, his body was clean and untouched and nobody had found him yet.

Yuta sighed in relief and looked around nervously before hugging Shotaro close to his chest. His lip wobbled. "Taro... I was so scared."

He then became stern and let go of Shotaro, letting his shoulder angrily. "Don't you ever run off like that again! You could have gotten yourself trapped, or worse-"

"I have the sneaking suspicion that your sweet little 'Taro' did get trapped." A voice called out. Yuta's blood ran cold, realizing that the voice didn't belong to Sicheng and Sicheng wasn't hadn't followed him. "And we caught you two in the process. He made it easy, huh? Looks like your little rebellion is over and you're out of time."

Yuta whipped his head in horror around to see his lover with a knife pressed to his throat by Johnny Suh, who's plump lips curled into a catlike smirk.

"Out of time, Nakamoto."

Chapter Text

"Don't struggle. None of you, don't fucking move." Johnny narrowed his eyes, still holding the knife at Sicheng's throat. Sicheng's eyes were wide and he whimpered out a small pathetic sound to ask for help.

Yuta only froze, instinctively grabbing onto Shotaro's arm and backing away. Sicheng tried standing still, silently pleading with Yuta to do something. But Yuta couldn't move, couldn't help, couldn't breathe.

There was a high whistle and his grip on Shotaro's arm tightened. Yuta's head whipped up, expecting to see Ten but instead being met with nothing at all.

Johnny let go of Sicheng and darted behind Yuta, who turned around in defense only to see Lucas holding Sicheng again in a chokehold a few yards away. For two guys so large, they moved with the upmost stealth. If their lives weren't in danger, Yuta would be impressed with the skills of the Careers.

Sicheng grasped desperately at Lucas's arm around his neck. His feet started to lift off of the ground and tears pooled at the corners of his eyes.

He was going to die here, in the arms of a Career, strangled. And there was nothing he could do by himself.

Yuta glanced around quickly, letting go of Shotaro before he could even realize it to strike Lucas. Lucas fell backwards and dropped Sicheng, who fell on the pavement with a thud.

Yuta turned back to see Lucas approaching him again -and froze when he turned and saw Ten with Shotaro, holding on tightly to his jacket collar.

"Down, Lucas. Tsk, tsk!" Ten tutted, strutting from the shadows with his new prey. Shotaro squirmed in his hold, fear in his eyes. "This is the choice you made, Nakamoto? After all that? You saved your sexy little boytoy instead of the one you swore to protect? What a betrayal." Ten drew out every syllable, smiling tauntingly at Yuta, who stood frozen, looking between Shotaro and Ten for a way -any way- to get between them.

"You... where did you-" Yuta's hands shook as he spoke, but he was cut off by Ten's maniacal laughter. Ten took his knife from his pocket and looked at Yuta with giddy, widened eyes. He held it to Shotaro's throat, too happy about his plan coming to fruition. And Johnny seemed happy too, slinking away behind Yuta and Sicheng.

One Career didn't seem as thrilled; Lucas's eyes darted around anxiously. "We're not going to kill them all... right?" He asked, voice small. His lip quivered. "We... It's gonna be quick right?" Lucas asked, eyes sad like an abandoned puppy.

Ten shot him a look of disgust and held up his knife tauntingly. "No, you idiot. I want it to hurt. Nobody shoots Chittaphon Lee and lives to tell the tale, Lucas. You saw what he did to me?" He pointed the knife at his own arm, hanging outside of his jacket sleeve instead of in one, a fairly clean arrow wound in his shoulder.

"You hurt him and I'll make sure your head leaves your fucking shoulders, Lee." Yuta tried to sound scary, but all he sounded like was a kicked puppy. He started to walk towards Ten, shaking before falling on his knees.

The desperation amused Ten.

"Challenge accepted." Ten chirped, and before anyone knew what was happening, Ten had plunged his sharpest dagger into Shotaro's body, making the littlest boy stumbled forwards with wide, horrified eyes.

Sicheng's eyes widened as Shotaro's stomach was painted with red, his movements frozen. His eyes widely looked at Yuta, a mixture of confusion, sadness, and betrayal playing on his features.

Yuta got up from the ground, screaming as the world turned to static for Sicheng. He only heard his own heartbeat as Shotaro's eyes dilated smaller, then big. He began to collapse on the ground, Ten laying him down slowly against his own chest.

Shotaro's hand reached out for Yuta but Ten only smacked it down tauntingly. "No running to Nakamoto! Silly boy!" He giggled, looking straight into Yuta's eyes as he did so.

"Shame... seems we got what we wanted, no?" Ten taunted, twisting the knife into Shotaro's wound, making the younger boy scream out in agony.

"You fucking liar! Bastard!" Yuta screamed, lunging forwards as Johnny pulled another arrow into place and pointed it towards him. Yuta and Johnny both froze at the sound of laughter, Ten cackling before he turned the weapon out of Shotaro's guts and into the warm air. There was a fresh, bloody hole where Shotaro's guts had been.

"Johnny, down." Ten pushed Shotaro away and kicked him as he fell, bleeding onto the concrete and clutching his stomach. "A shame, really. But it had to be done, and he's your weakest link. Well, other than District Seven there."

Yuta wasn't moving; maybe a sudden drop in adrenaline, maybe the pure shock and horror of it all. His eyes were locked onto Shotaro, a desperate glint in them as he eyed the boy. Sicheng put his hands up shakily and moved towards Shotaro, keeping his eyes on the Careers.

Ten pulled another knife from his coat and held it near his own chest to be flung at Sicheng, before Lucas suddenly stepped in front of him.

"We said one. We said we'd kill the kid, not the others." Lucas whispered, his firm voice loud in the dead of the streets. He stared at Ten who scoffed and tried pushing him out of the way.

"What's your fucking damage, Lucas?" Ten raised his voice, hand raised and poised to stab. Lucas grabbed it and held it up, Ten's body suspended by his arm like a ragdoll.

"We killed the kid. Leave them alone." Lucas asserted in a loud, booming voice and Sicheng's eyes widened as Johnny shot off an arrow, barely missing Lucas's arm. He instinctively let go of Ten, who yelped and hit the ground hard.

Something akin to murder flashed in Lucas's eyes, before Ten held his hand out.

"Johnny, don't shoot like that -you're gonna kill my greatest asset." His voice wasn't a whisper, but a hissing noise like a snake as he turned back to Lucas. "But honestly, if you ever grab me again like that, I will end you where you stand and Johnny will help me."

The Careers were at each other's throats and Shotaro bled out onto the concrete as they stood and watched.

Yuta held his hands up suddenly motioning for Sicheng to tend to Shotaro, who grappled uselessly at his open wound, the dark crimson staining his clothes and the pavement beneath him.

Yuta looked first at Lucas, then Johnny, then landed on Ten. "You went after him. You knew and you did it anyways and if that's how you're going to play, we'll do it. But you'd better listen to your hunk of meat, because I have a million clever ways of ending your life and they're all playing back like a film. If you know how important Taro is to me, then you should know exactly what I'm gonna do to you." He tried his hardest to sound strong and threatening. His voice was laced with a venom, a threat that even Ten widened his eyes at. He retracted back slightly, his cronies following him as he did.

For once, it dawned on Ten's face that he fucked up and that someone would have to pay for it. That maybe he wasn't the biggest, baddest in the game.

"You couldn't if you tried." Ten feigned disappointment, despite looking clearly shaken up. Sicheng looked at his expression underlying fear and for a moment remembered that Ten was only human, that Ten was not invincible, and that Ten could in fact die.

"Let's test that theory." Yuta's voice was emotionless, not turning his back to any of them.

Ten scoffed again loudly, waving off Lucas and Johnny. The standoff was over, the Careers slowly slinking away, eyes on Yuta until they were out of sight, streets away and breaking into the side of an abandoned building.

Chapter Text

The world spun underneath Yuta's feet as he spotted his lover knelt next to Shotaro, who was dying slowly and holding onto his abdomen desperately. Yuta sprinted towards them and fell to his knees, hands shaking.

Sicheng wondered why exactly Yuta had taken so long to help him haul Shotaro away. He looked at the oldest, then back to the dying boy, who coughed up blood on his jacket and on Yuta's hands as his eyes scanned Shotaro's wound.

"I needed to get them away from him. We have to help him." Yuta replied, as if he'd read Sicheng's mind. He gently propped Shotaro up against a wall inside of what looked to be a desolated studio of some sort.

Shotaro winced and held onto Yuta's arm. "Yuta, I don't think..."

"I can fix this!" Yuta wiped away the tears brimming in his eyes, trying to pull Shotaro's jacket out of the way. He looked at the hole Ten carved in terror. How would he fix this?

Sicheng tried to get Yuta's attention as the oldest boy's mind ran a mile a minute. "Yuta? Yuta! It won't-!"

Yuta held onto Shotaro and pulled the boy close to him, trembling. He looked up at the sky and growled now, yelling out to nobody: "Motherfuckers! You all made a promise to me! Send medicine, send aid, send bandages, anything! I know you hear me, you dirty bas-"

"Yuta!" Sicheng practically pried Yuta off of Shotaro. He looked into Yuta's teary eyes and shook his head softly. "He's not going to make it. They won't send anything in time."

"'Taro..." Yuta's voice broke, turning to caress the youngest boy's face gently before looking at his wound. A stab wound straight through his stomach, Ten's taunts carving a strange hole instead of just the wound. "You're not allowed to die. This isn't how it was supposed to go, how do I..."

A tear fell from Yuta's eye, then another and another. They fell on Shotaro's chest, like raindrops. Shotaro laughed gently, voice like a twinkling bell as he reached his bloodstained hands to Yuta's cheeks, cupping them. His eyes were half-lidded and smile lopsided, littered with a trail of blood.

"Yuta... Winwin... I'm not going to die... I'll just..." Shotaro's voice was meek and hoarse all at once, the strength leaving his body in red pools, so much of it that it was almost black. "I-I'm going to run in the clouds with Sungchan! And with my mother... and..." Shotaro hissed in pain as Yuta lightly grazed his wound, who then retracted his hand immediately. "And one day with you two!"

"What's it like there?" Sicheng asked after a painful silence, wrapping a hand in Shotaro's, hands dry and cracked with his own blood, his life. "In the clouds, I mean. Can you see them yet?"

He didn't even realize it, but tears then fell in pearls from his own face, landing on Shotaro's chest. He leaned his head in and Shotaro hummed, soft and weak sound that initially got stuck in his throat.

"Ah... I think I can. The sunshine is nice... better than this place..." his words were spread thin and far apart now as he heaved every few moments, Yuta holding him closer without words.

"I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to... I tried... we could have won!" Yuta sputtered, holding back ugly sobs. "You could have won!"

Shotaro let out a laugh, a sickening thing accompanied by coughs. "Don't be sorry, Yuta... there's no winning. You die... or you wish you h-had."

Yuta stayed silent and Shotaro sighed, coughing and lying back. "I think I'll... become a bird." He decided, smiling up at the faux sun. Yuta whipped his head around as if Shotaro had grown another head, bewildered.

"You're going to become a what?"

Shotaro smiled, eyes fading. His pupils dilated. "I think I'll become a bird... so that I can fly... and... see you both..." His voice was a whisper, barely audible.

Yuta held onto his hand tightly, watching Shotaro's chest rise and fall slowly, achingly slow.  Sicheng held onto the other hand as the two of them watched.
One, two.

"You'll be a beautiful bird, I think." Yuta tried keeping his voice still, holding back heavy tears, holding back desperate yells. "Promise me you'll visit, Taro. You'll have to visit."

Shotaro smiled and squeezed Yuta's hand, strength fleeting. He nodded and laid back, looking up at the sky.

His words were gone now, he was flying away.

One, two.

Yuta hummed some tune that Sicheng didn't know as Shotaro's hands becoming colder.

One, two.

One, two.

One-

And then Yuta felt it. Shotaro was gone, just like that. His chest stopped, his eyes were empty, there was nothing left apart from the ghost of a smile on his face and along his cheeks.

That day, Yuta wept.

No, that day Yuta screamed. Every fiber in his body, with every breath and every cell, Yuta doubled over and yelled, a feral noise from his throat and his soul as if his own life were over.

And unbeknownst to Sicheng, it might as well have been.

Chapter Text

Renjun isn't completely heartless. He'd never leave Jeno to die alone like that.

And he regretted telling Jeno to kill himself.

But Renjun did need air. He did need time to think. And he hoped Jeno didn't take him up on his offer and offed himself already because he wouldn't know what to do after that. He wouldn't know what to do with himself, honestly.

He kicked at the rocks in the road, listening out for any other tributes around him. But the streets were silent.

Renjun was lost. He knew where he was going and knew the way back to Jeno, but he didn't know what to do. Jeno wanted to die but he couldn't bear killing him, not directly.

He'd stared up into the smoggy sky in frustration, letting ash fall into his hair and onto his cheeks.

A little voice played back in his head and he listened curiously. A memory started playing back in his mind, like a film Renjun's seen time and time again.

His heart raced as he remembered, remembering what he'd heard only a few days ago. A few days feels like a lifetime in here, he thinks.

"It's a Neobettle!" Jaemin had smiled, holding up the dark bug between his fingers. Renjun grimaced and Jeno squealed, crawling away from the insect and from Jaemin.

"Am I supposed to know what that is? We're not all bug geniuses, Jaem." Renjun reminded, digging through his now almost empty bag for his knife, in case the creature was dangerous or mutated. It'd have been a shame to die from a bug.

"You said you were hungry and there's no plants or rations around. There is, however, this lil' guy!" Jaemin beamed, before squishing it with his bare hand. Jeno, who sat curled up in a ball behind Renjun, made a retching noise. Jaemin only kept examining its guts excitedly. "The Neobettle is rare and oftentimes they don't leave the proximities of their nests. Meanin' where there's one, there's dozens!"

Jeno's face lit up as he ate the bug's remains. "It's.. it's not so bad."

Renjun turned up his nose. "It tastes like spoiled chicken." He winced, though happy he was finally eating.

Jaemin smiled. "Where there's one Neobettle, there's hundreds. But only the ones with black backs are safe to eat. Any bright green Neobeetle with scratchy markings is insanely venomous. It'll put a man to sleep and he'll never wake up. It's like a tranquilizer."

"How do you know? How can we trust you, Jaemin?" Renjun eyed him suspiciously, making Jeno nod and question Jaemin too.

Jaemin smiled confidently and ate the dark Neobeetle, crushed in his hand. "If I really wanted to kill either of you, there's enough green beetles in the sewers for me to have done so already."

"And neither of you would have a clue."

"I got it." Renjun giggled hysterically, looking up into the bleak sky as if he'd magically see the deceased boy's face in it. "Jaemin, you genius! I got it! You psycho! You brilliant, beautiful psycho!" He rummaged through his bag to find his small, empty flask. He practically beamed, mind running a mile a minute as he looked around.

A sad smile played on Renjun's face and with that, he was on the hunt for as many bright Neobeetles as he could find and riverwater that could kill.

• • 🖤 • •

Renjun slipped into his and Jeno's shelter, praying that Jeno hadn't actually offed himself yet. And to his relief, the other teenager sat on the ground where he'd left him, still breathing and staring outside.

Renjun cleared his throat and made Jeno turned around. Jeno's face dropped, turning back away moodily.

"Hey. I found you something." Renjun's voice was a whisper as he held out the flask of bright green liquid. Jeno raised an eyebrow but took it anyways.

"You found it? What is it-"

"Please." Renjun interrupted, a lump in his throat. He pushed the bottle closer to Jeno and nodded. "Just take it. Um, drink it. I think it's... it'll be good for you right now."

Jeno eyed the concoction and seemed to mull it over, tasting it cautiously and cringing. It wasn't so horrible, but it tasted like chicken broth gone spoiled and he didn't like that very much. Something about it was very familiar and Jeno tried his hardest to rack his brain for the answer. Nonetheless, Renjun brought this as a peace offering, so of course he'd drink it.

Maybe Renjun found the solution to his problem that wouldn't end with blood on his hands, that's what Jeno thought. Maybe he'd talk it over now that they weren't fighting anymore.

"I'm sorry. I know I was asking a lot." Jeno started to apologize, but Renjun leaned against the wall where Jeno was sat and shrugged.

"Shush." Renjun shook his head. "I'm sorry. If it were me, I'd want the same thing." Renjun ran a hand through Jeno's matted hair. "I'm... I'm proud of you for making a choice. Jaemin would be proud." He bit his lip and shut his eyes. "Jaemin is proud." He assured, absolutely sure that the deceased boy was looking down (or up) at them with pride, with that same melancholy, unhinged grin.

"Are you proud?" Jeno asked, messing with the necklace around his neck and along his collarbone. His voice was hushed, as if he were a child telling a friend a secret.

Renjun paused, then grinned. "I am."

Jeno's breathing started to change. His chest rose and fell much slower and his eyes started to flutter shut. "I'm so tired." A small smile played on the corners of his mouth as he leaned on Renjun, slumping in exhaustion.

"Huh?"

"I'm tired, Junnie." Jeno's voice was soft, holding onto Renjun like a lifeline. His fingers tightened on the hem of Renjun's jacket and he started to sputter. "I... I thought death would be scarier but it's kind of nice."

Renjun gasped and looked down at Jeno, eyes wide. "You... you knew?"

Jeno laughed softly, eyes drooping. "Of course I knew. Neobeetle's right? You're really clever, Renjun. I'm sorry I made you-"

"Don't be. I wanted to be by your side anyways. It's nicer than letting the Careers do their worst, right?" Renjun tried to joke, but his voice came out empty and hollow. "This is for the best." He assured, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of it and not Jeno.

Jeno coughed weakly and nodded, with droopy eyes. "For the best." He echoed, letting go of Renjun's coat and brushing his cold fingertips against his.

"You and Jaemin... you're the only friends I had." Renjun brushed his hands through Jeno's hair, watching his chest rise and fall slowly. He blinked away tears and nodded. "Other than my brother, I mean. And I'm sorry I couldn't protect you both."

Jeno hummed, but stayed quiet. Renjun looked into the sky and continued. "I'm sorry I was so mean. I'm sorry I hurt you, Jeno. I thought these Games would be every man for himself, but..." Renjun got choked up and swallowed back his tears. "...I didn't realize that feelings make it... harder."

"Feelings?" Jeno whispered faintly, barely audible. His smiling eyes stared up weakly at Renjun and Renjun stared back with a pitiful laugh.

"Yeah. Feelings, Jeno. Because I... I think I..." Renjun whispered, still running his hand through Jeno's hair. Jeno's eyes focused, then unfocused and didn't focus back. His hand dropped to his side slowly and his breath hitched, but didn't come back which made Renjun pause in his tracks. He looked at Jeno with wide, frightened eyes, shaking him nervously. "Jeno? Hey... Jeno, wake up. It's not time yet, I-"

He shook Jeno violently, cupping his face with his hands. Nothing happened. Jeno stared up, unblinking and cold. A cannon sounded in the sky and Renjun's heart nearly dropped to his stomach.

"No... no, Jeno. Hey, look at me! Jeno!" Renjun whispered, shaking Jeno a bit more. He placed a hand to his neck and looked for a pulse, but nothing was there. "I... I didn't even get to tell you. I didn't get to tell either of you." Renjun's voice was hoarse and pitiful, laying Jeno's limp body on the floor and shutting his eyes gently with his fingertips, as if he'd break if Renjun wasn't careful enough. His eyes became glassy, but he vowed not to cry. He only let go of Jeno's body and hiccuped, stepping back carefully and observing the beautiful corpse, his friend.

"I love you." He whispered, feeling a piece of himself die too. Two of his only friends, gone. Renjun was foolish for thinking that they could survive together.

Nobody ever wins in the Games.

Renjun grabbed his dagger and slung his backpack over his shoulder. He turned his back on Jeno, not wanting to see the corpse any longer. He shut his own eyes and finally let himself cry, though he didn't dare hiccup and call attention to himself in the silence.

"Please..." With a shaky breath, he stood again on his own two feet and laughed gently. "Take good care of him, Jaemin."