Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a slim chance that the slip of paper would hold Rhys’ name. Not an impossible one, as if trying to catch light in your palms or fog in a net, but one that didn’t hold absolute certainty. He’d attended the last five, since the age of twelve, but it made even more sense to him that he would fly through his last lottery with ease. The people in the last couple years, the ones where he’d watched from the sidelines, being taken away, had gone with grim saddened faces. 

He didn’t want to be like them. Coming from a district known for a kindheart and a green thumb, heading off to bloodshed and horror. It was a guaranteed death, unless lady fortune was on their side, which she rarely was. The last game, the year before, had shown his district’s tributes die a truly horrific death. He’d seen it on the big screen in the courtyard; one getting a machete through the skull and the other an arrow through the eye. They’d lasted fifteen minutes in the arena. Fifteen minutes. Rhys had spent more time cleaning dishes or making lunch or washing his linens- and they had only managed a quarter of an hour.

He could still remember the sorrow he’d felt that day. Both tributes’ families had stood in the center of their community’s crowd, everyone trying to give them good hope- until the female tribute’s father had dropped to his knees as he watched her take her last breaths. 

It was a sobering experience. And not one he’d like to relive, unless it meant for certain that he’d avoid being the lottery’s poor sucker of the year. 

“Promise me that you’ll take care of my sister if I’m picked.”

Rhys blinked, waving away the red mist of panic inside his mind to focus on the girl beside him. 

Sasha, with her hair combed back into a tight ponytail, looked back at him, bathed in the sunrise’s glow. Smirking, lips full and amused. She sat on a patch of field that held no crop, dress getting stained by the earth under them. The soil was still moist against their skin from the morning dew, but the heat in her eyes left Rhys warm and he paused, absorbed by their intensity. 

The rush of warmth only came when he realized she was waiting for a response. He went pink in embarrassment, mouth opening an inch to reply- only for nothing to come out. What had she said? He couldn’t quite remember anything besides the looming horrors of what lay before them the next day; the grim reaper and her sick sense of humor:

“Jeez, Rhys, it was just a joke, don’t look so bothered.” She heaved out a sigh from the back of her throat and patted him on the back.

“Huh? What? No, I just- I’m not bothered, I-”

He cut himself off, realizing that was a lie. There was nothing more bothersome than the reaping. Nothing that raised the goosebumps on Rhys’ arm more or made a chill go down his spine. It kept him up some nights, shivering into his pillow, worrying for not just himself, but his friends too. Sasha, August, Yvette (And Fiona before she’d turned nineteen, although now she was safe from being chosen). Not to mention his little brother; Vaughn. 

“Hey.”

There was a soft hand cupping his cheek. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, melting into the touch. His eyes slipped shut and he sighed heavily, like the weight of the world on his shoulders, “I’m just scared.” he admitted. 

“Don’t be.” Sasha said back. Her words were firm and confident, unafraid like she knew for certainty that everything would be okay. Rhys knew otherwise though. He’d grown up right with her; seen how she handled confrontation. There wasn’t a day that she didn’t let down her guard, her chin always held high- but the mask she wore in the face of a fire, wasn’t cool enough to hide everything from him. 

He could feel the slight shiver trailing up his face from her tender palms and the pads of her earth-beaten fingers. 

He pressed against her harder, hoping to still them. And selfishly seek more of her warm comfort. 

“Tell me that we’re going to be okay,” he said, opening his eyes to give her a pleading look, “Tell me please.”

He was such a selfish man. 

She didn’t falter though, curling her hand so it tucked one of his dark curls behind his ear, “We’ll be okay.” 

It sounded nice. It sounded confident. 

Rhys’ nerves persisted though. 

In fact, it persisted all day after that. Even after they shared a chaste kiss and went their separate ways for the afternoon, to do their jobs. They both worked in the fields of their respective family; Rhys with his brother and parents in the wheat sector. And Sasha with her sister and August in barley. She didn’t have parents anymore; her father had died in the reaping when he was eighteen. She’d been born a month after his death, but her mother had only lived five more years before succumbing to an endless sleep. 

Rhys was lucky in comparison. In fact, most people from his district believed the Strongforks had been blessed with some sort of blessing when it came to the games, by their ancestors. 

His parents hadn’t been touched by the games. Neither had his grandparents, uncle, aunts, and cousins either. He and his brother had kept up the tradition so far as well, but there was still a chance and that terrified Rhys. It was his last year to be put in the lottery. Vaughn had three more to go. 

“We should just skip it.”

Rhys held back a snort as his mother swatted his little brother on the head.

“Not funny,” She snapped, shaking her head in frustration. 

They were sat at the dinner table, Rhys across from Vaughn and his parents on either side of him. In front of him, there was a piece of chicken no bigger than his palm and a serving of rice that he was sure to suck down once they were done saying grace. 

“It really isn’t,” His mother went on, eyeing him as he held back a smirk. 

“I know.” Rhys nodded. It wasn’t. She was right. He’d seen the bodies of those who ran and got caught. ‘Deserters’ the capital called them. ‘Criminals’. ‘Mutinors’. ‘ Cowards’. He couldn’t imagine the shame it would bring his parents if he and Vaughn were to run away and leave them with the family name in shambles. 

“Sorry.” he said. 

“Yeah, sorry.” Vaughn echoed. 

His mother’s features softened at their apologies. She was scared too. 

“Eat your food before it gets cold,” she urged. 

“What about grace?” his father asked. He had been quiet all day; working away in the field beside them with a furrowed brow. The ground had been punished murderously all throughout the afternoon, the sun beating down on their backs, until they’d trudged along inside. 

He was scared too. 

They all ate their dinner quickly after that.

When they retired to their beds that night, Rhys found it difficult to sleep. He tossed and turned, the sheets growing slick with anxious sweat. Thoughts so terrible that his body lurched in tense nerves: His main worries remained on his brother, who snored away in the bed across the room from him. He was small compared to others. 

Shorter and brain more attuned to the wonders of life that could be seen in flora. He spent his days growing medicinal herbs in their greenhouse; his life’s ambition to become a healer. The harsh would that they lived in, didn’t align with what the games demanded. 

Rhys could not let him be chosen. 

And then there was Sasha. 

She could handle the games better than anyone in their district, he imagined. But there was always someone stronger out there. The districts all catered to different functions of their society; theirs was for agriculture and plant-life, while others focused on things like weapon manufacturing. Sasha may have been strong for what they had to offer, but they were a small pond in a large ecosystem. 

He’d die if she got hurt. 

Literally. He’d end it all if she were to be chosen, taken out in the ring, her last moments blasted across the big screen. The mental toll it’d take on him would be more than enough. Fiona’s inevitable reaction would be the final nail in the coffin. 

Sasha was someone whose death would rock their entire community into despair. 

‘Please not her’ he begged the universe that night, curled into a tight ball of shuddering anxiety, ‘Not her or Vaughn. Please please please’. 

If one or two tears slipped down his cheek that night, soaking into the fabric of his pillow, then that was no one’s business besides his own. 

The next morning, he got up with the sunrise. His eyes stung with the lack of sleep and the dryness that came from a morning after a crying spell. He spared a glance towards his brother’s still sleeping form and decided against waking him. 

Placing both his feet inside his boots, he laced them up swiftly and then pulled on his jacket. It was a thin material. Too thin to block out the cold in the winter, but warm enough to protect him from that morning’s chill. He buttoned up the front as he entered the kitchen, not noticing his mother at the dining table until she cleared her throat.

“Early morning?” She asked as he jumped at her presence.

“Oh, uh, no, I- I couldn’t sleep.” 

“Hmm,” she hummed, “Me neither.” 

It was then that Rhys noticed the bags under her eyes, not dissimilar to his. Her hair hung in a loose ponytail, like she’d been running her hands through her hair. In front of her, a piece of toast sat, uneaten. 

“Want some?” She asked, noticing his stare.

“No thank you.” He replied, “Not hungry.” 

He didn’t think he could stomach it. 

“Me too.” She agreed. 

They were both quiet. 

The toast had jam on it. Was that grape or strawberry? 

“I love you.” 

Rhys looked away from the toast and towards his mother strangely. 

“I should tell you that more often,” she went on, voice like a whisper, shaky and tired, “I haven’t said it enough I think.”

“You say it plenty.” He replied quickly, effectively cutting her off, “Really,” he added when she looked troubled, “You do. You’re a good mom.” 

Her lower lip trembled and for a scary moment, Rhys worried that she would cry- only for her to shake her head and plaster on a nonchalant expression.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She wiped her eyes and then stood up, “Let me make you some tea.” 

“I’m not thirsty-“

“You need to have something before-“ her smile faltered but she persisted, “You need something to get you through today. Lord knows we all need the strength.” 

She made a prayer motion with her hands and got right to work, boiling a pot of water.

“Thanks mom,” Rhys said, sitting down at the table to watch her. He still wasn’t thirsty, but denying her request sounded cruel to his own ears. 

“Your brother still asleep?”

He blinked, watching her back as she went through the motions of gathering tea leaves and crushing them. 

“Yeah,” he answered, “Slept like a baby last night.”

“I made him warm milk with honey.”

“Ah,” Rhys nodded, “That’ll do it.” 

His brother slept easy when he was cared for. 

“He’s too kindhearted for this world.” His mother went on, unprompted. 

Something foreboding settled Rhys’ gut at the words and he chewed his bottom lip to a pulp. 

"Mhm," he said, "He is."

“If he-” her voice caught in her throat, but she cleared it with a cough, “If he were to be chosen today-”

“Don’t say that.” Rhys snapped. He didn't want to think about it.

“We have to talk about it, sweetheart,” she sighed, leaning against the counter, “We have to.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Doesn’t matter. This is our reality and-” she turned around to look him in the eye, “And I want you to know that I love both of you so much. You and him are my everything.”

“I know, Mom.”

“And Vaughn, he’s so kind.”

“I know.”

“He won’t survive in there.”

“Mom-”

Just as Rhys felt the tears welling up in his eyes, the door to the kitchen creaked open and in came his father. 

“Breakfast?” 

The question was blunt and to the point, far removed from the emotional intensity that had been present just before he entered the room. 

At least it felt normal. Just an early morning with his parents, while his brother overslept in the next room. If he closed his eyes and played pretend, he was going to eat his oatmeal, grab his farming tools and head over to kiss Sasha good morning. 

“I’m making tea, there’s some toast on the table.” His mother said to his father 

It all felt serene and his body eased out some of the tension that had dug it’s claws deep into his flesh. 

He just had to breathe. Relax. Not think about the possibilities to come. 

As his father settled into breakfast and his mother finished pouring the tea into their mugs, he caught her eye. 

‘We’re going to be okay’ he tried to say through a pat on her arm. 

Her eyes didn’t reflect confidence, but she nodded anyways. 

Time passed slowly that morning like he was trapped inside his dreams, moving in slow motion. With long, tiresome movements, time felt stretched out, and he dragged his feet along the road when the time came to head out for the day. 

Towards his doom? Perhaps. 

He felt sick the closer they got to the courtyard; stomach churning, palms all clammy. Maybe he should've sucked down a piece of toast or two. Just to settle his stomach. 

He glanced over at his brother as they walked together; him between both of their parents. He looked like he wasn’t completely there. Eyes still sleepy, Vaughn trudged along with his hand clasped around their parents' elbows. 

He wouldn't survive in the games. 

Rhys looked away.

"Rhys!"

ah. There was Sasha. 

"Nervous?" She whispered in his ear, snatching up his hand like it was a lifeline. She fell into step with him and her sister Fiona, he noticed, walking alongside with a solemn expression. 

"Nah," he lied, hoping to lighten the mood, "Okay, maybe a little with your sister glaring at me."

Thankfully, that startled a snort out of her, as well as Fiona, who was listening silently to their discussion. Everyone else was probably listening too, since the crowd of people entering the courtyard were walking in a tense silence. 

"Don't worry about her, she likes you."

"No, I don't." Fiona interjected. 

"She's just bad at expressing her feelings."

Rhys chuckled, "Aw, that's-"

"Son, get in line."

A heavy weighted blanket of coldness settled onto his shoulders as his father poked him in the ribs. 

They'd entered the courtyard fully, much to his own despair, and the gender division of young boys and girls had begun. Two lines had formed; two different paths for him and Sasha to take. The rest of their family; Fiona and his parents were being steered towards the back of the crowd. 

"Ah. Okay, um-" He barely managed a goodbye to his girlfriend before she was being pushed towards her own section. 

The time had come. 

"Vaughn, let's go," he said to his younger brother, tethering him to his side so they wouldn't get separated.

"I- I didn't get to say bye to mom-" 

"You don't need to," Rhys frowned, pulling him by the arm into their right position, "We'll both be fine. Just stop thinking about it."

Was the tone he used a bit too harsh?

Guilt plagued his gut as they walked forward, a sheen of sweat dripping down his back, despite the weather remaining calm. 

When he looked down at his brother’s hunched over shoulders and trembling lip, the feeling exploded outwards and he grasped the younger boy’s hand in his, trying to amend his words. 

The fear in Vaughn’s eyes didn’t disappear though.

The peacemakers up ahead, who acted as soldiers on behalf of the capital, were drawing the boys’ in line’s blood with a quick prick. Every young man that passed through, had their pointer fingers ready out of routine. But there were some, like Vaughn and the other younger kids who were too busy shivering. 

“Hey,” he said softly, his chest aching,  “Vaughn, it’s okay. It’s okay, we’re just going to sign in. They’re gonna prick your finger just to take a little bit of blood. There’s nothing to worry about, I’ve done it a million times before. Remember when you did it last year? It’s easy peasy.”

Vaughn’s eyes were glassy as he nodded, “Easy peasy.” he repeated. 

“Easy peasy.” Rhys agreed. 

“Next.”

Swallowing a lump, they moved forward, Vaughn going first. He winced as the needle went into his skin, but didn’t cry- something that Rhys was afraid he’d do. 

“Alright, go sit with the younger kids. I’ll find you after the ceremony.”

“Huh? But-” Vaughn threw him a wide-eyed look.

“Next!” 

Rhys nodded for his little brother to go ahead and then lifted a finger up for the peacemaker. 

The man behind the mask seemed to be in a bad mood as he did so; gripping him by the wrist and stabbing the pad of his thumb harder than what was necessary, 

‘Asshole’, Rhys thought to himself, withholding a glare as marched off towards his section He settled into a place near the back, watching Vaughn scurry towards the line of the younger children in their district. He hoped to keep an eye on him, but the deeper he went into the crowd, he began to lose sight-

"Hey, good luck." 

Rhys twitched, looking to his right to August. 

The boy wasn’t really his friend, but Sasha liked him, so therefore Rhys did too. Kinda.

"Yeah, one more to go," he nodded back, although that wasn't quite true. Vaughn still had many after to go through and Rhys imagined he would feel sick with worry no matter his own safety, every time. His brother meant everything to him.  

A dark part of him hoped August would get picked. It was a vile idea, but- August was probably hoping the same for him. Nobody wanted to be reaped. At least, he’d have a chance of survival though. 

"Good morning, district eleven!"

The crowd's low murmur froze alongside Rhys' heartbeat. 

Everyone, in one motion together, looked up towards the stage at the front of the courtyard. 

Everything had been set up: a translucent bin full of pieces of paper that held their victim’s names. A microphone sat in the middle, it’s base held in the soft grip of an extravagantly dressed woman. She was from the capital; hair done up in a fashion that no one in their district could ever imagine owning. Her dress glittered in the sun, the skirt fanning out in ribbons and face painted with pink makeup. 

Moxxi. That was what they called her. Rhys tried not to think too hard about what she represented. Her voice and face were too kind for what she was about to do. 

“Welcome to the annual hunger games, everyone,” she said into the microphone. “It is such a delight to be here, looking out over your kind smiling faces.”

There was a pause and Rhys made eye contact with August, both giving each other unimpressed looks. 

“Today, we will be picking two of you, one boy and one girl, to be chosen for this years’ games.”

And then the speech began. The long dragged out flow of words that sounded like the gongs of death. Rhys zoned out as soon as the words rolled over him. He’d heard the same thing every year. That same inflection Moxxi used in her words. And that same video of the capital played on the big screen too; telling them that the games were going to take place soon, narrated by President Tassiter. 

“May the odds be ever in your favor.” 

Rhys inhaled, closing his eyes as he heard the words. That pretentious saying haunted his dreams every night, whispering morbid curses in his ears. 

“Let’s begin! For the girls…”

He opened his eyes again, staring intently at Moxxi as she reached into the pile of names and plucked out a peice of paper.

It fluttered in the breeze, trapped between her acrylics. Collectively, everyone seemed to inhale. Preparing for the worst to come. 

A bead of sweat dripped from Rhys’ temple down to his collar. 

‘Please not Sasha, please not Sasha, please not Sasha’, he silently prayed. He clenched his hands into fists, nails cutting crescent moons into his palms.

“Yvette Erickson!” 

He exhaled, relief slamming into his body. 

‘Thank god’. It was horrible, but Rhys nearly wept with joy as he heard the name. A weight lifted off his shoulders, freeing him from the panic, knowing that Sasha was safe. 

He watched as the unfortunate girl, who’d been chosen, marched her way up to the stage. Poor girl. She kept her posture straight as she went, but he could see the shaking in her hands. 

“Hello, sugar,” Moxxi said when she reached the platform, “Now come stand here.” 

Yvette followed her directions with a glazed look in her eyes. 

“Yes, now, mind holding this?” Moxxi waved around her slip of paper and then placed it in the girl’s hands, “Don’t drop it.” She added.

Yvette’s hands trembled as she took it without argument.

“Good girl,” Moxxi preened, “And now for the boys.”

She strutted back over to the bowl full of names and reached a slender hand inside. Rhys swore she took longer the second time. Her fingers brushed almost every paper, nails skimming over others and teasing them evilly. 

Every second thst ticked by on the clock was like another nail in the coffin and a labored breath to huff from his lips. 

He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. If he was chosen he’d die. He really didn’t want to die. 

Just as felt on the verge of keeling over, Moxxi finally made up her mind and raised a slip of paper into the air, “Ah! Here we go,” she smiled, “This one feels like a winner.” 

August tensed. Rhys tensed. The entire crowd tended. 

‘Breathe’  he thought furiously, ‘just remember to breathe’ 

“And for the male tribute this year,” Moxxi cleared her throat and then read aloud, “Vaughn Strongfork.” 

No. No. No. 

No.

No.

The world fell away. Ice cold terror plunged into his heart, his own vision dimming as his breathing sped up.

He looked around wildly, to try and spot his baby brother as his mind raced.

This had to be a mistake. Vaughn wasn’t supposed to be chosen. Not him. 

“He won’t survive in there” his mother had said that morning. 

Didn’t the district want entertainment from the games? What was entertaining about a little boy being killed? That wasn’t anything to fawn over. 

Rhys saw movement begin to spread through the crowd and he watched in horrifying slow motion as Vaughn began to creep out of the masses. His whole body was shaking when Rhys saw him. His glasses were on the edge of his nose, lip wobbling as he bit back tears.

“He won’t survive in there” Rhys’ mind echoed once more. 

Neither of them would make it in the hunger games. 

But Rhys loved his brother more than life. 

He felt his body move before the idea of what he was doing actually sunk in. Hands pushing through the bodies of those around him, he shoved aside August, and bolted towards his brother.

“I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!”

Chapter Text

He’d been told before that he was too forgiving when it came to his brother. Too soft on him and taking the blame any time they encountered trouble. Moments like when Vaughn kicked a ball into a neighbor’s window and Rhys took the slap across the cheek. Or when they made too much noise giggling over a game in the night, and their parents scolded Rhys for his insomnia.

Sasha used to tease him about it, before they’d even started dating, telling him that he acted more like the boy’s mother than their actual one.

She was wrong though. 

Because Mrs. Strongfork was not able to volunteer in Vaughn’s place. Mothers weren’t allowed to, as the purpose was to root out two young people who were physically able to fight to the death. 

So, in an act that was unlike their mother- or their father for that matter- Rhys volunteering for his brother didn’t stem from a paternal or a maternal reasoning.

It was just because he loved him. 

“And what’s your name, sugar?”

Rhys stared blankly at the microphone in front of him, his mind still reeling. Along his back, he could feel Moxxi’s sharp manicure tapping him on his spine through his shirt. It wasn’t painful enough to hurt, but he still winced at the touch. 

He felt vulnerable; his clothes too thin and his tall form not allowing him to hide behind the stand of the mic. There was nothing more exposing than standing atop a stage, staring out at a sea of people. Everyone there knew what he’d just done; sacrificing his life for his brother, because they knew he wasn’t going to survive. 

He was known in their district for being gangly and clumsy, kind but to a fault, unable to hold his own in a fight. Not at all Hunger Games material.

“Dear?”

He felt the microphone nudge against his cheek and he twitched, looking from the ocean of eyes to Moxxi’s expectant stare. 

“Rhys.” He said hoarsely, swallowing the urge to vomit, “Rhys Strongfork.”

“Ah,” Moxxi continued to smile. There was a little smear of red lipstick on her teeth. It reminded him of a wolf’s mouth after chowing down on a rabbit.

“I’ll bet my hat that was your little brother, right?”

He nodded mutely, trying to swallow down some of the rising bile. He could hear Vaughn’s screams in his ears, as well as the pounding of his blood coursing through his veins. 

There was a fog going over his brain as he stood there, unable to speak properly. 

Moxxi seemed to realize she wasn’t going to get anything else out of him and started to wrap up. Her voice remained sugary sweet, all neatly wrapped up in a pretty little bow. Rhys could assume she was saying the normal bullcrap; the promises that he and his people deserved their fate.

That the games were an essential part of their society.

“Come on.” 

He felt someone grab his wrist and pull him away from the stage, leading him further away from where his family stood in the crowd, crying their eyes out. He hadn’t been able to spot them as he stood there, due to the hazy eyesight, but as he was led to the back, he caught a glimpse of his mother staring back, tears trickling down her cheeks. 

“Hey. Don’t cry. Don’t panic. Don’t let them see you’re scared.” 

He flinched, looking back down at his wrist and trailing the hand around it, up to the face of the female tribute. She’d whispered in his ear, a similar terror deep within her eyes. Yet, her voice had been comforting like a fire in a blizzard.

Rhys gave her a sympathetic look, “I-“

“We’ll have time for chatting later on, children! Move along!” 

And then Moxxi was leading them inside the grand arches of their district’s mayoral building, hiding from the view. The large oak doors slammed shut after them, a loud echo rattling through Rhys’ ears. A bass drum sound played on loop within his head and he clutched it with a pained groan. 

“Girls this way, boys this way.”

He was being torn into pieces. One part remained outside those doors with his weeping family, the other on he floor of his room under his bed having a panic attack, the last with Moxxi, in which he felt like vomiting down her polished features.

Why did she look so much like clay? 

He’d never seen makeup up close in person before. Never seen rouge on cheeks or eyelashes dabbed in black. 

“I know I’m a hot ticket, but we have to get a move on, sugar. Let’s go, we’re on a schedule!” She began to clap in his direction.

If he hadn’t been so riddled with nerves, he might’ve flushed at being caught staring. As it stood though, he was incapable of doing anything more than staring blankly, his mouth somewhere far away.

“Go on!” She waved him and the female tribute away.

Again, he felt people tugging him in a new direction. This time though, the Peacemakers led him towards a secluded area; an empty office space. 

“Wait, but-“

The door slammed shut behind him. 

And then the world came slamming back into focus. Full force like a slap to the face, the fuzziness at the end of his vision ebbed away and he was left, panting with his hands on his knees. He bowed over, breath coming out in quick puffs of panicked air. The knowledge of what he’d just done hung heavily inside his chest, reminding him of his family’s terror-filled faces. 

They knew. Everyone knew. He hadn’t just volunteered for Vaughn- he’d signed his own death certificate too.

Another shuddering heave of air graced itself between his lips and he sucked it in greedily. This panic he felt, the fear of real death was something he had felt before, but never so vivid. 

There had always been the threat of starvation. His family may have been farmers, but all their crops went straight to the capital, leaving behind only the bare necessities. It kept them weak and malleable, unlikely to fight back. There was the danger of the peacemakers too. Sasha had a radical mindset and therefore dragged Rhys along every so often to underground resistance rallies (which really were just meetings in August’s basement where they smoked grass and whined about change). But, the peacemakers hated her. She was strong. Rhys wasn’t- so they targeted him often. 

On walks home from the fields, they’d stop him, ask to search his bag, and glare at him over the visors of their helmets. One time, they’d even hit him in the head with a baton because he’d tried to stand in front of Vaughn to avoid him being bothered. 

And now…now, the same thing was happening. Only difference was that the next time he got hit, it would be fatal. And everything would be over. 

Blearily, he tried to look around his surroundings, searching the small room for something comfort himself. A glass of waster- maybe a pillow to hold- hell, even a window would be enough, so long as he got to gaze out at a familiar nearby field. 

The room was windowless though. Smart. Rhys supposed other tributes in his position would’ve been using the alone time to plan an escape route. Too bad that he was there of his own accord. 

The rest of the space was bleak. Wooden paneling coated the walls, accompanied by framed paintings of their district’s mayor and President Tassiter ( the bigger of the two). His face was pulled tight in a judging stare, mustache perfectly combed and eyes a cool blue that shoved iceciels through his heart. 

Rhys quickly glanced away. By the wall, there was a desk and chair, and in the middle of the room; a couch. It was a dull brown, seats old and weathered, but he sunk into it with a sigh. It was more comfortable than the furniture his family possessed. The mayor of their district certainly got more special treatment than anyone else did. Rhys had seen the carts of food and cloth being delivered to his doorstep on multiple occasions, mouth drooling enviously. 

What was it like to have such copious amounts of things? Would he get to see more of it when he got to the capital? Would they let him eat whatever a ‘finger sandwich’ was before they shipped him off to an arena and televised his murder?

“Rhys?”

His brain’s rampant thoughts slithered away and he twisted his neck to look towards the door. 

Relief flowed through him, the mere sight of Sasha making a delirious sob of joy tumble out, “Sash,” he said before rushing over. 

They met in a bone-crushing hug, her fingernails digging into his arms like she was afraid he’d disappear.

“Oh my god, Rhys, why did you-?” She whispered into his neck, voice wavering as she was unable to finish her words.

“You know why.” he replied, “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.”

She pulled back and Rhys watched as her bottom lip was caught between her teeth, brow wrinkling. She didn’t want to admit he was correct, but she knew. If it had been Fiona’s name, she would’ve sprained her wrist with how quickly she’d volunteer. 

“But you,” her words were clumsy and it was then that Rhys realized tears were building in the corners of her eyes, “Rhys, you’re just- I don’t know what to-”

“You need to take care of Vaughn.” He told her, voice firm. There was no room for argument and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

“Of course, I will, Rhys. He’s like a brother to me too,” Sasha wiped at her, “Whatever you want me to do, I will. You just need to worry about coming home, okay?” she reached forward and suddenly, was cupping his face tenderly. He leaned into the touch, allowing himself a moment of being cared for, before he took a step back. 

He had to be practical. For Vaughn’s sake, he couldn’t leave before confirming with Sasha what he knew was going to occur in the next few weeks. 

“Oh, Sasha,” he sighed, “I’m not- I don’t think I’ll-”

“Don’t.” She cut him off with a scowl, instantly recognizing the fate he had resigned himself to, “You’re going to win. Do you hear me, Rhys Strongfork? You’re going to come back to district eleven as a winner.”

Rhys? A winner?

Yeah right...

Maybe he could die with some kind of dignity in the ring, bringing his home a good name for itself. But, to come home with the crown and the capital cheering his name- that was a fantasy that he was too logical to even consider. Would it be nice? Sure. Would he kill for it? He wasn’t sure yet. 

“Sasha,” he said with a grimace, “Just please promise me that you’ll take care of him and my-” he choked on his words before spitting out, “My parents. Especially my mother. She-”

“I will,” Sasha answered. She’d begun to cry again, tears making long tracks along her cheeks. She was still beautiful as she quietly wept, much to Rhys’ surprising humor. She could never look less than perfect. Especially when that fire was raging inside.

“And,” he said with a sudden pressing thought, “Don’t- don’t wait for me.”

She froze, “What?” 

“You heard me,” he asserted himself, “I don’t want you to be alone and I know you and August have always been close and-“

“Rhys,” her voice was fragile, “Do you really mean that?”

He didn’t get the chance to respond. The doors opened again and this time, there was blurry motion as someone sprinted into the room and wrapped their arms tightly around his middle. It startled the breath out of him and Rhys nearly fell over in shock. His side began to grow damp and he reached a hand down, raking his fingers through his little brother’s hair. He tried not to vomit in despair as he realized the growing wet patch was from Vaughn’s crying. 

“Hey,” he said, squatting down until he was at the other’s level, “Hey, look at me, buddy, it’s going to be alright, yeah? You’re going to be-”

“Are you an idiot?!”

The shrill yell made him blink and drop his jaw in shock, hurt twisting inside his chest at the anger in Vaughn’s voice. 

“What?” he let his hands drop back to his sides, “Vaughn, I-”

“Y-you can’t just volunteer to take my place!” The young boy shouted, hot angry tears streaming down his cheeks, “Y-you can’t leave! You’ll die in there!”

Rhys tried not to wince at the words. Vaughn was right. 

“No,” he said anyways, steadying himself with a soft smile that was as much for his own benefit as it was for his little brother’s, “No, I’ll be back, okay? Just- I need you to be strong for me. I need you to be strong for mom and dad. Please just-”

“But- but I need you!”

The words sent daggers of pain right through Rhys’ chest. All his life he’d tried to keep his brother safe. From holding him during a nightmare, whispering soothing words- to sneaking him extra food from the fields or giving him his dinner on nights where the portions were too small. The idea of being away from him for even a second was maddening. Like a part of his soul was being destroyed; his lungs plucked from his chest and robbing him of air. But him dead? That was much worse. 

“I know, buddy. And I swear to you, I will try my hardest to come home.” 

He wasn’t lying either; he’d fight through sweat, blood, and tears. He’d rip his nails from his finger beds and chew his own tongue off to return to his loved ones’ open arms. But, he knew the likelihood of surviving with his weak frame and fearful mindset.

“I-” Vaughn sniffled, “O-okay. Do you promise?”

Rhys’ heart clenched, “Of course.”

“Alright, time’s up.”

Rhys couldn’t help the sigh that escaped his lips as the peacemakers made their presence known. It was never enough for them, was it? There was always some way that they could torture him and the people the loved; reaping him, cutting his goodbye short, and dragging him off. 

“No, wait, just one more minute-” Sasha tried to say from behind him. A lurch of panic flared up his gut as a soldier took a step forward. Horrible visions of her getting hit flashed through his brain; her body tumbling to the ground and poor Vaughn having to watch as they dragged him away and left her in a pool of blood. 

“It’s fine.” he said stiffly, stepping forward. The sensation of warmth disappeared the moment Vaughn and Sasha’s hands were gone from his body and he withheld a shiver, “It’s fine,” he looked back at the pair with a shaky grin, “It’ll be okay. Take care of each other please.”

“I love you.” Vaughn said, his eyes following him as the peacemakers grabbed him by the shoulders and began to steer him out the door. 

It shut before he could say it back.