living is a problem

by rainingover

Summary:

One thing that Yuta and Jaehyun have in common is that they have both won the Hunger Games.

Another thing they have in common is that they both sometimes wish they hadn't won at all.

Notes:

Prompt YJR32:
Jaehyun and Yuta are both mentors for their tributes during the hunger games. For a few years they’ve been circling around each other (and watching the kids they mentor die).

(title from biffy clyro - living is a problem because everything dies)

 

“Where’s Jaehyun?” Yuta asks Ten, who is sewing sequins into a cape for one of the kids from district 8. It's only the first day of the pre-games media show and not every team is in the Capitol yet, but district 1’s team is, and Jaehyun is not amongst them. It’s jarring. Jaehyun has been a constant for Yuta in the last seven years of seeing kids enter the arena and never come back out.

Ten just shrugs. “Pass me the silver thread,” he says. Yuta doesn’t.

"Did he say he wasn't mentoring this year?" Yuta presses on. 

"Not to me." Ten looks up at him. "Are you going to pass me the thread?"

"I haven't decided yet." Yuta sighs. "Are you going to make me wear stupid outfits this year?"

"None of my outfits are stupid." Ten stands up and gets the thread himself. "But if you have any requests, I like Champagne."

Yuta laughs. "I actually already stole a bottle from the drinks reception, so your luck is in." 

He leaves Ten to his stitching and stalks the corridors of the accommodation block, looking for someone who might shed light on Jaehyun's disappearance. He doesn't find anyone he trusts enough not to pry into why he wants to know. He does, however, find lots of fake-smiled assholes he'd rather avoid: Game-Makers, other mentors, press. 

"May the odds be ever in your favour," one calls to him, shrilly, from across the foyer, and he just scowls back. The odds have never been in his favour. Not now, not the last few years and definitely not the year he won the Hunger Games. District 7’s tributes have never been particularly fierce competitors, and no one took much notice of Yuta, not until they had to, when the favourites were all dead.

At the end of a fortnight of fighting, Yuta was breathing, if only just.

Yuta was the underdog of his year, sixteen and wiry, and until over halfway through the games, even the most risky of gamblers were not confident enough to put money on him winning.

He might have been hardworking and strong, but at the end of the day Yuta was just the second son of a wood-chopper, here to fill out the numbers along with most of the other kids. All eyes were on District 1 in his year: they had a pair of Career twins, who killed half of the tributes in the arena between them, but not Yuta, who pulled his win out of the bag at the last minute, when it was just him and one of the twins left alive.

He’d chopped down a tree in the centre of the clearing, aiming for it to land in the small, contained fire that had been set the night before by someone looking for warmth, and it had landed perfectly, trapping the only other tribute alive in the trees behind it, as the fire spread rapidly across the bark and into the forest.

His leg was already infected from the knife wound he’d received two days earlier, and he’d been hallucinating since the night before. He’d been ready to die for hours. But then he’d found the axe, and made his perfect cut, and the fall of the tree spread the fire in the direction of District 1’s last living darling, securing his win.

The forest burned behind him as he’d limped backwards, away from the flames, as pain seared through his thigh, and he watched as the only other remaining tribute was engulfed in plumes of smoke and flames. The scene took place against the treeline on the other side of the platform, which people later said seemed appropriate for a winner from the District famous for lumber. Yuta cried for days afterwards, hot tears that made clean tracks down his cheeks over the layers of soot and dirt that had accumulated on his skin over the course of the games.

His hair smelled of smoke for a long time after and every breath he took burned.

Growing up with lumber had given Yuta the benefit of understanding hard work, determination and perseverance in the face of bad weather, bad winters, bad food. The Capitol overlooked his district, left them to fend for themselves, and. he’d spent most of his childhood helping his brothers harvest wood before he was picked for the games, his name spoken in a garbled, distorted voice by the representative on the podium, made of wood he and his brothers had chopped with their father two weeks previously.

He wasn’t expected to do well but Yuta had things to live for - seeing his brothers again, for one. Giving the middle finger to the sponsors, another. And he’d meant to do it - he’d stood in the clearing of the forest at the end of the games, the canon announcing his win and he’d thought, fuck you all, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It seemed disrespectful to those who had to die for the games to end.

The smell of death was everywhere.

Afterwards, Yuta went home, hugged his parents, and then watched them die in the cold winter the following year. They refused to move to a new house, and they could never understand why he would ever want to leave their district ever again, after he’d fought so hard to see it again, but over the following years, when no one else from 7 ever game home after the games, Yuta decided he had to return to the place that had burned him inside and out, to help mentor his district’s tributes, hoping to make a difference, even to one tribute.

Year after year, district 7 tributes died in the arena, but he tried. He tried so hard, so fucking hard for them.

He could never just stop helping, he couldn’t turn his back on them now, and for that reason he can’t understand why Jaehyun doesn’t show up to mentor his district after six years of being there.

 

 

 

 

Jaehyun’s games, two years after Yuta’s, were quick and rancid. He was seventeen years old when he entered the arena, and he’d thought he knew everything when the games began. He thinks he was made of gold, but he was only dressed in it. Still, he’d been trained for this— to kill, to win, to survive— and he did kill, and he did win. He fulfilled his destiny as a Career tribute, and he was a hero to the people back home. He never felt like a hero at the time, and he still doesn’t.

After a few turbulent years of navigating the media circus that came with being a victor of the Hunger Games, Jaehyun followed the same path as his predecessors and began to mentor the young tributes of his home district, some of which had been training for this since before they could even understand the concept killing.

For the Career tributes from districts 1 and 2, dying isn’t an option, but many of them die, regardless. If twenty six enter and only one can win, well, it doesn’t take a mathematical genius to figure that one out.

Still, Districts 1 and 2 have always had the highest number of successors, and it’s not down to luck. It’s down to gruelling hard work, fearlessness and desperation, Jaehyun tells himself, but he knows, deep down, that money and popularity play a damn big part in how successful his district is too. He isn’t stupid.

Jaehyun himself had trained for fourteen hours a day from the age of twelve before he entered the arena, and it had paid off, because he’d survived the fire-lit arrows and the nano-bombs and the assaults with weapons, with rocks, with fists. He had drowned one of the tributes from District four on the first day, wrestling in the water for what felt like hours before his opponent gave in. He still remembers the plastic smell of the air after the nano-bombs and the way that the girl from district 9 convulsed in his arms as she took her last breath. She’d charged at him, brave and angry, with the sickle she had carried for the whole length of the games to represent the agricultural area she represented, but he was always going to be faster, and stronger, and in the end, she died under her own weapon.

Jaehyun remembers having to bite back tears after that one, but he managed it. He was taught not to show despair, no matter how much he felt it, and after the games, he was applauded for his stoicity. For being ruthless and calm and brave. Jaehyun felt like they were congratulating someone else entirely, because he no longer felt like he fit that description.

In a matter of weeks he had transformed from a stubborn boy to a broken man. His hands shook, even as he smiled for the cameras anyway. He accepted gifts because had never been taught how not to. He accepted compliments and drinks from strangers with ulterior motives, who’d lingered around for too long and expected things from him that he didn’t give.

Jaehyun saw a therapist once, secretly, away from the Capitol and she’d told him he had PTSD. She’d told him he wasn’t the bad person he thinks he is, that his childhood and the adults who cultivated it caused this, and it got him thinking that now, now he had become an adult, maybe he could make a difference in some way, to the kids who came after him.

Maybe, if he could show the Career tributes of his district some humanity before being pushed into the arena, that’s where he could learn to forgive himself.

He did it for six years, until he was twenty seven, and during this time he mentored more winners than anyone before him had. He made a name for himself, and made few friends and many enemies, thinly veiled as friends.

He also met Yuta, who didn’t even pretend to be his friend. It was refreshing.

When he realises he can’t go back to mentor for his seventh year, he doesn’t tell anyone in advance, he just doesn’t turn up. It’s better this way.

This way no one can talk him out of it.

 

 

 

As soon as Yuta knows for certain that Jaehyun isn’t returning to the Games, he finds himself mourning his company, which seems funny in a way, because they aren’t even friends, really. There is enough mutual distrust between them to last a lifetime. Jaehyun grates on Yuta, and Yuta winds Jaehyun up tightly like a coil, waiting to snap him, but it never quite works. Jaehyun is good at keeping himself in check, the fucking Career tribute that he is.

Yuta hasn’t had many friends in his life, and he still doesn’t, but he likes it when Jaehyun is around anyway, if only because it distracts him from the inevitable fact that two kids from his home district are going to be dead within the next month.

The tributes from district 7 - his tributes - die on the second day of the games in the year Jaehyun is gone. They are fifth and sixth to die, and Yuta knocks back his first drink with shaking hands the moment the daily announcement is made. He drinks and he drinks and then he lashes out verbally at everyone who passes him by on his way back to his room, where he spends the rest of the night with his head over the toilet, crying and being sick until he passees out exhausted, a little after dawn.

He is the most recent winner from 7, but he is determined not to be the last.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, has mentored not one but three winners in the time Yuta has known him. The way Yuta sees it, Jaehyun spends three years fucking around in the Capitol, doing whatever bougie shit the famous and beautiful think is fashionable, and then he waltzes back into the games as a mentor and has a winner, just like that, no trouble at all. There's a couple of years of disappointment for District 1’s team after that, but then, sure enough: another winner. His name is Snark and he is a brutish boy - only just sixteen and angry, and ruthless. He kills some of the tributes with his bare hands and Yuta is simultaneously in awe and sickened by the way it all plays out.

Jaehyun is a natural mentor. At least, that’s how it feels to Yuta, but maybe that isn’t quite the case. Jaehyun clearly has demons of his own, if his sallow complexion and bloodshot eyes on opening nights are anything to go by. Still, it is fun to poke at him like a trapped animal— he gives as good as he gets, Yuta soon finds out, and, really, what else can he ask for aside from some give and take?

Happiness isn’t an option, and neither is peace. So, Yuta circles Jaehyun and Jaehyun prickles at his teasing, and together they settle into a sort of routine each time game season comes around.

It isn’t the same without him.

In fact, it’s worse, and Yuta hadn’t realised it could be worse than it already is year in, year out. He hadn’t realised that he’d gotten so used to Jaehyun’s presence (as hostile as it sometimes can be, as everyone’s presence sometimes feels to Yuta) and that he’d been looking forward to having an excuse to spend time with him all year. But, that’s how it is. He hates these games even more than usual.

The new mentor for District 1 is Snark - almost twenty now, and even angrier, if that is possible. Yuta doesn't like him enough to even engage in trading insults. He keeps to himself that year. At first he tries to wheedle some fun out of Doyoung from district 6, but it doesn’t bring him the strange twist of joy that Jaehyun’s attempts at insults always have done. After the games there are riots from some of the lower ranked districts, but they’re killed off within a short time. It’s a shame, Yuta thinks. He’d quite like to join a rebellion, but he can’t give up on the tiny flicker of hope that he will watch a tribute from 7 come back alive next time.

It’s unlikely, but a man can hope.

The first night that Yuta sees Jaehyun again after he skips the Games it’s in the Capitol, two weeks before the next year’s games are due to commence and he feels nervous when he sees him. He pushes it to the side, ignores it, and invites Jaehyun to drink with him.

“A toast to your return,” he says. Jaehyun just looks at him blankly. Yuta tries not to smile.

“I missed you last year.” Yuta pours out triple measures of the whiskey He’s taken the whole bottle from the bartender, who doesn’t seem happy. The ice-cubes in the bottom of the tumblers do nothing to water-down the alcohol, which Jaehyun looks grateful for. It is just the way he likes it, and by now Yuta knows that. Knows him. He doesn’t understand him, though. Doesn’t understand why he left. None of the rumours about it ring true.

Jaehyun accepts one of the tumblers and takes a sip. “No you didn’t,” he says, like it’s an obvious lie. He is wrong, though. Yuta misses a lot of people, he just tries not to show it. It’s easier to live that way.

He missed Jaehyun more than he’d ever thought he would. More than he’s missed anyone since the death of his parents. He’d forgotten what missing someone could be like.

Yuta swills the alcohol around his glass, watching the way it rises and falls over the two cubes of ice at the bottom like a wave lapping the shore. “Why did you leave?”

“I don’t know,” Jaehyun is lying to him, Yuta thinks. People don’t do things without having a reason, and lying comes as second nature to winners of the games. “I got bored?”

Yuta considers this. “And why did you come back?”

“I got bored?” Jaehyun repeats. It’s not convincing.

“You got bored of being wined and dined by the rich and famous?” Yuta laughs, cold and sarcastic. “You got bored of avoiding the death of our kids? Sure. Sounds very boring, getting fucked and fed caviar and whatever else you were doing last year.”

“Don’t be jealous, Yuta.” Jaehyun tips his head back and drains his glass of whiskey. The ice-cubes clink against his teeth. Yuta almost shivers at the sound, it’s so strangely intimate. “It doesn’t look good on you.”

“Jealous.” Yuta snorts. “I have nothing to be jealous of, though, do I? Because no matter how much they love you and how much they avoid me, here we are now, together. And your fancy benefactors are nowhere to be seen.”

Jaehyun just shrugs. “As I say, jealousy isn’t a good look for you, Yuta.” His heart isn’t really in this trade of jabs, Yuta can tell. It pisses him off. “See you round.”

“Only if you’re lucky,” Yuta replies, but there is a longing to his voice he can’t quite manage to keep out of it. He curses himself after, when he is lying in bed, alone in his room.

He’d been imagining their reunion since he heard about Jaehyun’s return, and he’s frustrated that it ended without him getting the upper hand. Maybe an argument isn’t what he wanted after all.

 

 

 

 

Three days after the brief drink that reunites them, Jaehyun sees Yuta for the second time in as many years. He doesn’t know what to talk to him about, so he says what he’s been thinking since the first press conference. “Your tributes are very young this year.”

“Don’t.” Yuta breathes out of his nose like he’s breathing fire. He’d been furious when no one older had volunteered to take their place, Jaehyun knows. He remembers watching the Reaping of the other Districts, his first job as mentor each year, and seeing Yuta’s face: sullen, indignant, in disbelief. “I’d volunteer in their place, I would, every single time,” he says. “I just– why didn’t anyone do it?”

“The kids at the reapings, they’re scared. Most kids are scared.” Jaehyun watches the tributes practising in the hall below them.

He can feel Yuta look at him. “You weren’t.”

Jaehyun frowns. How can Yuta think that? Is that the impression he gave? “I was,” he says. “I might have been trained for it, but I was scared. Because I was a kid.”

“I know. But that’s… I don’t know. It seems different. Look at them.” He shakes his head, gesturing towards the girl he’s mentoring, a tiny thing. “They can hardly hold a knife, nevermind wield one.”

Some of the tributes this year do look more out of their depth than usual, or maybe he’s just forgotten how jarring it is to see children turn into killers even when it’s out of necessity.

“Yours might surprise you,” he says. He doesn’t think they will, but there’s no point in putting Yuta into a worse mood.

“Hmm.” Yuta mutters. “I just know I’d volunteer in their place.”

But he can’t. That’s not how the games work. The only time a mentor can enter the games is during a quarter quell, when past winners come together for an all-stars season of desperate violence. It is still another 10 years until the next quarter quell, and unless district 7 starts getting lucky and producing other winners, Yuta will have to go. Jaehyun’s district has more winners to choose from. Maybe he’ll volunteer then, anyway.

“I’ve got a younger version of Snark this year,” Jaehyun says, pointing towards his district’s tributes are practising— or, no, that’s not right, they’re performing. They know they’re being watched, and they’ve been taught to flex their skills at every opportunity while in the Capitol. “He thinks he rules the world. At least, that’s what he wants everyone to think. I caught him crying the other night.”

“Oh?”

Jaehyun can’t help but smile at the memory. Jaehyun knows this type of boy so well - he’d been one of them, after all. Careers are taught not to show emotion because emotion is weakness. This year’s tributes have had the same memo, apparently. “Yeah. He just claimed he had a sore arm from training and threatened to punch me if I told anyone he’d been crying.”

Yuta laughs. “Damn. Our stupid fucking kids.”

“Hmm.” Jaehyun smiles properly at this. He likes the way Yuta calls them his kids, even though they’re just charges under their tutelage for a while before they’re sent to fight. He humanises the tributes in a way that hardly anybody does anymore. They’re just pawns in a big game of fucked up chess played by the Capitol. They all are— even him. Even Yuta, though Jaehyun wouldn’t say that to his face.

A group of wealthy Capitol residents are ushered in to watch the tributes practise and they bring a chill in with them. Jaehyun can feel himself tensing up, hoping no one he’s acquainted with is about to appear. They’re ushered into the centre of the viewing platform, where they stand in a gaggle, watching the tributes with a sickly fascination.

“Oh dear me.” A man with neon blue hair and a monocle chuckles. “They do look like lambs, don’t they?”

The woman with him laughs and points in the direction of Yuta’s tributes. “Poor little pet, that girl is going to be eaten alive.” She sounds excited for it to happen. Jaehyun notices Yuta’s clenched fists.

“Should we watch from the other side?” He suggests quietly. “Leave the honoured guests to it.”

Yuta nods. “Wouldn’t want to spoil their view.” He scowls. “Are you regretting your return yet?”

“No.” Jaehyun walks with him to the far side of the platform. He’s been regretting most of his choices since he won the games, and some before then, but Yuta isn’t asking for the whole, dark, truth. He just wants to verbally spar as a distraction from the bloodsucking cretins across the room. Jaehyun gets it. “Are you regretting my return?”

“Of course, you’re the most annoying mentor around,” he says, but Jaehyun can tell his heart isn’t in it.

“I try.” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. “Glad it’s working on you.”

Yuta laughs, and there isn’t a hint of scorn in it.

“What?” Jaehyun asks.

“I just… Why would you come back to this? You had an out and you took it. Why would you come back?”

“It’s just— well, this is all I know now,” Jaehyun says, as if that’s enough, “You can’t just leave it behind, I learnt that.”

“But wasn’t it a relief? Being out of this loop of getting emotionally invested in these kids and then watching them die?” He just doesn’t get it, but why would he? He doesn’t know everything, even if he sometimes thinks he does.

“At first it was. But… Watching the games play out, seeing how much the people in the Capitol enjoyed it.” Jaehyun shrugs. “I need to be here. I need them to know they have someone who cares, even if they don’t make it. I want their last friendly face before the games start to be one that truly cares, so I came back.”

“You do not have a friendly face,” Yuta retorts.

“Says you.” Jaehyun did miss this— this back and forth. More than he realised he would. “You should have heard the things people say about— no, forget it.” He stops.

“No, go on. I can’t say I haven’t been curious exactly what the Capitol says about me.” He raises an eyebrow, a challenge.

Jaehyun pulls a face. “I don’t want to repeat it here.”

“That bad?”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Jaehyun wishes he hadn’t even brought this up. Why did he bring this up? “Maybe after another few drinks,” he offers.

Yuta smiles. “Oh we need to loosen those lips up, do we?”

“Something like that.” Jaehyun’s just relieved that Yuta doesn’t seem pissed at the mention of the Capitol. “Why? Are you offering to buy me one?”

Yuta just laughs. “I’ll steal a bottle from the bar for my room, does that work for you?” He asks.

Jaehyun nods. “Stealing from the Capitol sounds ideal. Are you staying in your usual suite?”

“Yeah, as far away from the officials as they can possibly put me.” He grins. They really do hate him. They pretend to like Jaehyun, but they openly hate Yuta. It’s funny, Jaehyun thinks, because underneath the cynical exterior, Yuta is actually pretty nice in comparison to most.

“Good.” Jaehyun zips up his jacket. “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

 

 

 

They share their second drink of the season that night— their first in private, their first out of the prying eyes of the Capitol. The first that means something.

Yuta doesn’t keep his voice down, even as he throws insults about the Capitol government. He dares Jaehyun to join in, looks him in the eye with an air of defiance and says, “Come on, you must have an opinion about the new event.”

Everyone has an opinion about the new event. The new event is designed to give a reason for the wealthier sponsors to get to know the tributes better before the games. The new event is intrusive and macabre and sickening. There will be a grand dinner the night before the games, attended by all of the tributes, their main mentors and, controversially to some, a select handful of sponsors willing to put up the most amount of money to get close to the action.

“It’s the last thing they need— the kids, they’re not going to be mentally prepared to enter the arena if they’re entertaining fucking perverts or whatever they are, the night before.” Yuta had complained, loudly, when it was announced.

The mentors for district 2 had bristled and rolled their eyes. “Maybe if you didn’t refer to our elite as perverts, your pathetic little district’s tributes might have more of a chance to gain support.” Hale had pursed his grotesque mouth at Yuta.

“Maybe if they weren’t perverts I wouldn’t have to.“ He’d caught sight of Doyoung and Taeyong, then. “Hey, Doyoung! Have you heard this bullshit?” He’d called across the weapons hall, where the tributes are being assessed.

“I’ve heard,” Doyoung had told him when Yuta had crossed the room to get away from people he couldn’t stand.

“And?”

“And… They won’t change their minds.” He’d shrugged. “We already talked to the Game-Makers. People in the Capitol are putting up big money to share a last supper with the tributes. It’s set in stone.”

Yuta had felt physically sick at the time, and he still does now.

Yuta sits on his bed, which is unmade, because he has no reason to make it, and recounts the tale to Jaehyun. His door is locked, just in case anyone gets nosy, but, really, no one comes down here much.

“He's right,” Jaehyun tells him, vodka mouth, vodka eyes shining in the lamp-light in Yuta’s room. “Shouting about it won’t change anything.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” Yuta points out.

“We don’t.” Jaehyun says, and Yuta can feel that he’s being diplomatic, careful. “For the record, I agree. They are perverts.”

Yuta laughs. “Fuck, I’m glad you’re back.” He doesn’t mean to say it. “I mean, at least you’re not completely wrapped up in their bullshit. I was worried you would be now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you left. Because— I don’t know. I heard you are the new Capitol’s darling. I guess I heard wrong.” He smiles, relieved. Jaehyun smiles back, but he looks sad. Yuta tries not to care, but he does. He really does care about Jaehyun. Maybe he always has done, he thinks. Maybe he just didn’t want to admit it to himself before.

“I’m no more their darling than you are,” Jaehyun says. He looks away, out of the window— not that there is anything to see. The sky is dark and there aren’t even many lights below. In the build up to the yearly games all eyes are on the fancier venues, not the areas where people like Yuta are put.

“That bad?” Yuta raises an eyebrow. He is genuinely surprised. Jaehyun is doing a hell of a lot of surprising him this year. He added, softly, “What happened?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “It’s not important.” He stands up, headed to the liquor cabinet. “Another drink?”

“Why not.” Yuta shrugs. “Nothing better to do. Although…”

“What?”

“The kids— the tributes— have a press conference tomorrow, right? I don’t want to look like shit behind them.” Yuta frowns. “I want potential sponsors to think district 7 is a real competitor this year. Gives the kids a chance of getting help in the form of sponsorship.”

“You don’t think they have a chance without sponsors?” Jaehyun asks, not unkindly. Yuta still bristles at the suggestion.

“I didn’t say that.” Yuta scowls in Jaehyun’s direction, but the truth is that he doesn’t think his tributes have much of a chance at all. They’re young, barely teenagers, both of them, and they haven’t taken to any weapon with much finesse. Guri, the boy, can wield an axe, but not as well as Yuta could as his age. The girl, Sini, can’t even do that. If they can attract a sponsor, maybe that’ll give them more of a chance of surviving. Maybe.

“You managed to win without sponsors.” Jaehyun looks at him. “You used your determination, your wit.”

The compliment— is it a compliment?— throws Yuta, and he glances up at Jaehyun quickly. He’s not prepared for the way Jaehyun is staring at him, like he really means what he says. It makes him feel nervous.

“I suppose I did,” he says. “Or maybe I was just in the right place at the right time when it came down to it.”

Jaehyun smiles. “Okay, no more drinking so you can get your mini lumberjacks sponsors.”

“Mini lumberjacks…” Yuta gets out his phone and starts composing a message. “That’s not a bad costume idea, I’m sending it to Ten,” he says.

Ten won’t be happy to receive a suggestion twelve hours before the outfits need to be ready, but he’s a genius with a needle and thread. Technically he’s with his own district, 8, where textiles are the main priority, but he works with Yuta too, since district 7 have no designer in the Capitol crew. Yuta suspects Ten works for a few other districts on costumes— he’s close with Taeyong and Doyoung from 6 too— but Yuta doesn’t blame him. It’s nice to find more people who actually seem to care about the tributes. Yuta respects that about Ten, and he isn’t going to start picking apart the way he survives out here. Everyone has their own ways of getting by.

Jaeyun hums. “Are you telling him it was my idea?”

Yuta shakes his head. “If I tell him that he’ll only want to know why you’re in my room so late.”

“You think he’d disapprove?” Jaehyun asks.

“Disapprove of what?”

“Us… Talking.” Jaehyun looks lost.

“No.” Yuta tries not to laugh. How can Jaehyun be so naive and so fucking worldly at the same time?. “I think he’d start asking questions about your dick.”

Jaehyun actually blushes. “Oh. He’d think… Why would he think..?”

“I don’t know,” Yuta lies. “Anyway… What are your tributes like? The girl looks pretty lethal, saw her practising in the training centre the other day. The guy, I isn’t sure. How old is he?”

“Fourteen.” Jaehyun seems to have returned to a more normal colour, his blush fading everywhere but his ears. “But he’s been training since he was eight. He’s lethal, too, believe me. Even if he cries a lot.”

“Crying is not a sign of weakness,” Yuta points out. He stands up and takes Jaehyun’s empty glass along with his own, depositing them on top of the drinks cabinet.

“I didn’t say it was.” Jaehyun looks at him. “I don’t think it is.”

“And I suppose all Careers are lethal,” Yuta carries on. “Wouldn’t be much point otherwise, would there? With you behind them, they’ve got to be pretty confident.”

“The team are… We are optimistic about this year’s games,” Jaehyun admits. “I know the team was disappointed last year.”

“Well, once I secure those sponsors, district 7 might surprise your lot this year.” Yuta smiles. For the first time in a long, long time he feels optimistic himself.

“Surprise us how? By not dying on the second day?” Jaehyun smiles, and the words sting.

The words sting because the wound of last year’s games is still raw, it will always be raw, and to hear Jaehyun— Jaehyun who wasn’t even here, who Yuta thought understood the games the way he does— speak them, is gutting. “Wow,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry. It was a joke. I didn’t mean-”

“I think about what happened last year every day, for your information,” Yuta tells him. He can feel himself getting choked up, which he hates. Crying might not be a sign of weakness, especially for a kid, but he isn’t fucking doing it in front of Jaehyun. Not now, like this. “I think about it and I blame myself every single day. And you weren’t even here then, so thanks so much for bringing it up, I love to think about it when I’ve had a drink and I have to be up early. Fucking great.” He clenches his jaw to try to harden up and hold back his tears.

“I didn’t mean… Yuta.” Jaehyun stands up, starts towards him. Yuta steps back. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“It’s fine. It came out just fine.” Yuta closes his eyes and breathes out through his nose. Thankfully, Jaehyun doesn’t move any closer. Yuta can’t deal with this right now. “I’m just tired and want to go to sleep now. Goodnight, Jaehyun.”

He doesn’t watch Jaehyun leave.

 

 

 

 

Jaehyun doesn’t sleep well, which he guesses serves him right.

Yuta clearly doesn’t either, because he’s visibly exhausted when Jaehyun sees him backstage at the press conference. His tributes are wearing earthy colours, rich browns and greens, and they both wear sashes adorned with axes sewn with gold thread, tiny green garnet stones surrounding them.

They look like they belong deep in the forest. Ten has done well.

Yuta is dressed in a deep mahogany coloured leather jacket and smarter, tailored jeans than Jaehyun has seen him in before. His hair is slicked back off his face and, despite his tiredness, he looks good, in that unbothered, natural way that he always has.

Jaehyun was jealous of him once. It’s funny to imagine it now, but he was, when they first joined up as mentors. Jaehyun is handsome while Yuta is interesting, dynamic, and mesmerising. Cool.

Jaehyun is typically beautiful, by Capitol standards. He knows he is, he’s been told it often enough. And it makes him feel sick, sometimes, because he is a career tribute and he is lethal, but despite that his looks helped him to win the games whether he likes it or not.

His sponsors have never stopped making sure he’s aware of that— even now people ask to fuck him as if he’s being asked about the weather.

He hears people say it about Yuta too, but they admit it like it’s a secret, like they shouldn’t want to. He wonders if Yuta knows, but if he does he probably doesn’t care. Jaehyun can imagine him curling his lip in disgust and saying, “I’d rather scoop out my eyes with this soup spoon,” over dinner, and it makes him smile.

Ten is at his side before Jaehyun realises he’s crossed the studio. “What are you thinking about?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re smiling to yourself.” Ten pushes his sunglasses up onto the top of his head. They're indoors, but it is pretty bright here so maybe they’re not just a fashion statement, Jaehyun thinks. Star shaped charms that dangle from the frames sit on his hairline like a crown. “So, what are you thinking about?”

“I’m smiling for the cameras,” Jaehyun says. “You should know by now that being backstage doesn’t mean you won’t get filmed for the propaganda.”

“I know. That’s why I make sure everyone I dress looks at their best. Even mentors.” He looks Jaehyun up and down and clicks his teeth. “Who styled you today?”

“I didn’t take her name.” Jaehyun opens the palms of his hands and looks down at them. They’re streaked with gold paint. “But she did well with the kids.”

“They look fierce,” Ten agrees. “But mine look more so.”

“I admit, district 8’s team all look impressive. And 7s kids do, too. I take it you made those sashes?” He asks, as if he doesn’t already know for certain.

“I did. I dressed their mentor too. At least, I tried. Yuta wouldn’t wear the lumberjack jacket I attempted to put him in, he’d only wear the leather jacket. I don’t know what’s got him in such a sour mood.” He gestures towards Yuta with his thumb. “But I would avoid him for the next twelve to twenty four hours if I were you.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult.” Jaehyun shrugs. “He’s already avoiding me.”

“Oh, so it’s your doing.” Ten hums. “My poor jacket. I spent an hour on that last night. Well I hope you two kiss and make up before the games begin.”

Jaehyun knows that Ten is just needling with his phrasing. He’s sometimes like Yuta in that respect— quick witted, a fan of any double entendre, droll. Still, the thought of kissing Yuta to make it up to him makes him feel uncomfortably warm.

Maybe Ten can tell because he laughs lightly. “I'll leave you to that thought,” he says, and then he takes his sunglasses off his head and slips them back over his eyes. “Gotta get back to Lisa. See you round.”

Jaehyun walks nearer to the large monitor that’s showing the interview happening live outside in the main studio. The tributes from district 11 are being interviewed now, the audience whooping and laughing over a comment the male tribute just made. He looks shocked, like maybe he didn’t mean to say something funny. When Jaehyun spies Lo and Lemon, district 11’s mentors, bickering over who should take ownership for the catastrophic interview across the studio, he feels sorry for the kids on screen. Maybe they’ll turn it around by the end of their segment, he thinks. He’s just glad his kids did fine, but of course they did, careers train for press for years before they get to the Capitol.

Afterwards, there’s food and drink put on for the teams. Jaehyun spots Yuta hovering at the bar and takes a deep breath. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey.” Yuta looks dazed, or maybe he’s just tired. “Congratulations on that interview.”

“I should be saying the same to you.” Jaehyun accepts the drink Yuta passes him. “Your tributes did really well.”

“Yeah, I’m proud of them.” Yuta smiles. He really does look proud.

Jaehyun remembers why he came over to speak to Yuta once he’s taken his first sip of wine. “I’m sorry, by the way. About last night.”

“It’s— don't worry. You just said what everyone’s thinking.” Yuta dips his head. “And I took it badly. It is what it is.”

“Well, maybe people aren’t thinking that anymore. Your girl, Sini, isn’t it? She answered that question about her lack of physicality really well. She’s right, being quick and light footed can really help out there.” Jaehyun watches Yuta drain his glass of wine. “She could go far.”

“Hmm.” Yuta gestures towards the bartender to refill his glass. “I hope so. I want them to be confident, but to understand that… Well. The odds are never really in anyone’s favour inside the arena.”

“It was strange watching it from the other side last year,” Jaehyun admits. “With the sponsors and the fans. Really, really strange.”

“Were you not here last year? I didn’t even realise.” Yuta grins as he sips his second glass of wine. He’s definitely tired, definitely trying to compensate for that with alcohol. Jaehyun feels terrible again for the shit he said last night. “Your presence obviously has no real impact on my life.”

Jaehyun can’t help but smile “Well. That's clearly a lie.”

“Of course it’s a lie. I had no one to hold my hair while I was vomiting after every open bar.”

Jaehyun scoffs. “I wouldn’t do that even if I was around. Even if you asked nicely.”

“Lucky I got a haircut this year, then, isn't it?” Yuta says. Behind him, the bartender is cleaning glasses. Jaehyun guesses he’s an Avox, from the way he doesn’t look any of the guests in the eye, nor speaks to them even to say pleasantries. Jaehyun tries to catch his eye before they leave the bar area, he wants to give him a friendly smile, but he never looks up.

Jaehyun and Yuta watch the rest of the interviews together backstage. It’s weird, Jaehyun thinks, having a friend. If that’s what you could call this. He isn’t sure what else to call it, anyway. Technically, Jaehyun has only ever had a few friends, and they were all careers who he trained with as a kid. One of them died in the games a few years before he was called up. One of them left the training centre one day with her mother and was never seen again. The rumours were that they left Panem entirely, and, as a child, Jaehyun could never understand why anyone would want to.

He understands now. God, does he understand.

“Are you wearing bronzer on your chest?” Yuta asks, when they’re under the bright lights of the green room, waiting for their kids to finish their photoshoots and return to their teams.

“I am.” Along with the gold paint streaked up over his hands and snaking under the sleeves of his shirt, his skin has been powdered with a bronze gloss from his neck to his stomach, his shirt unbuttoned to just under his chest. It’s obscene, really.

“Looks fucking stupid,” Yuta says and it makes Jaehyun laugh. “You were glowing like a candle under the TV cameras when you led in your tributes, by the way.”

“That was the point,” Jaehyun tells him. “I was meant to be the beacon behind the, uh, something. I can’t remember. I didn’t listen when they told me why I was being slathered in golden glitter at five in the morning. Apparently it should fade within the next 48 hours but until then I won't get lost in any crowds.”

“Oh my god.” Yuta laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes when he throws his head back, and he has to wipe them with the back of his hand. “I can’t believe how compliant you are. I wouldn’t even wear the jacket Ten prepared for me.”

“So I heard.” The monitor backstage goes dark as the live show ends for the day. Four hours of interviews, photos and generally sucking up to the Capitol has taken its toll on everyone. “But I like you in this leather one.”

“Thanks.” Yuta smiles. “That means a lot coming from the walking gold statue.”

“Fuck off.” Jaehyun blushes. “I look good, Flickerman told me so.”

Yuta rolls his eyes. “Thank you, for apologising earlier. I don’t think I actually said thanks before. But we’re both going to say stupid shit, angry shit. It’s in our DNA. We’re fucked.” He shrugs. “I want one of my kids to survive and you want one of yours too. We’re going to piss each other off one way or another, so much is at stake.”

“What are you saying?” Jaehyun wants to be sure they’re on the same page. He’s always assumed they are, even when they’re talking back to one another. He’s always thought Yuta thinks in a similar way to him, he just goes about acting on his thoughts with slightly more venom. Justified venom, of course.

“I’m saying I’m not going to get moody with you again. But you have to be prepared for me to piss you off too. You know I speak my mind.” Yuta shrugs. “I never hold my tongue.”

“Oh really?” Jaehyun lifts an eyebrow. “I’ve never noticed.”

Yuta doesn’t even snipe back for once, just smiles at him.

That night, after overseeing his tributes practice in the weaponry, Jaehyun goes for a walk around the accommodation. There are Avox guards at the doors. Jaehyun signs, thank you, as he passes them.

It’s dark outside, and Jaehyun imagines slipping between the buildings and disappearing into the night. He can’t, of course. He wouldn’t. His tributes might be cocky little shits sometimes, but so was he, as a kid. That doesn’t mean it’s who he is as a person, it was just a product of his upbringing, and, anyway, a kid is a kid wherever they’re from. He has a duty to protect them, even if they pretend not to need protecting. He felt that duty last year too, for his sister. He might tell Yuta about her one day.

When he returns to the front entrance, Yuta is sharing a cigarette with a woman he recognises as one of the Capitol newsreaders. “Jaehyun,” he calls. “There you are, I’ve been waiting for you to get dinner.”

“Huh?” Jaehyun can’t remember making any plans for tonight with Yuta. The only plan they ever make is to share a drink and talk shit about the Capitol.

“You didn’t say you’d be so long.” He widens his eyes as if to say, play along. “But now you’re here, we better get inside before we miss serving time.”

“Come on, then.” Jaehyun motions for Yuta to follow him. “I’m hungry,” he adds.

Yuta actually looks impressed with his acting. He turns to his smoking companion, who blows a ring of smoke into the dark air.

“Great talking,” he says. “Shame I gotta go. Call me!”

She hums as though she’s deliberating the offer. “Maybe,” she says. “If you can continue to play nice.”

“For you? Anything.” Yuta grins. “Bye.”

Jaehyun tries to ignore the jealous spike in his chest. “What was that about?” He asks as they head inside.

Yuta pulls a face. “Trying to get the press on my side before the games. Ten suggested it, he said I do myself no favours in the Capitol.”

“He isn’t wrong.”

“I know. And… If I have to lose a bit of my integrity to get my kids some help in the games, so be it.” He shrugs. “But it turns out I can only manage it in small bursts and I was losing my mind when I saw you. Was about to snap and call the Games a sick and twisted institution. You basically saved my ass.”

“You're welcome.” They walk back to the living quarters together, and Yuta hovers when they get to Jaehyun’s living quarters. Jaehyun isn’t sure what’s going on. “Did you really want to get dinner?”

“I’ve eaten.” Yuta replies, but he doesn't leave, just stands there, in the hallway, his eyes boring holes into the side of Jaehyun’s face.

“Are you— do you want to—?” Jaehyun hovers his chip over the bio-lock on the door and waits for Yuta to spit out whatever he’s wanting to say.

“Can I see it?”

“See what?”

“Your cock.” Yuta rolls his eyes. “ The room, idiot. I bet they gave you a massive suite.”

Jaehyun presses his wrist closer to the lock and hears it click open. “Actually, I only have one massive thing and it’s not the room,” he says.

Yuta laughs. “You’re full of surprises. So, are you letting me in or not?”

“Sure, but I don’t know what you’re expecting,” Jaehyun mutters, except that’s a lie. Yuta is expecting the sort of suite Jaehyun used to get. Expansive, luxurious.

“Oh. It’s not— it’s not much bigger than my room.” Yuta looks around when they step inside and hesitates. “Weird.”

“I told you.” Jaehyun chuckles. He feels nervous, like he’s showing Yuta his hand. Like they’ve turned a page Jaehyun never thought they’d get to. “We’re more alike than you realised, huh?”

Yuta looks at him. “What did you do, Jaehyun? What happened last year?”

“Nothing, really.” Jaehyun shrugs. The look Yuta gives him makes it clear he doesn’t believe that. “It’s complicated.”

“Why weren’t you here last year?” Yuta asks him again. He’s never been one to drop a subject, Jaehyun should have expected this.

He sighs. “If we are doing this, I’m opening a bottle.”

“Fine with me.” Yuta smiles. “I've never turned down a drink from someone pretty.”

Jaehyun hopes he isn’t blushing. “Don’t let your new girlfriend out there hear that,” he says. It comes out sounding more spiteful than he’d imagined.

Yuta just scoffs. “She makes my skin crawl. They all do.” He kicks off his shoes and they land in a pile near the window, then he climbs onto Jaehyun’s bed. “At least your bed isn't as hard as rocks like mine.”

“I'll drink to that.” Jaehyun pours liquor into a tumbler and hands it to Yuta, ignoring the fact he’s now sprawled out over his bed. “Excuse the fact I have no ice.”

“There’s not even an ice machine in here?” Yuta looks around in shock. “Fuck. You know, last year I just presumed you’d wanted out. That you didn’t care. That’s what I told myself.”

“I tried to tell myself that too,” Jaehyun admits, sitting down. “But coming back this year felt weirdly like coming home, in a really messed up way.”

“Then why did you stop last year? Where did you go?” Yuta sits up properly and waits. He’s genuinely interested, Jaehyun realises. He cares.

Jaehyun takes a breath. “My sister was sick.”

“You have a sister?”

Jaehyun nods. “She’s only sixteen. We’re eleven years apart.”

“Is she training to be a career?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “No. No, I… I made my dad promise, but no one seemed to expect it anyway. Maybe one winner in the family was enough.”

“My brothers are both older than I am,” Yuta says. “They aged out of the reapings before I was selected. I'm grateful for that. I didn’t know you had a younger sister all this time.”

Jaehyun glances at him. This is the most personal conversation they’ve ever had. “She got sick,” he says. “She got sick and I could afford her treatment for a while, but… It got more and more expensive. So I took on a job tip from one of the sponsors.”

“Doing what?” Yuta isn’t draining his drink for once, in fact he’s put it down on Jaehyun’s bedside cabinet.

“Escorting.” Jaehyun looks down at his glass. His face burns. “I made a decent amount of money. I got Jaehyo into a treatment centre in the Capitol. I always intended to come back. Doing this is the only thing I know how to do, really.”

“Doing this? Annoying me?” Yuta suggests.

Jaehyun holds back the tears that prick at the corner of his eyes. He remembers Yuta saying crying isn’t a weakness, but he’s still not sure about it, at least in himself. He feels weak regardless. “Yeah, that.”

Yuta goes quiet for a while and then says, “You should have told me.”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “I didn’t know how long I’d need to do the work, and I didn’t… I thought if I told you, you’d try to talk me out of it. You’d come up with some other idea, stealing the money or bribing someone to get her into the centre. We aren’t– I didn’t think we were even friends but I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“And?”

“And you get yourself into enough trouble just by existing, Yuta. It was my problem and I dealt with it. But when I got back out, I also majorly pissed off some clients who happen to have a lot of influence, so… Yeah. My room is almost as small as yours this year.” He tries to smile.

“I like your room,” Yuta tells him.

“I like you,” Jaehyun says, because he is weak and he is vulnerable and he wants to cry but he doesn’t, too, because things feel okay right this moment. Away from the reality of what’s to come in the next few weeks, away from the death and the disparity of wealth and all the other shit that comes with life, he feels safe.

“We both know I’m not likeable, Jaehyun-ah.” Yuta picks up his glass tumbler and swills the liquor round the glass. “But for what it’s worth, I’m thinking about kissing you.”

“Then do it.” Jaehyun looks at him. His heart is beating so fast he feels flighty. He feels like the room, the cramped fucking room, is too small.

Yuta gives him a small smile, but his eyes are just sad. “You’re not my distraction from the games, and I’m not yours,” he says. “We have strategies to plan. God knows I need some for my kids.”

“But…”

“But, you’re district 1. You can afford to be distracted by the dumb drunk with a sharp mouth from 7. I don’t have that luxury, no matter how much I want to see that cock of yours.”

Jaehyun thinks maybe he’s dreaming. He can’t even find the energy to feel embarrassed about being rejected. “Is this really happening? Are you being the sensible one?”

“I do have my moments.” Yuta stands up, picks his shoes up off the floor. He walks over to where the bottle of liquor is sitting, half drank. “I’m taking this for my room,” he says. “I’ll syphon you another bottle from Ten’s stash tomorrow.”

“Right. Okay.”

Yuta heads to the door and then turns back around. “If your sister needs more money, we work together for it, promise me?” 

“Hmm.” Jaehyun can’t promise anything. That wouldn’t be fair to anyone.

 

 

 

 

Three nights before the games begin, they announce more details about the pre-games dinner and Yuta is pissed.

“I wonder how many Capitol predators I can stab in the eye with a steak knife before they’d disarm me,” he hisses to Jaehyun as they listen to the briefing.

“Not enough,” Jaehyun whispers.

“At least three,” Yuta decides, after. “One of each of my kids. And one for you.”

“I can fight my own battles,” Jaehyun tells him.

“Oh, I know that. Everyone knows that. You’re a Career.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “You know, you could say it with less distaste, I didn’t ask to be born in district 1.”

“No one asks to be born.” Yuta points out.

They haven’t discussed what happened in Jaehyun’s room, whatever it was. A confession? A hint at what’s to come? More like an unrealistic daydream of another life, Yuta thinks. He doesn’t have time to be in love. He has time for kissing, sure, but he doesn’t trust himself to keep it to that. He missed Jaehyun last year and missing someone is a strong fucking emotion. It’s the sort that can too easily turn to love.

He really needs to help his kids survive before he can consider that. Although, maybe fucking Jaehyun would get whatever this is out of his system for a while. Maybe not.

“Are you still confident about your kids' chances?” Yuta asks. Talking about them seems the safest topic right now. “I saw Baby Snark in taekkyeon practice this morning.”

“Baby Snark.” Jaehyun laughs. “His name is Hull, by the way, and he’s not quite as ruthless as Snark, but I'm confident. They— they are really skilled. To be honest, they’re stronger than I ever was. Better with their hands. Hull is tough, but the girl, Jesper, she is fast, she’s going to be a key player this year.”

“A key player…” Yuta rolls his eyes at the phrasing. Jaehyun sounds like the bookmakers, the sponsors, the fans. People to whom the tributes are pawns and not people.

“Sorry. I can’t— the terms stick after hearing them so much.” Jaehyun twists his mouth. “It‘s everywhere.”

Yuta hates it, but Jaehyun is right. “On the topic of Games speak,” he says, “the bookmakers are still calling Sini and Guri weak links and I only have one potential sponsor lined up so far.”

Jaehyun frowns. “I saw Sini on the climbing wall the other morning. I think she has potential that people are ignoring. Once the games start, they’ll see it.”

“Right? She’s quick, nimble. Maybe she’s not got a lot of attacking experience, but she can defend herself.” Yuta finds he’s eager to talk about her. He’s proud of what she’s achieved under such devastating circumstances. “She can escape situations. That’s worth something.”

“You’re right.” Jaehyun smiles. “Every tribute has their worth.”

Yuta nods. Jaehyun gets it. He gets it. Yuta feels a flood of warmth in his chest for the man in front of him. “Every tribute has their worth,” he repeats. “Yes. I like that.”

“You would, since you were the one who said it first.”

“What?”

“The first year I came here as a mentor. You were arguing with someone, I can’t even remember who it was now, and you— you were so passionate. You got all up in their face and said, “every tribute has their worth, and if you don’t see that, I feel sorry for you.” I thought it was so cool.” He blushes.

Yuta feels lightheaded. “I feel like that scenario has happened a lot over the years.” He laughs. “Was I drunk?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Jaehyun is still smiling. He looks good when he smiles, really smiles. Not the fake, plasticky smile he puts on for the cameras. “But the words stuck with me ever since.”

“I can’t remember you from your first year as a mentor,” Yuta says. “Wait, actually that’s not true. I remember you, just not anything you said. I suppose I was too distracted by your face.” He pauses. Grins. “It’s just so ugly in real life.”

Jaehyun just scowls at him. Even that makes him look handsome.

The dinner comes around too quickly for Yuta’s liking. The dinner means the games are imminent, and he feels like he needs more time to hone Sini’s skills. To give her a real chance at survival.

It’s a spectacular event, bold and glitzy and loud, but it’s also a complete farce. It was always going to be. Yuta sulks through the pre-dinner drinks, listening to the mentors from district five sucking up to officials, as if that will do any good. The children are still being dressed by their teams at this point – dressed to impress the elite who want to poke and prod and stare at them in person before they’re sent off to die. It’s disgusting.

He can’t even amuse himself with making fun of anyone, because Ten isn’t here yet and Doyoung is attached at the hip to Taeyong, and Jaehyun isn’t looking his way, seemingly engrossed in a conversation with a bunch of men in suits Yuta doesn’t recognise.

He’s bored, but more than that he’s just sick and tired of playing along with all of this. In the years since he won his games, the sordid underbelly of the Capitol has only gotten more and more perverse and less and less empathetic towards the kids that die. He sits between Sini and Guri, glaring at the Capitol execs who dare take a seat in their vicinity.

“Charming, as ever, Nakamoto,” one of them says. Yuta hasn’t bothered learning his name. “You know, I like your angry-at-the-world schtick. It’s funny.”

“I’m glad I amuse you.” Yuta watches as the man shifts his chair closer to Sini’s. She tenses, unsure, scared. “But you won’t find it funny when I snap off your co—“

“Beardreh, have you met my tributes yet?” Doyoung appears, saving Yuta from his own big mouth. “If not, I suggest you move further down the table and see what you’re missing. They’re very talented with trackers,” he says.

Yuta rolls his eyes, but he’s glad for Doyoung’s arrival. He really might have stabbed Breadreh, the perverted fuck, in the eye otherwise and he wouldn’t have even had the benefit of Jaehyun getting to see it happen, since he’s basically as far away as possible, the district 1 team sitting right at the other end of the hall.

Yuta manages to find his manners when an older couple he recognises as distant relatives of Panem’s initial founders approach Guri, and he talks at length about how Guri and Sini have outdone themselves in training. “This is 7’s year,” he says. “Believe me.”

The old woman smiles kindly at Sini and says, “You remind me of my younger sister at your age. So fair, so fragile.”

“I’m quick,” Sini says. “I look fragile. But I’m quick, I can— I can demonstrate it on the climbing wall.”

The woman laughs, a tinkling sound like bells. “Oh dear, we are having a party, you cannot go on the climbing wall in your lovely frock.”

“I can. I will,” Sini promises. “Yuta?” She turns to him, big pleading eyes. She knows as well as he does that survival is a desperate game. She’s 11 years old and she knows.

Yuta could cry if he wasn’t so angry. “I don’t think it’s allowed, but— I’ll check,” he promises.

It’s at times like this Yuta wishes everyone didn’t hate him. Maybe, if he’d just been more compliant, he’d be able to call in favours like this. Maybe he is to blame entirely for the deaths of all of his tributes, those past and those future.

It would have been better if he’d died in his own games, if he’d never found the axe, never cut down that tree. Except— except, no, it wouldn’t have been better, because there’d be no one to stand up to their bullshit now.

“Sini,” Yuta leans in to whisper in her ear. “Do you think you could climb that?” He points to the back wall of the hall, decorated with flowering vines, studded with sparkling lights.

“Maybe?” She looks between the wall and Yuta, anxiously.

“If you can’t, don’t worry.” Yuta smiles at her. He doesn’t want to make her more nervous, not the night before the games begin.

“No, I can.” She smiles at him. She really is a child. His heart breaks. “I can.”

“Guri?” He turns to the boy at his side. “What do you want to show them?”

“Axe work?” Guri suggests.

Yuta hums. “We might have trouble finding an axe in here.” He looks around. “But I will see what I can do.”

As it turns out, Guri doesn’t get to show any axe work off because the guards are on Yuta the moment he tries to get into the weapons room to get one. Still, at least it means there’s less security in the dining hall, where Sini climbs the vines on the wall, ripping her dress at the knee.

The guests from the Capitol love it, though that’s probably because they presume it’s part of the entertainment. The Game Makers take credit, claim it was all planned, and accept the compliments for a wonderful evening.

Yuta receives a threatening letter, slipped under the door of his suite, later that night. But he ignores it.

He’s happy that he’s done something to get one of his tributes some attention, and without any harm done to anything aside from his already-scorched reputation. He looks for Jaehyun at the end of the dinner party, but he’s nowhere to be found, and Yuta finds himself feeling kind of shitty about it. He wanted Jaehyun to see, to see him being proactive. To see him cause trouble but pulling it off.

It’s strange, wanting someone in particular around all the time, and it’s even stranger for Yuta to imagine going back to his usual reclusive existence that takes up 9 months of his year now he’s had the revelation that this barbed banter he’s been sharing with Jaehyun was because they liked each other all this time.

But he will. Maybe Jaehyun will want to come with him, he thinks. Or maybe that’s just a wine-fuelled delusion.

What isn’t a wine-fuelled delusion is the scene that Yuta comes across when he rounds the corner to the accommodation quarter. He hears it first: hushed, urgent, voices. An argument, he thinks. Then he hears Jaehyun’s voice.

“I don’t owe you anything,” Jaehyun is saying. “Leave me alone.”

“You didn’t fulfill your contract.” Yuta doesn’t recognise this voice, but when he peers around the corner, he knows he’s seen the person it belongs to before. He was at the dinner party, but he’s been at other events too. Some Capitol asshole, throwing his weight around as usual. “I want that money returned.”

“I don’t have–”

“Unless you would like to continue to fulfil your end of the deal now?” The man’s voice makes Yuta’s skin crawl. Patronising, smarmy, fuck. “You have a suite here, do you not?”

“I don’t owe you anything, and you know it,” Jaehyun hisses. “We agreed on the amount you paid me, and I won’t be offering my services any further.”

“You’ll do whatever I say,” the man tells him, gets closer, up in Jaehyun’s face. Jaehyun refuses to break eye contact, but he isn’t enjoying this, Yuta can tell from his stance– defensive, on guard.

Yuta is furious. He clears his throat overly loudly and steps into view. “Got a sore throat,” he says, when they look his way. “Oh. Did I disturb something?”

“A private conversation,” the man curls his lip in disgust.

“Not very private if you’re having it in public, is it?” Yuta stops just short of an arms length away from them. “Can I join in?”

“No,” the man spits, just as Jaehyun says, “Sure.”

Yuta looks between them. “Which is it?”

“This isn’t finished.” The man turns to Jaehyun and prods his fat finger against Jaehyun’s chest. Jaehyun doesn’t move an inch.

“I think it is.” Jaehyun stares the Senator down as he gives in and turns away, muttering angrily to himself. “Goodbye, Senator.”

Yuta wants to shout something at his back, something vicious and offensive, but he holds his tongue.

“Thank you for that,” Jaehyun says, after.

“For what?” Yuta asks him. He’s genuinely confused. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, but I know you wanted to. You were having stabbing-eye thoughts.” Jaehyun looks at him. He looks handsome in his dinner party black-tie. “I could tell because I was having them too. He’s a nasty piece of work.”

Yuta grimaces. “I got that impression. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Fair enough, Yuta thinks. He got the gist of what was going on from hearing the tail-end of the conversation.

“Do you want to drink about it in my room, then?” he suggests.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Jaehyun nods. “Did I miss anything at the end of the dinner?”

“Oh, you missed a whole lot of trouble.” Yuta grins. “That I caused, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t seem surprised.

 

 

 

 

 

Jaehyun listens to Yuta recount what happened after he left the dinner party, half impressed and half wishing he’d been there to talk some sense into him. “She climbed it in her dress? The one Ten made?”

Yuta nods. “He didn’t look unhappy about it,” he points out. “He was taking a video.”

“Knowing Ten, he’ll find a way to turn it into good press for him.”

“Good. I hope it goes viral in every district.” Yuta is smiling ear to ear. “I’m going to be in so much trouble tomorrow, but the kids… The kids have finally got some attention. The guests went wild for it!”

“I’m happy for you. For them,” Jaehyun corrects himself. “But I should have been there at the end of the meal for my tributes.” He sighs.

“It can’t be helped. Attempted blackmail never usually happens at opportune moments.” Yuta nudges him. “You handled him really well, by the way. Very cool.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Yuta loosens his tie. Jaehyun can’t help but watch the way he twists at the knot with his fingers. “Are we going to my room?”

Jaehyun considers this. “My suite is closer than yours.”

“True.”

“And very slightly bigger.”

Yuta laughs. “But mine is further away from people, and I hate people right now.”

Jaehyun thinks this is a good a reason as any to head to Yuta’s suite. Maybe if they’re far away from the sycophants and sickos, he’ll be able to breathe for a while. Plus, being alone with Yuta sounds like something he needs right now. Something he wants.

“Can you believe that in twelve hours, we’ll be at the start of yet another Hunger games?” Yuta asks him as they walk.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Jaehyun knows this feeling all too well. Usually, he spends this night alone in his room. He rarely sleeps. It’s a horrible, horrible, thing, to feel so useless, so close to the games. He remembers his own games, too. Remembers the night before he entered the arena ten years ago– pacing up and down the corridor, practising stupid martial arts moves and mumbling affirmations under his breath. He remembers falling asleep for barely two hours and waking up to fanfare.

He remembers wondering if he was going to die.

Jaehyun almost walks into Yuta’s back before he realises they’re at Yuta’s door. “Sorry,” he mumbles, righting himself before he makes contact with Yuta’s body.

“Throwing yourself at me already, huh?” Yuta smirks. Jaehyun’s too caught up in his thoughts to catch the joke, and he barely registers the words before Yuta’s face falls. “Hey, are you okay?”

“No.” Jaehyun sighs. “Are you?”

Yuta shakes his head. “Of course not. I never am.” He unlocks the door. “Come on.”

Yuta’s room smells like spiced whisky and cigarette smoke, just like Yuta does too. It’s warm and familiar, and it sets something off inside his chest. They’re really too similar, but they’re also too different. Jaehyun’s head swims. He takes a deep breath. “We have to be up early again tomorrow,” he says.

“Hmm.” Yuta shrugs off his jacket. “I know.”

Jaehyun’s always been a fighter. He fought his whole childhood. He fought twenty three other kids to the death in the games, and he’s fought for his dignity, for his tribute’s lives, ever since. Fighting is all he knows, really. So it makes sense, to him, to fight his feelings too.

“Maybe we shouldn’t drink anymore after all.” He takes a step back towards the door out to the hallway. “Maybe, I should just go back to my room.”

Yuta hesitates, just for a second. Looks unsure. “Do you want to?”

“Do you want me to?”

“This is too many questions,” Yuta complains. “Do you want the truth?”

“Is that a question too?” Jaehyun swallows the nervous tickle in his throat.

“Ugh.” Yuta huffs. He continues unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m a dumbass for turning you down the other night. So I’m taking my clothes off,” he says, decisively. Jaehyun can see that. “And taking a shower. I’d like it if you’re still here when I get out.”

Jaehyun watches Yuta’s gaze flicker between his body and the wall behind him. “Okay.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. I’ll– I’ll be here. If you’re lucky.”

Yuta smiles and the balance shifts back to something Jaehyun is more used to. “Didn’t you hear?” He cocks his head. “I’m the luckiest ever tribute from 7. I lived.”

 

 

 

 

 

The games begin with as much fanfare as ever. They’re woken a little before 6am to an announcement over the loud-speakers to check outside their suite doors. Yuta drags himself out of bed, throwing a gown on, and opens the door just a crack.

A tiny bird, smaller than the palm of his hand, flies into the room. “This fucker better not have a camera in it,” he mutters. It lands on the dressing table and bows its head. Out of its beak drops a tiny silver ball.

“It’s a hologram message.” Jaehyun sits up. It feels weird to be naked in someone else’s suite, but not as weird as he’d imagined it would. “I saw them in the Capitol last year. The technology has gotten even smaller.”

“And the point of the bird?” Yuta asks. “It’s not a fucking jabberjay, right?”

“No. It’s… some sort of sparrow. A homing sparrow, genetically engineered. We’d be better asking Doyoung, he’ll know.” Jaehyun puts out his hand, and the bird flies to him. “No cameras. It’s just to look pretty. Drop the ball and it’ll open the projector up.”

Yuta drops the silver ball and, just as Jaehyun thought, a hologram figure emerges. It’s too bright for this time of the morning, the voice too shrill. Jaehyun recognises the figure, dressed in neon yellow and orange knickerbockers and a large, powdered wig, as one of the game-makers.

“Welcome, welcome!” The hologram echoes around the room. “We are proud to announce the opening day of the Hunger Games. Please prepare to accompany your tributes to the arena at 8am sharp. Best of luck to each team, and may the odds be ever in your favour.”

Yuta flips the image off and Jaehyun tries not to laugh, but he fails. “Shit.” He runs his hands over his face. “I should get a shower and go and wake up my tributes,” he says. “If they’ve had any sleep.”

Yuta sighs. “They must be so scared,” he says. “I certainly was. I still am on this day every year.”

Jaehyun makes a noise of agreement and then they fall quiet, both reliving their personal hell. The events of last night are far from their minds now. They can’t afford to dwell on their feelings, they can’t afford to be distracted with sex or anything else.

“I’ll find you once the games start.” Jaehyun unravels himself from the sheets and looks down at the carpet where his suit was discarded last night.

“Yeah. Okay.” Yuta watches him dress. “May the odds be ever in your favour, district 1,” he mimics the hologram message.

“Don’t.” Jaehyun closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to be reminded of the fact they’re technically rivals.. It feels like it’s ruining something, though Jaehyun isn’t sure what. It’s not like there is any romance, here, even if his heart had swelled with something more than lust after they’d come for the second time, Yuta underneath him, digging his nails hard into Jaehyun’s back and breathing ragged, hitched breaths as Jaehyun fucked him through it. “Not yet.”

Yuta just chuckles dryly. “When is a good time for you, Jaehyun? Once my tributes are dead?”

Jaehyun stares at him as he shoves his shirt back into his trousers.

“Sorry,” Yuta mutters. “I’m nervous, that’s all,” he says. “See you later?”

Jaehyun nods. He’s looking forward to it. In fact, it’s the only thing he’s looking forward to at all.

 

 

 

 

This is Yuta’s first Day 1 in eight years that he hasn’t walked to the arena with a hangover. Instead, he’s tired, but he’s clear-headed, that sort of crisp clarity that comes with a good fuck. Not that that is all last night was to him— he has feelings for Jaehyun, whatever that means exactly. Still, the sex had been great, he isn’t going to downplay that just because his heart skips a beat when he thinks about who fucked him.

“Here.” Ten greets him with a large coffee. “Drink this and then put on the lumberjack themed jacket you refused to wear for the press conference last week. I didn’t make it for nothing.”

“Sure.” Yuta accepts the drink. “Why not.”

Ten narrows his eyes. “That was strangely easy,” he says, but he doesn’t comment further. “Anyway, I have to go walk to the arena with my district, see my babies off. Did you know I’ve taught them how to stitch every type of wound with a basic needle and thread?”

“I’d expect nothing less from you,” Yuta says. “Good luck out there.”

“Yeah, you too.” Ten squeezes his shoulder, and then he’s gone, leaving Yuta with a burnt tongue and a ridiculous jacket.

His tributes are brought in soon after. “Hey,” he says. He gestures for them to give him a hug. Sini is shaking. “It's going to be okay,” he tells them. “You have as good a chance as any of them, I swear.”

Guri nods solemnly. “I just hope— I just hope I make my family proud,” he says. It’s the most sincere thing Yuta has heard the kid say since the reaping.

“You already have,” he assures Guri. “Take care of each other in the arena, okay?”

They nod, tiny heads on tiny bodies. Children.

In two weeks, they’ll be dead, Yuta thinks. He takes another gulp of coffee and relishes the sting of the burning sensation in his mouth. He slips on his jacket, and follows his tributes along the path to the cages which will take them up into the arena.

The last thing he remembers before they are hoisted up and out of view, is Sini mouthing, “thank you.”

He can’t watch the screens, can’t be around people. He hates everything about the chaos backstage, about the way that people gossip excitedly, about the bookmakers odds that pop up on hologram screens around the venue.

He hates the Hunger Games.

He doesn’t find out until that night, when the highlight reels are repeated on screens all over Panem, but the Games started on a bridge this year. One side of the bridge had a rope to hold on to, the other had only a fifty metre drop. The side with no guide rope had supplies littered along it, but the risk of grabbing those supplies was in a long fall.

Two tributes fell from the bridge within the first fifteen minutes, apparently. Yuta refuses to watch them die.

“District 10 and 11,” Jaehyun tells him. “Both boys.”

Yuta shakes his head. “The game makers get more and more revolting every year. Did anyone manage to get supplies?”

“My two. Guri did, as well.”

“He did?”

Jaehyun nods. “An axe, water and a morphine-producing bandage.”

Yuta breathes a sigh of relief. “Good, that’s good.”

Jaehyun nods. “I’m going to skip dinner tonight,” he says. “See you in your room at nine?”

Yuta nods. “I’ll listen out for updates from the arena in the meantime, since you got me news already. We can share the burden.”

It’s nice to be able to share the pressure, the terror of waiting for death announcements and news of impending tracker-jacker attacks or whatever other bullshit the Capitol pull out the bag to keep things ‘interesting’.

Yuta used to be jealous of Doyoung and Taeyong for that reason. Ten and Lisa, too. They aren’t a couple like Doyoung and Taeyong are, and neither are victors either— not every district has a victor who wants to go back to the world of pain and act as a mentor or a companion to the tributes— but they’re good at what they do. Ten can manipulate with design, force eyes to look where he wants them to, tell stories and win hearts with a hemline. Lisa knows the games well. She lost both of her brothers to the Hunger Games when she was a kid and it instilled into her a raw sort of grief that she has manifested into energy. It’s impressive, really. She and Ten make a good partnership.

Yuta could have done with any sort of partnership, good or not, over the last eight years, but after the first couple of games he mentored, when Minho was still around, he’s been on his own, a solo-mentor to the tributes of 7. No wonder he’s become such an isolated asshole, he thinks.

He can’t imagine having a partner, now After all, he can never be Jaehyun’s partner. They have their own districts to care about, their own kids to root for. They’re rivals as much as anything, but the level of understanding that comes with being who they are, what they are… Well, it transcends districts, doesn’t it? It’s nice.

He never thought he’d think that any relationship formed in the Hunger Games was nice.

Yuta watches videos of the first man-made windstorm of the season wreaking havoc inside the arena that night and then waits for Jaehyun to knock at his door.

The next morning, a Sparrow-Bot, as Yuta has learned they are, brings him another hologram ball. This one invites him to a splendid breakfast feast hosted by the president of Panem himself.

“Did you get one?” He asks Jaehyun, who had gone back to his room early that morning to shower and dress and avoid suspicion from those in neighbouring suites.

“I did. I’m not going.”

“Oh?”

“The senators will be there.” Jaehyun pauses, the silence finishing his sentence. The senators will be there and that means the one who wants something more for his money, the money Jaehyun spent on his sister, will be there.

“I might go, show my face.” Yuta plays innocent. “Make some threats maybe.”

“Yuta…”

“Joking.” He grins. “I've only been invited out of sheer politeness, we both know it. None of those people have any interest in spending time with me. But I know someone who does.” Yuta leans back in his chair and fixes Jaehyun with a smirk.

“I can’t believe it’s taken so long us to– you know. Become closer.”

Yuta shrugs. “I mean— we’ve had other things on our minds. Death and all that. That usually gets in the way of my love life.”

“Love life?” Jaehyun is trying not to smile and failing. God, he’s so good looking it’s actually stupid. Yuta sighs, exasperated, tangled in his own web.

“Fuck off. You know what I mean.” He feels flustered for the first time in a long time. It’s unnerving. “Sex life, whatever.”

Jaehyun drains his coffee. “Come on, let’s make ourselves scarce before we are dragged to this breakfast event,” he says.

They don’t fuck, too distracted by impending news from the arena, but they share a drink back and forth and tell each other stories from their childhoods back in the districts, and somehow that feels more intimate.

No news from the arena comes, which either means the Game-Makers are putting together a shocking highlight reel, or thinking of a way to make things more exciting. This usually means forced deaths.

When the cannon finally blasts, Yuta is alone in his room. He holds his breath and heads to the window to watch the announcement outside.

Five more deaths today and none of his or Jaehyun’s tributes amongst them. He breathes a sigh of relief and throws on some clothes, heading out for some fresh air alone.

On the fourth day, he isn’t so lucky. Guri dies from an alligator attack, of all things, and Yuta opens every bottle of hard liquor he can pilfer.

“What?” He snaps at Jaehyun, who watches him carefully from the bed.

“I didn’t say anything.” Jaehyun’s voice is steady, calm. It annoys Yuta.

“You didn’t have to. I didn’t do enough for him, Jaehyun.” Yuta crumples inside, and he knows he probably looks pathetic but he doesn’t really care. He is pathetic. This whole country is pathetic. “And now he’s dead.”

“You did everything you could,” Jaehyun tells him, but what else is he going to say?

“Yeah and it wasn’t enough.” His mouth tastes like an ashtray. “It never is. We live in this time loop of death and it’s— I’m sick of it. Can’t anyone just catch a break round here?”

“I get it.” Jaehyun stands up, reaches out, but Yuta doesn’t want to hear platitudes. Not now, not ever. That’s why he’s used to being alone, maybe it’s better to just be alone, he thinks.

“Do you, though?” He steps back. The bottle he’s holding shakes in his grip. You’ve had winners. You’ve seen kids you care about live through this. They all die on me, Jaehyun. Every single one dies and that means I’m not doing enough.”

“But—“

“Don’t, Jaehyun. Don’t try to make me feel better because you can’t. You— you don’t care. Why should you care? You didn’t even come last year.” He is fighting back tears now. “You shouldn’t have come back at all.”

“That's not fair, Yuta.” Jaehyun looks disappointed. Great, Yuta thinks, he’s just causing more and more hurt. A kid he couldn’t save, his only friend with disappointment written all over his face… He can’t do anything right, he barely knows why he’s still here at all.

“Yeah, well nothing is.” Yuta let’s the bottle slip from his grip. It lands on the carpeted floor with a loud thud, the remaining liquor spilling out of it and the carpet starts to stain in a dark halo around the bottle neck, growing bigger and bigger as liquid soaks into the fabric underneath his feet. “What a damn waste,” he mutters. He isn’t sure if he’s talking about the spilled alcohol or their whole entire lives. Maybe both.

They stand in silence, both watching the stain on the carpet grow. “We should probably clean that up,” Jaehyun says. It doesn’t sound like he really cares.

“Sorry. You should go.” Yuta looks up. “Find someone less of a dick to hang out with.”

“Not possible,” Jaehyun replies. “Unfortunately, you’re the only person here I really like.” He smiles and when he reaches out this time, Yuta let’s him pull him in closer.

Their kiss tastes of whisky and it feels like despair, but it’s the best kiss he’s ever had.

When Yuta wakes up with his first hangover of the season on day five, he feels like he deserves it

 

 

 

 

 

On the ninth day of the games, Hull is shot with a bow and arrow. By the tenth day, he’s delirious and the wound is infected. Jesper fixes him up the best she can, but it’s no use. Not even the morphine soaked bandage she took from Guri’s pack after he died does much use against the infection, and Hull dies, curled up under a tree, in the early hours of the next day.

Jaehyun watches the hologram highlight reel with gritted teeth. He wants so badly to cry, to purge himself of something, but the tears won't come.

He purges himself in other ways now— keeps his mind and body busy with the mentor from district 7. It can’t last, of course, but time here feels limitless, the games raging on and on and children dropping dead every day. They’re not limitless, though. They usually last two to three weeks, and if not enough of the tributes are killing each other, the Game Makers find ways to speed up the amount of deaths and keep things interesting for the viewers.

Jaehyun has his suspicions that the alligator swamp on day four was an addition used for that very effect, and it’s ironic, really, that the Career districts spend years training their masses in combat, ready to fight the other tributes to their death, and yet their only real enemy is the Capitol.

In his games, the Capitol sent rabid dogs into the arena. Jaehyun heard all about it one night, from the tributes from 3, who laughed as they recounted the chase. The dogs had caught a tribute from 9 and had shredded him, top to toe. Jaehyun didn’t laugh, just kept quiet, silently wanting to vomit.

He’d had to kill one of the tributes from 3 a few days later. And then the girl from 4, though he thought of both deaths as defence at the time. He justified them that way. Now he isn’t so sure any death can be justified. Not the ones by the Game Makers and not the ones at the hands of the kids trapped inside the arena.

Somehow it all feels like his fault, just like Yuta had said the other night after one of his kids had perished.

Jaehyun wonders about going back to that therapist one day. He might do it, he thinks. But probably not.

The next day, the tributes fall to single numbers. Eight remain, from six different districts, and then on day 11 the Game Makers smoke out those hiding in the foliage of the forest and send them to the far side of the arena, packed together and breathless. Three more die, then.

Sini climbs instead of running, clinging to branches at the very, very top of the tree line. The spectators love that, and the bookmakers go wild, taking bets on the girl that they call the Escape Artist. Yuta chews his fingernails as they watch the highlight reels, not settling until the reel ends and the room does dark.

“I’ve never had a girl last this long before,” he says after they’ve fucked out all their nervous energy. “And I don’t want to hope, but… She’s good. She’s wily and clever and— she could win, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun thinks, she’s no match for Jesper. Jesper is the only career tribute remaining and she’s got a thousand hours more training than anyone else in the arena, and a glint in her eye that reminds Jaehyun of himself at her age. He doesn’t say anything, just fucks Yuta again.

By the thirteenth day, there are only 4 tributes left.

He’s on his way to Yuta’s room to distract himself from the end that’s in sight, when he’s apprehended by two Avox guards. They hand him a holo-ball that opens to a message: Senator Remus requires your company at his residence.

There’s no question, no suggestion that this is optional. “What does he want?” Jaehyun asks. He knows what the Senator wants and he also knows that the Avox can’t answer him. They can’t speak a word. “Because I have no business with him and he has been made aware of that.”

The taller of the guards steps towards him and takes his elbow. They’ll drag him there if they have to, Jaehyun realises. He has to go with them.

They drive him into the Capitol, to the Senator’s residence, in silence.

Jaehyun guesses that the driver might be an Avox too. Most of the Capitol elite have a whole team of Avox staff. It’s easier to control people when they can’t talk, after all. Jaehyun considers trying to escape, but there’s no point. Where would he go? Who would he turn to? The only people he trusts even a tiny amount are back in the arena compound. The only person he thinks would help is waiting in his hotel suite for Jaehyun to arrive, none the wiser about what’s going on. He takes steady breaths, wonders if this night is going to end with any violence.

He feels like he’s back in the arena again, and he supposes he is, except the whole of Panem is the arena really.

The Games don’t end when you win. They don’t end at all.

“I told you,” the Senator says, when Jaehyun is deposited at his door and is ushered inside, “That we had unfinished business.”

“And I told you that you’re wrong,” Jaehyun says. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. This feels dangerous.

Senator Remus laughs. “Do you really think you call the shots?”

“We had an agreement.” Jaehyun steps away from him. “I did the work you asked me to do. I accepted every client, even those I was not told about in advance.”

“Yes and I thought you were enjoying working so closely with me. I thought you’d stay on.” The room smells of off-milk. “I thought we had a connection, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun doesn’t say anything.

“But you chose to go back to that silly little post, escorting children around the country before they die. Pointless work.” Remus laughs, a sharp, barking, noise. “Who cares about their lives, really? They are worth nothing if they don’t win, and even then… Well, then they’re interesting, but they’re still disposable.”

The way he says the last word makes it clear he is talking about Jaehyun himself.

“You’re wrong,” Jaehyun says. “I care about them, those that live and those that die. Someone cares about them, which is more than I can say about you, because no one likes men like you. Maybe some are scared of you, but that’s all. And I’m not scared.”

Senator Remus looks frustrated, like this conversation isn’t going the way he wanted it to. Like he thought he was more imposing than he is. He isn’t imposing at all, Jaehyun thinks, he’s just pathetic. “You should be scared,” he warns. “I have guards outside, and unless you give me your word that you’ll comply with what I want, I’ll have them hurt you and your sister.”

“You wouldn’t.” Jaehyun is starting to feel like he’s out of his depth.

Senator Remus just laughs.“What makes you think–” he starts, and then he is interrupted by a trumpet fanfare that rings out of every speaker in the house.

An update from the Game Makers. An unexpected update, which can only mean one thing.

When the hologram screen loads up beside them, Jaehyun finds himself looking at two faces.

Sini and Jesper.

“We are down to the final two tributes,” The announcement echoes around them. “District 1 and district 7, may the odds be ever in your favour!”

 

 

 

 

“Where have you two been?” Yuta asks, when Jaehyun slips into the viewing hall. It’s a little after midnight, not more than twenty minutes after the big announcement, and he looks ruffled, distracted. Yuta isn’t sure whether to be jealous or concerned. He tries not to be either. He doesn’t have time for that, not now that Sini is so close to surviving.

“Don’t ask.” Jaehyun fixes his jacket.

Yuta looks at him. “I'm going to ask,” he says. Jaehyun just starts a conversation with Ten, and Yuta then gets dragged away to have his make-up done, of all fucking things. Like this is an awards show and not a death match.

When he finally gets Jaehyun alone, he corners him. “Where have you been? I was getting worried about you. Did you forget we’d arranged to meet up?”

“Sorry, it’s a long story.” Jaehyun sighs. “Someone wanted a word with me in private. I wasn’t given a choice.”

“Someone…?” Oh. “Was it that fucking Senator bastard?”

“Shhh.” Jaehyun hushes him. “It’s fine. Ironically, the Games saved my ass. When the announcement was made… Well, it bought me time, I’ll say that much.”

“Whatever he wants, we will sort it.” Yuta means it, too. He’ll help. Think of a plan. He’ll chop down a tree and set fire to the Senator’s house while he’s in it if he needs to. “After we deal with the pressing matter of the fact that one of our kids is going to win the whole fucking Hunger Games.”

“Yeah.” Jaehyun looks uncomfortable. “One of them.”

A voice behind them stops Yuta in his tracks before he can consider the weight of Jaehyun’s reply.

Rubie Jade has been presenting the final days of the Hunger Games since before Yuta won. She must be in her fifties by now, but she doesn’t ever age. He wonders how many filters she’s had superimposed over her skin by now. Looking at her too closely makes him feel dizzy.

“Here are our mortal enemies! The mentors of the two final tributes!” She claps her hands together in glee, heading towards them at breakneck speed. “Look at you both— the classically handsome career killer and the wildcard, the last tribute from 7 to get this far himself! Oh this is the final two that dreams are made of!”

“Am I not handsome?” Yuta asks, dry, suspicious as ever.

“Don't be jealous now, Yuta. You know the whole Capitol is dying to hate-fuck you, but that’s not what today is about. Today you’re the representatives of your little tributes. Today we watch one of them fight to their death and the other crowned our courageous winner.” She is practically salivating.

“I want to fight her to her death,” Yuta mutters, as she waltzes away. Jaehyun says, “Count me in.”

“I need you both in wardrobe in fifteen minutes,” she calls after them. “The live press event starts exactly on the hour and you both must be there!”

At the press event Jaehyun is covered in that stupid gold body paint again, and Yuta wants to touch him, make a handprint in it. See the remnants of glitter on his hand. The press ask questions about Sini and Jesper’s training, their upbringings, their families back home, and the audience eat every answer up with delight; a frenzy of voyeurs.

The betting still favours Jesper— backing a Career is always a safe bet— but Sini’s support is rising, the thought of an underdog winning something akin to charity work to the Capitol elite.

In the arena, though, the girls are far apart. Sini remains in the trees, where she feels safest, keeping watch, and Jesper stalks the middle of the arena, where she has collected the weapons of fallen tributes and is keeping them in a pile.

“If they don’t start moving soon, the Game Makers will force them to,” Doyoung tells them, as if they don’t know that.

Taeyong nods. “They've used smoke already this year, so my bet is on water. Or some sort of bot attack. When did they last use jabber-jays to confuse tributes into moving? Maybe they’ll send them in to make each girl think the other is nearby.”

“Can we not speculate?” Yuta snaps. He’s had a long day of press and photos and being unable to slip away and scream with no one around to hear him. He hasn't even got Jaehyun alone, although maybe that’s for the best. They’re rivals again now. Or they always were, but now there is a clarity to it.

They don’t have a future. How can they?

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause upset.” Taeyong looks genuinely sorry. Yuta feels a rare pang of guilt for his bluntness. Doyoung and Taeyong might not quite be as jaded as he is, but that’s good for them, he supposes. They probably hate themselves less for it.

“I know.” Yuta closes his eyes. He takes a breath. “But can we not?”

As it turns out, the Game-Makers decide to use a storm of genetically manipulated locusts to push the girls towards each other. The locusts swarm and swarm, and Sini falls as she clambers down a tree to get away. When she gets up, her arm is swollen but not broken, and Yuta bites at the inside of his cheek in worry.

He doesn’t know much about Jesper, hasn’t taken much interest if he’s honest. It’s hard enough to care about the two tributes you are meant to help, it would do nobody any good to care too much about all 24. That’s just the way it is.

Still, he lets Jaehyun talk about her— about her training, about her family who he knew back home. He isn’t listening, really, but he hopes it’s some sort of comfort. Jaehyun deserves that and Yuta knows that he would do the same.

They’re kind of hopeless that way. The whole situation is hopeless, and part of him, a very small part of him, wonders if it would be better for Sini if she died in the arena today. Winning the games is just a life sentence under a different name, after all.

“After this, when the games end…” Yuta asks Jaehyun, as the people around them chatter excitedly amongst themselves. “What are you going to do?”

Jaehyun shrugs. “I have to keep my sister safe; I don’t trust Remus not to have her treatment ended.”

“You’ll go back to the Capitol?” Yuta frowns.

“Not if I can help it, but… What if I can’t?”

“I’ll go with you,” Yuta tells him. “Run my mouth off where I’m not wanted, cause some commotion. A distraction to help you do… Whatever it is you need to.”

“I wouldn’t wish the Capitol life on my worst enemy, Yuta. Whatever happens, you have to go home.” Jaehyun turns to look at him fully in the eyes, his gold-flecked skin shimmering under the lights. “Promise me that?”

Yuta refuses to. Just stands and looks at him, and then says, “You still look so fucking stupid in all that gold paint.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes and Yuta feels his heart swell with something that might be a fucked up aim at love.

The locusts do their work, force the girls together, back to the one-rope bridge. The history books will call it the perfect cinematic parallel to begin and end the games.

Yuta feels sick.

Sini and Jesper stand five metres apart, locked in defensive positions, carefully watching each other for the slightest movement. Jesper has a knife in both hands. Sini has her back to the rope.

They’re an equal partnership, Yuta realises. They’re the perfect final two. He wishes they could both live, but they won’t. On the screen, Jesper takes a step forward.

Yuta can’t stand it any longer. He pulls at Jaehyun’s wrist. “Come on.”

Jaehyun hesitates. “It's about to end,” he says.

“Exactly.” Yuta pulls him harder, towards the exit door at the back of the viewing studio.

As they slip through the door, the crowd in the studio erupts. It’s over.

Jaehyun looks back towards the door. “Shouldn’t we go back in?”

“Why?” Yuta is still holding his hand. “Do you want to know who won? Who died? Because I don’t think I do. I don’t need to know. Because no-one wins.”

“We’ll have to know. We’re going to know, Yuta. The cannons will sound any moment now, and the winner will be announced.” Jaehyun blinks rapidly. “We can’t avoid it.”

Yuta knows this; he knows and he accepts it. But why can’t time stop for them, just this once? “I know we will have to face it… Whether that’s in ten minutes or an hour or two, whatever.” He takes a breath. There’s a startling clarity in the way he’s thinking. “I know we’ll have to face it, Jaehyun, but… But don’t you want to pretend a little longer that both of our kids are alive?”

Jaehyun looks back at the door and then at Yuta. “Ten minutes.” He nods. “But then back to face the truth, okay? To be there for them both, whatever the result.”

“Thank you.” Yuta takes another deep breath. He feels like he’s floating. “Ten minutes,” he promises.

When Jaehyun kisses him, his mouth tastes like metallic paint, and Yuta loves him.

 

 

 

In the arena, a girl stands alone, fireworks and music above her. She’s won the Hunger Games, but it doesn’t feel like a win at all.

It never does.