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hot-wiings · 3 years

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The One Where Class 3A Place A Bet On The Relationship Status Of Their Residential Introverts, Desperate For Money, Mirio And Nejire Bet They Can Get Tamaki And [Y/N] Together Before Christmas Hits.

Edited: 12-27-2020

December, 19th.

You tried to contain your smile as you walked beside Tamaki Amajiki, your boyfriend, towards class 3-A. It was rare that you got a moment alone. Being best friends with not one, but two of the most extroverted and hyper kids in your class meant solitude and peace was hard to come by. Your hands grazed each other and you knew there were light blushes on both your faces. Despite having been together for a year now, touching in public would always bring a blush to your face and a rush to your heart, although, the raging blushes weren't as deep as they were a year ago. You'd gotten more comfortable now.

"Are you still coming over to my dorm tonight? For uh, date night?"

"Depends, is Mirio gonna phase into your room again?"

A blush spread across Tamaki's face as he remembered the incident that occurred last week. Mirio had phased into Tamaki's room and found you cuddling together. The problem was that you and Takami didn't have a public relationship. When you first got together the pressure felt high and you were both nervous to be a couple around your rambunctious class, keeping to a secret felt better, being together in secret felt more natural and lighthearted. Despite being together a year now, despite having figured out how to navigate your relationship, despite finding normality and familiarity in each other, you had yet to tell your friends. You just weren't ready to give up your secret. It was such a comprising position for two friends to be found in and while luckily you were able to play it off like you just fell asleep paying videogames, you were both nervous, paranoid, and mostly, embarrassed from almost getting caught.

"He's patrolling with Sir Night Eye tonight."

Tamaki stopped walking once you reached the classroom door and did a quick look-see up and down the halls. They were completely barren and the idea that your entire class was just behind one door was both riveting and daunting. Tamaki softly cupped your cheeks and pressed his lips against yours.

"Just you and me tonight. I'll bring the food, you can bring the movie."

"Can it be romantic and sappy?"

"Whatever movie you want I'll enjoy."

You played with Tamaki's tie as you let your head roll against the wall, a smile tugged your lips up. You really lucked out with him—but he would say the same thing about you.

"How about the note-hey."

You were pulled out of your thoughts as you heard your name being said. Immediately you dropped your hands from Tamaki, straightened yourself up and you looked down the halls for someone with red-tinted cheeks. Had you been caught? There was no one there.

"What is it?"

"I heard my name. Uck. This quirk is a blessing and a curse."

Your quirk was wolfism, probably what attracted Tamaki to you in the first place. It caused you to take on the complete form of a wolf under the full moon, however, on normal days you could take on wolf attributes. When you get extremely angry or tried to 'wolf out' as Nejire would call it, you could get long nails, and take on the appearance of a werewolf depending on how far you tried wolfing out. The real gem to your quirk was other wolf attributes you could use. Between seeing in the dark and a better sense of smell, enhanced hearing was amongst it.

You pressed your ear against the door to class 3-A to hear why your name was being said. You could recognize the voice of your classmates, and among those voices were Mirio and Nejire.

"[Y/N] and Tamaki? They're totally gonna end up together."

"No way! They're too shy for their own good. Amajiki would rather die than ask her out."

"I have to agree with [Student Name #1]. Don't get me wrong, Amajiki is a great guy, he's a great hero, but when it comes to girls—especially girls as cute as that—he's complete rubbish."

"Exactly, and [Y/N]... She could probably take down any villain, and she's hot as fuck, but if she had to ask Amajiki out... She'd piss herself."

You pull your ear off the wall briefly. Very brief, and very quick so you could get back to listening. You only grabbed pulled away to grab Tamaki's arm to get his attention urgently, though, it had already been on you.

"They're talking about us. Said were too shy to get together."

With Tamaki's attention on you, waiting for more, and your ear to the wall listening in, you were both anxious to hear more. Mirio's voice came into the mix.

"You gotta give my buddy a little more credit. Last week I saw them cuddling, intimately."

Nejires voice soon followed, hyper and excited on the prospect of you and Tamaki finally getting together.

"I bet if we just gave them a little push they would get together. Just a tiny, itsy, little push."

"Shy as they are? Impossible. We'll all be pros once [L/N] and Amajiki ever romantically get together."

You pulled away, a small smile and chuckle emitting from your face as you looked at your boyfriend.

"We'll be pro heroes by the time we get together."

"Maybe we should come clean... It has been a year."

You hummed in response as you put your ear back to the wall, considering the option. It would be nice. You could finally freely go on dates, you'd have to stop worrying about them finding out, and you could even hold hands in public. Mirio's voice was the next one you heard, and Nejire's was eager to follow.

"Let's wager a bet then."

"What kind of bet?"

"Well, Nejire and I owe you that money. If we can get [L/N] and Amajiki together by Christmas then you forgive our debt."

"Sound fair, but you have a week until Christmas."

"Me and Mirio have this in the bag. Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy."

"Alright, you have until midnight of Christmas Eve to get them together, not a minute later. We want picture proof too."

"Deal."

You pulled back with a scowl on your face and turned to Tamaki with crossed arms and a pout.

"What's wrong? What'd they say?"

"They're betting on us! On our relationship. If they can get us together by midnight, Christmas eve, then the money they borrowed for Mirio's PS5 will be forgiven."

Tamaki looked up and down the halls briefly before rubbing his hands up and down your arms in comfort. It was upsetting to the both of you that they were betting on you both. Did they think you were that hopeless? So hopeless and unable to get together on your own that they were able to make a quick buck off of you?

"What happens if they lose the bet?"

"Then the money gets doubled. They're betting a lot of money on us. Do they think we're that bad? Well they're wrong! Cause' here we are."

Tamaki pulled away from you as he spotted your teacher coming down the hall, rushing to get to class. He gave you a shy, coy smile as he grabbed your hand to pull you with him to class.

"I guess we'll have to make sure they lose their bet then. After all, they don't know we know."

You walked into the classroom together, pretending you hadn't heard anything of their little bet. Tamaki tugged you closer than usual, not enough to make it seem like you were in a relationship, but enough to be questionable. You had a feeling Tamaki had a plan in motion, and you were already catching on.

"Tamaki buddy! [Y/N]! We were just talking about you both."

You and Tamaki stopped from heading to your desks to talk to Mirio and Nejire who were facing you with grins on their faces.

"Oh? Really?"

"Yes, Mirio was just talking about this new movie that came out! We should all go see it together, and get something to eat too."

"That-that sounds good."

"Great! We'll go on the twenty-first, does that work out?"

You both threw your friends perfect smiles and nodded before turning away and moving to the back of the class where your desks were. They were going to lose the bet, that you were sure of.

December, 21st.

"What's our plan?"

"It's simple really. We're gonna act super cuddly. We're gonna let them think their plan is working, until the end of their bet hits, and evidently, it didn't work and they're stuck paying double the owed about of a play station five."

"I-uh, I'm not sure I can go through with this plan... Cuddly? In public? With everyone watching?"

Tamaki fiddled both his hands and looked at his feet nervously. The idea was scary. Getting intimate and close when there was a chance you could get caught was one thing, but holding hands and being cute and cuddly with the intent to be seen was another thing. It was daunting and scary.

"I know, public affection... It's scary... But just think of it like it's just us alone. It's just me, no one else, and if you get anxious I'll be there to calm you down."

"Okay, you'll be there... We've got this."

Tamaki placed a quick kiss on your cheek before going over to his closet. He dug through his laundry until he found what he was looking for, one of his sweatshirts. It was one of his favorites, he wore it often and there was no way your friends would mistake who's it was. He walked back over to you, a budding embarrassed and happy feeling coursed through his chest at the idea of you wearing his hoodie.

"If our objective is to flirt and act cute, then you should wear my sweater... Please?"

"Great idea, this is really gonna push them over the edge. That's smart. They're gonna lose this bet so hard."

Tamaki had a blush reddening his cheeks at your burst of affirmation that he'd done a good job. You and he looped your arms together before walking out of his dorm room and down to the main entrance of the dorms. Nejire and Mirio were waiting for you, and you smiled at them as you moved your looped arms to linked hands instead. You swung them back and forth as you walked to make it catch their attention.

"So... What movie are we seeing?"

"That new one. The romantic one. It's so romantic, and Christmas themed."

"Nejire, you gotta be more specific, that describes a lot of movies."

"The one about the best friend's who fall in love. You'll love it, it was practically made for you."

You knew Nejire would slip up like this. She got too excited about stuff and made little mistakes. She was a bad secret keeper, you loved her dearly but she was not your go-to person when you had a secret. Another part of your plan was to torment Nejire and Mirio the entire time. They didn't know that you knew, and you knew just what buttons to push to either get them to confess or paranoid enough to think that you knew and keep them on edge.

"Oh? You think so? Why?"

Mirio shot Nejire a look as if to say be more careful. His bank account was riding on this bet. He didn't want to pay back the money for the play station console, let alone have it doubled. He was confident he and her could pull this off, provided you didn't know. Nejire scratched the back of her head and laughed it off.

"Oh, come on! You can't tell me you've never thought of our little Sun Eater like that? Everyone's thought of their best friend romantically at least twice! I mean look at me and Mir'. We were best friends and now we're dating."

Nejire was smooth with her words but had Mirio not shot her a look, you were positive she would've slipped up about the bet. Instead, she fixed her words and hinted at feelings between you and Tamaki but making it seem like she was referring to herself.

"I and Tamaki are just friends."

Tamaki moved his hand from inside yours and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. He squeezed your shoulder with his hand to help stop his shaky hand as you and him looked at each other briefly. He was nervous, you could tell as he looked down at you and spoke out his words.

"Best friends."

"Mm. The bestest."

You leaned your head against Tamaki as you uttered your words. You saw how Mirio looked back at you and then nudged Nejire in the side so she could not so discreetly steal a look at you and Tamaki. You smiled, just fakely playing into their plans of getting you and Tamaki together. It was a short walk, and before long Tamaki was pulling you into the movie theater, making sure to open the door for you to which Mirio nodded approvingly as he whispered into Nejire's ear. He was proud his friend was acting like a gentleman, his plan was going to go so well, at least, that's what they thought.

You stood in line together, Tamaki and you never leaving each other's side. Occasionally Tamaki would move his hand from your shoulder to your hair, playing with it nervously, a habit he picked from cuddling with you late at night. Mirio paid for Nejire's ticket, courtesy of her being his girlfriend and they stood off to the side while they waited for you both to pay for your tickets.

"Hi, um, can we have two kid tickets for 'A Christmas kiss', a large dr-pepper, and a large popcorn?"

The man behind the counter rang you up and eyed you warily, trying to decide if he really should run you up as a child or adult–decidedly, he didn't make enough money to care how old you were. With a tired sigh, he gave you your total.

"That'll be twenty-one, nineteen."

You went to pull out your wallet from your purse, where you had hidden and concealed candy from the dollar store, but Tamaki had already beaten you to it and paid for you using MooglePay. You turned to him, a grateful smile on your face. You knew Mirio and Nejire were watching so you took a deep breath, leaned up on your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss against his cheek. You stood back down on flat feet, and with blushes on both of your faces, you carried your popcorn and pop to meet Mirio and Nejire. That was your first kiss in public, at least in public when people were looking.

"Thanks for paying Tama'. You're the best."

You made sure to say the words out loud in front of Nejire and Mirio, planting the seeds of hope and romance in their pretty little heads as blushes remained on your faces. You walked down to your designated theater room, devious plans in your heads. You both sat in the back, next to each other and secluded from other people whereas Nejire and Mirio sat in the middle. Throughout the entire hour, they kept throwing you and Tamaki not so discreet looks, trying to see how cuddly you were acting.

"Do you think they know how obvious they are?"

"Mirio's always been obvious like that. He wouldn't know discreet if it hit him."

Tamaki wrapped his arm over your shoulder and you leaned your head against his chest as he saw Mirio take another look. He had a beaming smile, he thought his and Nejire's plan to get you together was working out. As the credits rolled on the screen and the dimmed lights brightened, Nejire and Mirio got a better view of you both. You fed Tamaki a piece of popcorn, knowing they were watching you both intensely.

You and Tamaki fell into a peaceful order as he fed you a piece in response. It was normal, normal, and natural to be this way with him. This was how you acted together in the confines of your bedroom, the only difference was that you were out in public. Forgetting they were even there, Tamaki cupped your cheeks and pressed a deep kiss against your lips. Naturally, like clockwork, your body responded by deepening it and moving your lips back in sync.

"Oh my gosh, you kissed! Ahh, it's so romantic, are you gonna date now?"

"Neji' calm down, it's their first kiss."

You and Tamaki abruptly pulled away. You didn't know what kind of shows Mirio watched, but that was not what a first kiss looked like. That was what two lovers who forgot that they were out in public looked like. You and Tamaki stood up and laughed, lacing fingers.

"I mean... If Tamaki asked me out, I wouldn't stop him."

"I– If [Y/N] wants to date me. I mean, [Y/N], will you go out with me."

"I'd like that."

This was not how your plan was supposed to go.

December, 22nd.

You paced back in forth in your dorm room, your feet making a constant flow of steps and probably annoying the student living on the floor below you. It wasn't your fault, not really. This was one of the attributes you got from your wolfism quirk. It was in your doggy nature to pace when you got anxious and upset. It was biological. Your boyfriend sat on your bed, a nervous frown played on his face as he ran his shaky hands through his hair. He wasn't sure if he should comfort and soothe you or continue to silently wallow in self-pity.

"They didn't even do anything, they just took us to a romantic movie. They didn't even pay."

"I'm sorry, did I-Uhm, did I ruin the plan by kissing you?"

You momentarily stopped your pacing back and forth to stand and snap your head over in your boyfriend's direction. Anyone else would have found your actions weird. The way you stopped so fast and snapped your head over to him at an insane pace would've been creepy. Again, it was just biological reflexes due to your quirk. If he was holding a piece of bacon you would've turned quicker.

"No."

You walked over to your boyfriend and straddled him on the bed. It wasn't sexual or sensual, your quirk was just taking over, your deep-rooted wolfy attributes. Your instinct was just to comfort your mate. He was stressed, anxious, and worried, and you could sense all of those feelings. You pulled his hands out of his hair and laced your fingers through his. They were still shaky as you smiled down at him.

"No, it's not your fault. Never your fault. You just kissed me, we both got carried away."

"But we lost the bet, I should've paid more attention to them. I should've watched to see if they were looking."

"Uh-uh. None of that negativity. We lost the battle, not the war."

You rolled off of Tamaki, both worried you were crushing him and bashful to be in such a compromising position now that you'd come down from the primal wolfy high.

"The conditions to the bet are that we have to kiss and say were together to [Student A] and [Student B] by midnight of the twenty-fourth. That's three days away. We're gonna invite Mirio and Nejire over, and we're gonna act like the cutest couple ever. Then tomorrow, we'll stage a huge breakup fight."

"That's a really good plan."

"Of course it is, I have the best plans."

Tamaki cupped your cheeks by hooking his slender fingers under your ears and pressed a quick kiss against the skin in between your eyebrow and let his head rest there.

"They'll think they've got the bet in the bag, and then we'll rip it away."

"I like it. It's sneaky, and it just might work."

You pulled out your phone and punched in the password before pulling up the group chat Nejire and Mirio were in with you and Tamaki.

[Y/N]: Do you guys wanna come over to my dorm? 👉👈 me and tamaki want to thank you for going out with us. It was rly, enlightening.

Nejire Hado: Yes!! We'd love too!!!! Does this mean your dating now?!!!

You locked and put your phone back into your pocket knowing answering Nejire would be futile because she would just ask more questions once she got inside your dorm. You nuzzled yourself into Tamaki, both cuddling and scenting him–not that he'd ever know that's what you were doing.

"Can you give me a hickey?"

"What... What?"

"A hickey. I want a hickey. Think about it, if Nejire and Mirio saw it, they'd be so happy thinking they're gonna win."

"They're on their way up here though..."

Your hands gripped the sides of Tamaki's shirt, pulling him closer to you and your nesting head.

"Even better, we'll get to avoid the 'are you a couple' questions."

"Fine... Just-just doesn't be too loud, I don't want anyone hearing."

Tamaki pulled down the collar of your shirt to get to work on marking up your skin. He didn't know what was going on with you. Lately, you'd been clingier, rubbing on him and getting freeskier. Hornier, he supposed, regardless he gave in to your whims. He pulled you closer and latched his mouth to your skin, sucking, tugging, and pulling to make a bruised mark. The door burst open and he was working and a crimson blush covered both of your faces.

"Nuh- Nejire! I- I told you to stop barging in my room like that."

"Sorry [Y/N] but I–Oh Mirio! I told you they were totally getting it on."

"Well, yeah... He's my, uhm, my boyfriend now."

December, 23rd.

Tamaki Amajiki paced around his bedroom floor. He fiddled with his hands as he tried to go over your plan in his head, carefully going over every detail, and every word you spoke out to him. It was the day of your fake fight where you would 'break up', the night before Christmas Eve to spring Nejire and Mirio into panic mode.

"I- I don't think I can pull this off."

"You can do it."

You walked over to Tamaki and wrapped your arms around him from behind. You rested your head on his back, reassuring him it would be okay, and reassuring him he would do good. It brought a crimson blush to his face, but regardless he was very nervous.

"What if I mess up?"

"You're gonna do good, okay? None of what we're saying is real, alright? It's fake. We're just convincing Mirio and Nejire, and it doesn't affect what I think about you. I'll even sneak over tonight to see you."

"Okay. Okay, do you wanna go over some lines?"

"Nope, I've got thick skin, besides Nejire and Mirio are on their way up and I don't want them overhearing our rehearsal."

Tamaki pulled out of your iron-clad grip and turned around to kiss your forehead tenderly, enjoying the soft space of skin.

"I love you alright? No matter what I say, it's fake."

"I know, I love you too. Do you want a codeword, in case we're too harsh? Something to say 'hey, dial it back'. Like, uhm, squid? I think I could work that into an argument."

You pressed a quick kiss against Tamaki's lips. You would have liked to deepen and further it along but you heard a knock on the door. You assumed this was to give you privacy and make you and Tamaki more comfortable in hopes of furthering your relationship. You and Tamaki broke apart and got ready to start screaming at each other once they walked in. Mirio and Nejire came in after giving you and Tamaki a moment in case you were fornicating in some type of way.

"I can't believe you."

"Whoa, what happened?"

Mirio was quick to try and intervene. He had rarely seen Tamaki sound so upset and get worked up. It was alarming that you were the person that he had it directed at. Mirio had never seen Tamaki look at someone with as much love as he did with you. Tamaki would move mountains for you, and Mirio saw it. That was why he originally took the bet in the first place.

"I took [Y/N] out for breakfast this morning, and she was basically flirting with the server."

You had to fight off the smile on your face as Tamaki came up with the lie so quickly. You had been inside his dorm all morning playing video games together and eating junk food, a chip bag hidden half underneath the bed was there as proof. Nejire started to bite her thumb nail as she watched Tamaki get upset. Truthfully, she and Mirio had planned to slip special animal meat in his food after the movie a couple of nights ago but decided against it once you guys kissed. They wanted to get him territorial and jealous over you, clearly, that would've backfired.

"I wasn't flirting with him! All I did was say thanks and asked for a refill."

"Yeah, you were really thirsty for him, weren't you?"

"Maybe I wouldn't be so thirsty if my own boyfriend felt comfortable kissing me in public."

You had to stifle a laugh, you wanted to giggle so hard. None of this was true, but Mirio and Nejire were eating it up like butter. Your performance was so good, and Tamaki was doing so great.

"Maybe I'd be more comfortable kissing you if you didn't wolf out and get so possessive all the time."

You crossed your arms and tried to compose yourself as tears flooded to your eyes. That last comment hurt. It really hurt. You were really insecure about it and scared that your wolfism would affect your relationship. Worried you'd get too possessive and jealous, and worried that he'd find your scenting on him and habits weird. You start sniffling as the tears start to come down faster. You knew he didn't mean it. It's fake. It's fake fight, but hearing him say it felt so real.

This was your own idea, why were you being such a baby?

"Well, maybe I don't want to be with a mean squid face. Here's your sweater back, we're over!"

You ripped his sweatshirt off of your body, despite not really wanting to. It was a comfort item for you. Smelling his residue scent on things he's previously worn really brought warmth and comfort in you. On days you were particularly sad, and hurt, on days you felt pure anxiety and fear, having a piece of him with you helped. It helped you, but you still had to put on a show for Mirio and Nejire.

"Give that back to Squidward for me, will you?"

You tossed the sweater at Mirio who easily caught it with a worried expression. Although the bet was at stake here, he was worried for you as he saw hot tears make their way down your face. You took off out of Tamaki's room, making a dramatic exit with Nejire following hot on your tail.

You wanted to win the bet–or rather have your friends lose the bet since you never made the bet, but it hurt so much it didn't even matter.

December 24th, Christmas Eve.

The following day you and Tamaki kept a distance as promised. It was part of the plan. Stay separate until after midnight, then, and only then would you reveal your relationship. You had both mutually promised to keep your distance, but it hurt you both. You hadn't shown up at Tamaki's dorm that night like you promised you would. He knew that he had taken it too far after you called him a squid, but he hadn't meant to. He didn't think you would take such offense to it, he hadn't known how sensitive you were about it. To put it plainly Tamaki felt horrible. He was trying to figure out a way he could fix this but he kept coming up empty. How was he supposed to fix it when you were supposed to be ignoring each other?

On the other hand, you felt just as horrible as Tamaki did. You felt embarrassed and ashamed for being so sensitive and emotional. You didn't know what came over you. You wanted to blame it on the wolf aspect of yourself, but that only made you feel worse. You couldn't help but nibble on your lips evIry time you caught Tamaki looking over at you. On one hand, you were happy he was looking at you. You were worried you upset him with your little outburst and ruined things, this gave you hope and a sense of relief. On the other hand, you still wanted to win this bet and Nejire was following you around trying to get you to talk to Tamaki, whereas Mirio was doing the same for his friend. You both didn't want to talk, embarrassed about how things went, worried they'd messed things up on their end.

"I see you watching him, why don't you just go talk to him."

"It's not that simple Nejire, you wouldn't understand. You and Mirio have had a long picture-perfect relationship, you're not Tamaki and me."

It wasn't like other times Nejire gave you advice. Other times you could give it to her straight and she'd give you the best input, this time you were secretly trying to foil her and Mirios plans. You couldn't just say, it was a fake fight and I overreacted. Or alternatively, it was a fake fight but his words sounded sincere, what if he really doesn't want me. You couldn't be honest with her. Especially not now, knowing she was going to take every little thing to Mirio, who inevitably, would tell Tamaki.

"So make me understand. Try to get me to understand you. You and Tamaki are perfect for each other!"

"No, we aren't!"

Your words came out in a small yell, and most people around could probably have heard what you said. You backtracked your words, embarrassed as you crossed your arms and hugged them to your chest. It was eleven-fifty, and Nejire had ten minutes for her and Mirio to get you and Tamaki together, but at this point, she didn't care. Ten minutes wasn't long enough, she had accepted defeat unlike Mirio, all she could do now was remorsefully wish with you and Tamaki were a couple. She thought you were both blind, she had never seen two people more fitting and perfect for each other.

"I'm sorry for yelling, but he doesn't like my wolfism. You heard him, and that's not- that's not something I can change about myself. It's biological..."

"[Y/N] I-"

"You know [L/N], if Amajiki isn't interested in you anymore I wouldn't mind taking you out."

Some random guy had cut into your conversation with Nejire. You hadn't seen him here before, he looked young, most likely a first-year student. You wondered how he even got in there, it was a Christmas party at the class 3-A dorms, intended only for third-year students. The proposition was completely preposterous. You and Tamaki weren't completely over. All he had done was insult you, it was a fake insult, and while you were simply positive he was going to break up with you, you weren't going to flirt with another guy just yet, and definitely not a first year.

"I- uhm... well- I..."

"I think what my shy friend is trying to say here is no. She's not interested, trust me."

"Awe c'mon!"

The guy leaned back against the food table he was standing in front of. You tried not to scrunch your face up in want and desire. He was leaning into a meat tray. A meat tray. The delectable treat looked so scrumptious, sausage, and cheese so perfectly put out for display. He shouldn't be leaning so hard, he'll ruin it. You wanted to devour it in an instant. Truthfully that was where your mind went when you stuttered out your reply and Nejire had to come to your rescue. You didn't care for the first year, you just wanted the meat tray.

It didn't appear that way to Tamaki. Watching from the distance all he saw was you staring over at that guy with such a distinct look in your eyes. A look of wanting and hunger. He knew he messed up by insulting your quirk. He didn't know you'd get so hurt, but he should've thought about that first. If you had insulted his quirk like that, he'd be upset. Tamaki slowly walked forward, closer and closer trying to hear what the young first-year student was saying to you.

"You'd love going out with me. I'd appreciate every part of you and your body."

"Oh, um... Look, I'm sure you're a nice guy and all... But like my friend said, I'm, um, I'm just not that interested right now."

"I see the way you're looking at me, quit playing hard to get. I bet your quirk really gets you going in bed."

You took a step back as the guy took a step forward. You should have told him off, you should have handled the situation better. You should have asserted yourself from the beginning instead of letting Nejire handle it, you should have shown you weren't a pushover, maybe then the guy would've gotten the point. You took more steps backward, embarrassed, and stunned at what he was implying to you. You truly just wanted the meat platter he was in front of. As the guy was about to touch you, Nejire was about to step forward and intervene when Tamaki jumped into the equation. Tamaki grabbed the guy's wrist before he could touch your hip and pushed his wrist into his body. The boy cowered back and cradled his arm from the strength Tamaki had used to squeeze him and make him cower back.

"That- uhm, that wasn't polite. She said she wasn't interested and when a girl says no, she means no. I suggest you leave before every third-year female in this room decides to tell you that themselves."

"Right... um right. Sorry."

The boy mumbles out a bad apology lowly before he quickly made his way out of the building. Tamaki didn't see the boy going very far in the hero course. He turned to you and hesitantly rubbed his hand up and down your arm, unsure if you would welcome his touch.

"Are you okay?"

"It's fine, I'm fine."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you yesterday, I didn't mean to, please don't break up with me."

Part of your lip quipped up into a smile at how sweet Tamaki was acting. He didn't do anything wrong. He didn't need to apologize. It was you, all you.

"Tamaki... you don't need to apologize, I overreacted. The truth is... I'm really insecure about my quirk. I- my wolfism makes me act funny. When I go through my, you know, I react more like a dog going through heat. I get really clingy, and horny, and jealous, which can be a big turn off to some people. In all honesty, I thought you were going to break up with me."

"No, god no."

He rushed his words out as he pulled you into his arms. His hands rubbed up and down your back, trying to soothe you knowing you were on the verge of tears. He pulled back and pressed a kiss against your head. His soft lips felt good.

"I'm never breaking up with you, you're it for me. Heart, soul, and life. I don't care if your clingy, or horny, or jealous, because you'll be mine, and I'll be yours."

A smile warmed your face as your hands came up and caressed Tamaki's suit. You gripped the sides of the dress jacket and pulled him down a few inches to press a kiss against his lips. You both smiled into it, happy to feel each other again, even if it was in public.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas... Can we deal with Mirio and Nejire later? I just wanna cuddle you right now."

"Yes, no, yes. We can cuddle but you have to help me sneak the meat platter out of here."

Tamaki placed another soft kiss on you, this time your lips, and he smiled down at you before pulling you into the direction of the meat platter. You were special to him, so even with everyone's eyes on him and you, class 3-A's resident shy students, Tamaki started piling meat into napkins and fitting them inside his pocket. If you wanted a meat platter, then you deserved a meat platter. tI didn't matter who was watching, not when it was you with him.

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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warnings: extremely negative feelings towards a sibling, distressing / intrusive thoughts. placed under a break due to the content of the message. remember, I'm not a mental health professional.

updated with additional viewpoints from readers at the bottom!

I'm sorry in advance.

I really hate my older sister. She never respects my boundaries, insults me frequently, and is just annoying and hypocritical in general.

I've always had these issues with her, but she lived at her own apartment away from me and the rest of my family, so I've been able to control my hatred of her. But last year in March she moved back in and sold her apartment. She has no plans of leaving anytime soon, and I can't stand her.

We shared a bedroom for about a year because we were also taking care of my cousin who also moved in with us last year. My cousin has since moved out, but my sister is unfortunately here to stay for a couple of years. But with extra space, I was able to move into the spare bedroom and thought that would be the end of my problems.

It wasn't. In fact, she has become even more unbearable. The hardest part of this relationship is that she has a weird obsession with being with me. I'm not sure if this is because she loves me, or she's just weird. I think she's weird because my parents never act like she does.

Our bedrooms are right next to each other. There's really no reason for her to miss me. But every single fucking minute she's coming into my room to bother me. I would have more empathy for her if she acknowledged my limits, but she doesn't.

She's constantly cuddling me after I've said for MONTHS that I don't enjoy it and it makes me uncomfortable. She constantly belittles me by saying I couldn't live without her, and that I would be a mess if it wasn't for her (mind you, I've lived without her at the house for YEARS and I was perfectly fine). She's constantly in my business, interrogating me about every little thing. She once locked the door and wouldn't let me leave the room without answering her questions for 20 minutes; she asked me about a $30 Amazon order containing manga I ordered with MY OWN MONEY. And I had permission for my parents to order it! It wasn't her business whatsoever.

I've tried to keep her out numerous times; I've gotten in trouble for it. My parents say I'm being mean and that this is her way of loving me. What I feel like they ignore is that I'M UNCOMFORTABLE. Her way of "loving me" HURTS.

I've tried communication. I've had multiple meetings with my family about my boundaries and they say they'll change, but they never do.

Another factor that worsens this is that I have borderline personality disorder. I'm currently being denied therapy or intervention of any kind. I get told my mental illness is a result of me having an attitude and hating my family.

I writing this to you because I've been having very alarming thoughts recently. I'm been somewhat suicidal as long as I can remember, but this is different. I've been having nightmares about killing my family/my family killing me. I don't want to kill my family. As much as they have abused me, I know they truly love me deep down. But when I'm in a mental breakdown, I don't think for the most part. I'm afraid I'm going to do something to hurt them if they continue to push me. I'm too scared to turn myself into the police and I don't want to be taken away from my home. I truly need therapy, but it's expensive and I'm not allowed to get it.

Are there any options left for me? I love my family and I want to get better, but I can't stand them. It'll be a while before I can live on my own, and I don't think I'll make it that long.

I'm so sorry.

I appreciate that you came to me, however, please remember I am not a mental health professional.

I do not have the best relationship with my family. I've come to accept that they just exist and I moved away from them. I keep a strict level of familiarity with them for my own sanity and well-being. There are people in my immediate family I don't talk to anymore or only speak to in certain situations, with other people around to buffer my emotions. No one in my family understands or respects my mental health issues and I have ceased talking about it with them.

I will admit, I had to ask for help. I'm going to share the answer of someone I trust, because they are much more level-headed when it comes to something like this.

Use different words with your sister. Instead of "I'm mad or annoyed", use words that bring out more empathy - "You're making me sad and uncomfortable. You're hurting me." Anger is usually perceived as something within you, something you must control. But sadness is usually not perceived in the same light. People usually see sadness as something that has a cause and perhaps letting her know that she is the cause will have an effect on her. Using different words when speaking to her may slowly change her perspective.

When it comes to your parents, well, parents do not usually understand sibling dynamics. They're fucking useless most of the time when it comes to problems specifically between siblings. It might be better if you say something like, "Her constant intrusions are affecting my school work. My grades are going to drop." Usually, parents respond more urgently if you say you education is affected - and it doesn't matter if it's true or not, we're just trying to get them to help in some way.

I had to remind them it's summertime lol

Oh shit, you're right. Er. Well, In any case, it seems you've tried having reasonable discussions with your parents and it doesn't seem helpful to continue discussing this particular topic with them. Maybe get into fitness since it's summertime. Go outside, do something active. She can't cuddle you if you're running, right? Then you can also be stronger and feeling better physically improves mental health. Put some music on, go hiking or running, take yourself out of the situation.

I don't know if this is possible, but perhaps if you're experiencing a mental breakdown and you're afraid of hurting your family, run out of the house? It might be better to be physically away from them at that time to avoid saying or doing anything you regret. It may help clear your head and help your family realize that this is something that is truly debilitating to you.

I don't know your age, so I don't know if the school thing is relevant. It's only a suggestion.

You said it will be a while before you can live on your own. When I knew the cons of living with my family outweighed the pros, I did everything in my power to prepare myself for leaving because I needed a goal in order to survive. I needed distractions, reading, writing, gaming, music, anything else to occupy my mind and help control my thoughts. There was a time when I needed music to fall asleep (headphones in on low volume).

Also... uh.

I'm not saying you should do this. I'm only saying I did.

My siblings and I have physically fought before. One has scars from fighting me. The scarred one is the one closest to me currently.

Not saying you should do it.

But I did.

If anyone feels comfortable enough to share how they dealt with it in their own situation, please do. Maybe more perspectives can help this person.

some other experiences sent to me:

anon #1

I don't think I had a situation that extreme but my brother was a little like that. I honestly had to become kinda rude and indifferent. Like he'd always use my laptop and stuff and I put passwords on everything and just don't tell him. And then when he tried to hug or cuddle id say I don't liek it and just push him away physically now this soudns fucking obvious when I say it this way but like I don't think I read that u tried it ? Idk I discovered I have a loud annoying scream that neighbours will hear, and fucking strokg legs I used to kick him away but like I was tiny so I don't really endorse violence but I didnt like being close to a 'boy' essentially at taht age so yea... Idk man siblings are weird and I have had intrusive thoughts so I think I didn't handle it well but for a few years I became an asshole to him and then now I'm good with talking sometimes and I keep it short and sweet and I've mentioned that I'm sorry for being mean in the past bcuz like I am ? Bcuz I'm not an asshole ? ( But like I did what I had to do ) I hope u get the help and support u need

anon #2

I read the message from the previous anon and I have to say I relate to what they say. I wouldn’t say i’ve completely dealt with the situation when it comes to my parents.

I have 4 siblings and i’m the oldest, my sister that’s 2 years younger than me always gets in my way and is a tyrant. Because she’s much taller than me she overpowers me and i also have scars from when we’ve fought. My parents don’t intervene because they say we’ll make up soon and I honestly can’t stay mad at people for long. I also live with my parents and am not able to move out anytime soon until I get my degree.

A few weeks ago my mother was complaining to my father that I don’t help around the house and all that bullshit but it’s obviously not true. Anyway. My father came into my room and threw all my clothes from my cupboards on the floor and said my sister and I must get out of his house. He was literally pulling us and we were crying because where the hell would we go. My smaller siblings were begging for him not to chase us out of the house but he was ballistic. He was constantly throwing insults at me, calling me selfish and disrespectful. I was having a mental breakdown and I said i hope that God takes my life away because i’m too weak to do it myself. I kept saying that and when my parents heard me. They called me crazy and were laughing at me and said i should take it back because instead of me another one of my family members would go.

My parents don’t care about mental health and therapy. It’s all unnecessary to them. But after that night I tried to find my own way of getting rid of the negative thoughts, I choose to ignore what everyone tells me. I agree with everything that you said about trying to get away from their family when they have those thoughts. I try meditation and praying. I’m not sure if that person follows any religion but that’s what helped me. And writing can be cathartic. Also remember that you’re not alone, there are so many people out there who share your sorrows and can relate to your situation. I think about my little siblings who i’m close to and what it would be like if i wasn’t there.

Maybe if they could get a pet? I know having a pet can make you feel less alone and you feel a sense of responsibility towards them. As for their sister, she needs to see their point of view and tell her that she makes her feel overwhelmed with the things she does. She can spend time with her and try to make her understand that they need their space too.

anon #3

I also have sum advice 4 the sibling anon frm a fellow bpd buddy:

Does ur view of ur sister change from "i hate her" to "she's alright" sometimes? Viewing sum1 as all bad or all good is common in bpd ppl and usually changes alot. I rec writing down the moments where she shows she loves u. This could be thru buying smth for u or doing smth 4 u. I had a similar relationship w a friend and this exercise helped me remember that she might not have intentions to hurt me and might b trying 2 bond. Repairing the relationship might take a while. Talk alot if u can, it seems like ur family is at least willing to hear u out, even if there behavior doesn't change much. Keep sum distance if needed. Working out and finding fun hobbies is good.

If u feel like ur breaking down, try breathing exercises n identify 5 things u notice thru ur senses. What do u feel? What do u smell? What do u taste? What do u see? What do u hear? I personally like taking myself down rabbit holes. For example: I see a yellow jacket > this shade of yellow is a cool tone > what makes a color "cool" or "warm" > why do we associate red with warmth > what if the sun was blue > what if ocean water looked orange > is water wet

I usually end up forgetting what was making me upset. If it was a big deal I would still remember, but at least I would b less emotional and a bit more rational.

Search up cognitive behavior therapy and dialectical behavior therapy and try 2 practice sumthing similar 2 exercises u would perform w a therapist. Squeeze stress balls. Masturbate (this blog is perfect 4 that lol). Maybe watch some videos done by therapists on youtube. I watched a couple of videos abt therapists reacting 2 fighting in movies and I learned alot (this video was very fun to watch)!

Anyway that's what helps me! Good luck 2 u!!!

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astrology-with-charu · 3 years

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20 Jan 3:38pm ET Mars Conjunct Uranus 6º44’

Aquarius Season Begins ! Focus of Feb 2021 by sign :

So we have talked about it, warned about it, fret a little about it and at the same time felt a little excited about it. Mars Conjunct Uranus is here. As its not just a day long transit we have felt this about a week or so coming in and would continue to feel for a week on the way out though it wouldn’t ever be fully out. Fixed aspects are such they are never out of our system.

They create long term shifts in fixed corners of our psyche.

This is the most interesting aspect and to some its scary & erratic as well as it acts out of character or norm and its unpredictable. I have this aspect in my natal chart in a square and I can tell you people who deal with me have that kind of varied response too. Some find my actions interesting, some erratic, some strong willed and some think I am downright nuts - mission accomplished, keep them guessing 😉 When Mount Etna slowly but surely exploded its lava out after seething for a while it reminded me of this aspect. Whatever is hemmed in surely explodes - thats one thing thats certain of this aspect - Need for Freedom.

We take what we want from each aspect and each person so I am going to try and see if we can draw the best of this aspect. It happens every year & in Taurus it helps over seven years release fixity in comfort zone corners of our life in food, in money, in assets, in economy, in voice, in talents. The special and unique thing about it this year and about 2021 as a whole is that this aspect are / will aspect the 5 planets in Aquarius over Jan and Feb - nothing real or noticeable happens without a square - I mean what’s the point if it wont be in your face 😉. You cant ignore a square, its not easy but it makes sure you notice it and do something about it cause otherwise it just hurts too much to live with it. It actives us to make the shift.

So if you feel the pain in places you used to draw comfort from, know its your body and psyche giving you hints like boulders to make that shift.

I noted where and what this aspect is happening in my 2021 note as thats something where every fabric of your being would look for more freedom and shift in. How will it play out though, where would it manifest is another story cause those 5 planets in Aquarius in this season will help you put the sand in the sandpit for you to play in and display your need for freedom, brilliance and change. Mercury will also be going retrograde in Aquarius (30 Jan-20Feb) so you will have some rethink, rework before you put the first layer in - this process will go on this year as Saturn and Jupiter go back and forth over it helping you create source of your next 20 years of growth using this first layer of sand you are putting in Aquarius season.

Videos by sign done before :

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLv3tUTLu8-MT2IvHWqfAHwrOXVpEPjfxw

Across signs Mars Uranus is a volatile energy so physically you would want to be careful with devices, knives etc especially fixed signs : Taurus, Aquarius, Leo and Scorpio especially planets around 7º.

Let’s begin - by sign what are you about to begin:

#Aries : Network, platform, investment gains, group of influential

Looking to have a platform or a group of influential people or a fan base or a set of like minded people - your tribe who can work on the new vision you have of your life. That’s where it will manifest. What’s the driver and what’s the Mars Uranus restleness and brilliance - its in your money, confidence, self respect and assets house. You seek freedom in financials, radical self confidence in your personal assets and its a drive to prove your worth to none other than yourself. It’s you wanting to play and have fun with assets and money without being tied down. Creating all of it from the things that bring you bigger vision of life and helps you connect with people on larger scale instead of being confined and limited in your outlook to life. So you would work on money & asset shifts and manifest it in form of a platform or a network or a group of like minded people working on a larger vision - also through investments beyond a job, gains from investments. Detachment from fixity of assets and any kind of source of income that inhibits your freedom would seem urgent and essential. It might almost feel manifestation of your vision is impossible without it. Money becomes a means to freedom and you look to stop trading money for time as how you spend your time becomes more meaningful. A step towards that vision is what this season is about.

#Taurus : Job, career, leadership style, your title

Looking to start a new job or a new way to do a job or a shift in title - what you are know as and known for, shift in how you are a leader of your life. Driver is you don’t want to be who you were before. You want to detach from your past life in some ways as you would like to be more authentic to yourself, be more of you instead of what others want you to be or see you as. As you “show yourself” so as to speak - the existing mode of how you express yourself - which is normally our profession, our formal title - would also shift with it cause you want it to. Mars Uranus right now might make you feel very rebellious - wanting to jump out of your skin - sorry I don’t know why the werewolf analogy is popping in my head - you are beautiful inside out - but as risk of offending you I will use that analogy. It’s about you about to pop out - if you are a wolf inside and have been a sheep outside, it wont work for you especially not in your job. Yes it can be an erratic display, a conflict, a fight with authority but you know what - its long overdue probably. We can manage how it looks but not how it is - how it is , is how it is. So it would be a bit of truth time and time to move to what’s more real to you as you make a new start this season in your work.

#Gemini : Travel (jeez talk about being a tease), adventure, higher education, publication, putting your content on a platform, teach, higher mind

Geminis are going places, wanting to start something that gives them adventure, gives them that high vibe they crave. Aquarius season activates a very positive and to some extend radical part of their chart - this is what makes them so brilliant and interesting. They get radical also positively. They look like they are thinking of ten things at a time seemingly lost on all ten but inside they are synthesizing how to take over the world. This is where Gemini converge all they have learned and put it into a book, into a publication, on a platform, they teach, they engage with people who are different and far from them using tech and state of art platforms, they create state of art platforms to publish information thats useful and meaningful. Their drive is this Mars and Uranus bringing all thats within to right in from of them - they don’t feel scared any more of endings, of facing any demons within or outside, of facing their own fears - they have got to do it cause they are after finding their place in this wide wide universe. They are after establishing meaning of their existence and wanting to make it valuable beyond imagination. They want to wrap all their hidden talents, hidden insecurities and light it all on fire to get out in the open. It’s almost like they are asking - let me see how my worst fears play out - let me see what was I really afraid of. So I don’t ever have to use that word “fear” ever again anymore. Preach Gemini we are all ears!

#Cancer : Give & take in partnerships, Karmic, depth, healing

You know they say those who hurt so much, learn to heal others of their hurt. I always think of Cancerians when they say that. Cause why else would God or higher powers make them feel so much... unless it was to help them understand how every living being feels in every living instance. Human emotions isn’t the only thing Cancerians are expert on using their intuition on - they are sensitive on knowing the undercurrent of society and even financial world if they apply themselves to it. They are brilliant in seeing things below the surface but they create a protective layer even against their own intuition sometimes cause sometimes what they see hurts them. That sometimes makes a Cancerian stay in dysfunction longer than they should. So its a new wave of detaching ourselves from what’s karmic what’s bad for us and our intuition has told us so many times but we have been shielding ourselves from our own knowing. Its time to start a new ledger and put a knot on all old karmic ties so you establish a blank slate. A new start in much more powerful way of being when it comes to partnership, seeing the writing on the wall and handle give and take differently in relationships, use your depth and intuition in financial matters where you know things way ahead of time. Using your knowledge of matters unknown to others by putting that knowledge out on a platform, on a screen, for wide population to see. Sharing your depth, your knowing, your ideas with a larger set for their benefit versus reserving all your heart and love for one. Uranus and Mars will introduce you to unique people, offer you opportunities to work on new and state of art platforms to put your knowledge on and help you detach from past patterns in relating to others. Love is a tough topic, actually not love but intimacy and that depth & returns you seek in relationship is cause may be for far too long we have been mistaking unease, dysfunction, pain and karmic for depth and love. Love is not supposed to feel like pain. This is process of relearning it all by detaching from dysfunction. Starting new without the heavy.

#Leo : Clients, contract, commitment

Restless restless Leos have been looking for that thing, that thing they don’t know what thing, but that thing in their work, in their business, in their title, in the way they rule that domain of theirs - that links what they feel inside with a manifestation outside. They feel like a king or a queen inside - larger than life, magnanimous, caring for the people who benefit from just their smiling confident gaze. That’s their true self, that’s who they were born to be. But then life got in between and daily annoyances, need to pay the bills and take care of people got in the way. Licking the wounds of not being themselves for far too long, Leos have been waiting to roar. Fixed signs are triggered and Leos are on top of the list cause they crave and need to break out of these shackles that hold their mind down and make them be who they know within they are not. The place they would want to be themselves the most would be in how they handle their job, their work and especially in the one on one interactions with their clients and partners. You are preparing a stage for your enormous potential. It could be by working towards a new contract that allows to access to the client or people who you crave to connect with or gives you the kind of freedom and eclectic freedom and brilliance in work you crave. You want your clients, your partners, your platform to benefit from your ideas and brilliance. You need a mode to convey that - may its not in the traditional job or may be a traditional job needs to follow some new rules to make that happen. Either ways if there is not a way you will make a way - such is the fixed intensity of your Mars Uranus in your career - it will make you jump through jobs, rebel at jobs, create unique roles, create unique career - till you have got it. What would you start new to make it all happen - a new contract, a new commitment, a new partnership or a unique disruptive partner which helps you explore your own psych to see why any of the titles not fitting who you feel within. May be cause what you want doesn’t exist right now, may be cause you are a creator and not a follower, may be its time to stop looking for someone to create what you want and make it yourself.

#Virgo : Order, job, project, coworkers, work place, mind body connection

When Uranus first entered their house of higher mind over two years back, it was almost like something very subtly but surely shifted in them. Whatever they thought they knew about life and where theirs’ is going at least changed. It’s a weird thing - philosophy - its supposed to be nebulous, non physical thing but its one thing in our life which if shifts - everything consequently has to shift to adjust it. As their philosophy in life shifted and is in process of fully changing who they are - Virgos have to adjust the most important thing in their life to adjust that to go with it - their own daily routines, the thread of life that runs their physical existence - their processes, their work environment, who they work with and what kind of projects they work on and most importantly how they take care of your body. Its a cause of friction when your life philosophy and who you are within has expanded but you still continue to work with the same people or employ the same people you did before or the way you handle your body and your routines stay the same. When your higher mind has been set free you need to start a new chapter in your physical reality as well - new start in your own daily routines, when you work out, where you work out, how you take care of your body, what kind of projects you work on, who you work with or who you hire, what’s the structure of your work place, what’s the kind of workplace you go to. Its got to reflect it all - your daily environment has to mirror your higher vision else you will feel a friction in your body and that friction would show up in form of non stop conflicts with coworkers or unease in health. Use this season to break a pattern and start anew.

#Libra : Risk appetite, love, passions, children, joy

People have a lot against pandora box - I love the unexpected nature of it all - I love the fact that it shows that side of us that we knew was in us but it wasn’t oh so kosher to show up cause of others. But when you close it - the gifts go back in as well as does hope, joy and passion. The very balanced and my beautiful Librans can write their own book on balance and the evils of opening such boxes but what if it was knocking on their own doors. Uranus and Mars wakes up a dormant yet very important part of Librans thats not only powerful, its essential to help them make their passions come to life. Some call it kundalini release some call it that coiled serpent - one thing thats common in it all is that its not something that anyone attaches with a Libra archetype. Its raw passion, even anger, jealousy, need to be powerful, establish that right give and take in partnership, knowing your own worth and not being shy of making it evident and asking returns that corraborate that. Its somewhat essential to release that - cause its also the part of you that helps you go after your desires, helps you take a bit of risk in your love and professional life, helps you give birth to what you love and would cherish as your legacy. So thats where we begin - driver is to come into your own power, to release archaic ways of give and take in partnership, to let the patterns play out as they should and not on basis of how good or bad they look. What you start new to give that drive an outlet is a new passion, a new appetite for risk in life and that could be in form of a new love, a new hobby, a child, a business thats like a child - its you giving birth to what you would love, cherish and is an extension of your love for self. This is excellent season for you Libra as its your house of joy which is woken up but its facing a hesitance - a bit like resistance to ones own happiness as it requires you to go out of your element to get there. It requires you to not hide the powerful side of you when you deal with others and let them know what you know.

Don’t reduce yourself to make mediocre feel comfortable. They aren’t elevated, we become mediocre in the process.

#Scorpio : Home, family, ancestors, place of living, comfort

People don’t understand why a Scorpio needs to be sure before going into something or going “steady” and why they have to “sense” out things. Sage the hell out of their aura cause they are about to occupy mine for a lifetime says my Scorpio rising.

People don’t get that as much as we are eager to act and ready to face any consequence, we have a fixity in our relationships and partnerships. Partners and relationships never leave Scorpios even when they leave. But the “please no drama” zone of partnerships to be honest has become a bit of battlefield lately. What are we fighting for though. More freedom, more authenticity possibly. But may be more passion, more expression, more dynamism. Its such a contradiction isn’t it - the area we seek the most stability in - we also seek the most excitement and freedom in as well. That kind of freedom can only be based in trust, can only be based if we feel stable in our footing. Feel sure of the ground we stand on and then we can build all the existing relationships, connect with unique partners and clients / networks with. Aquarius season and this year of Saturn Jupiter in our house of home, family, place of living is aiming to do just that. Beef up the home metaphorically and physically. So this season we do something new in that direction so we can take more risks in our business and personal partnerships. We embellish our home, shift houses, countries, find a home within home and find the resources that beef us up from within or find that tribe we can call family that help us get there. Nothing above the surface can fly higher without that home as much as we would want to run away from it. So it might be time to put roots, find that place or do something make your family comfortable in some ways so you have a sure footing within - by purchasing real estate or changing your lease or shifting something in the house or deciding which country you would live in. Normally modern family structures and home structures suit us, possibly away from place of birth or away from parents in some ways - Scorpios cherish the closeness that comes from letting them have their “space” - may be time to find a bit of space so you can think, create and draw strength from. Beef those roots up.

#Sagittarius : Communication, immediate environment, commercial skills

Like a fish out of water, Sagittarius might have put themselves in a zone totally out of their comfort zone cause what they themselves don’t understand right now is that traditional isn’t cutting it for them as much as they are trying. Old isn’t vast enough to let them be who they need to be. The kind and level of commercial success and to some extend the kind of impact they are looking for doesn’t come from traditional careers. They are looking to create something unique and its coming in tough by sticking to old work environment or even that environment might have stopped suiting who they are becoming. Its a process that started over two years back when Uranus first started in their house of work and health - creating a bit of environment of restless brilliance which is just waiting to pop but not yet finding possibly its outlet. Not yet finding that outlet cause may be using the old skill sets and using the old teachings / learnings or old modes and methods of selling / communicating. When you cannot stand the confinement of your surrounding, usually your immediate environment needs a shift - as does the people you see on a daily basis, the road to work you take, the car or vehicle you use and the platforms / devices you use for communicating your perspective along with the words that you are communicating. This new start this season is an up skill to a new commercial reality by changing what you talk, what you sell, what your talents are. I love that unique brilliant futurist sign of Aquarius sits in mind of Sagittarius - it makes them say what they think but also say what they see far ahead of time. They blurt out outstanding thoughts... well without a thought. Possibly a new course can be pretty helpful just to open your mind to new way to commercialize those brilliant thoughts. Perhaps a new neighbourhood or new surroundings can open the mind to more suitable environment that help you commercialize. Perhaps a new platform or new communication devices help support your work in the way you would like. Perhaps a new route to work could help support the new health routine you are looking for. Anything that opens your mind to new economy would be a helpful hand in your journey to get more freedom in your work and provide a platform for you to express your ahead of time ideas. But speak, sell, communicate, connect, commercialize - its time to.

#Capricorn : Money, assets, networth and self worth

I have said it before and I am going to shout from the rooftops till everyone knows, I love love the Uranus transit Capricorn are getting on. Its so freeing - its going to free their sense of joy, their ability to connect with the fun playful innocent child within which has been forced to grow up way too fast with the last few years of transit. Uranus in your house of joy and passions is screaming to release all thats fun, confident, talented, creative, passionate about you. You feel driven to take the risks you have not taken in love, in money, in business - it creates this radical confidence in your ability to bring things to life, in your ability to give birth to the unique thoughts within. And it all, as with everything else with Capricorn, has got to be something real - something touch it feel it. The manifestation of it all to start with could be seen in your financials , in your assets, in things you are going to buy or invest in. Aquarius season starts a new cycle in your networth and self worth. New source of income, new asset, new investment, new purchase that would add to your networth and a new sense of self that helps you go after getting true value of your talents. You might even go after aquiring some talents that help you create more value e.g. in stock markets. You are on a new journey where you want to be free of guilt in being happy, in being fruitful, uninhibited smile - whatever brings that on, bring that on!

#Aquarius : You

Everyone’s talking about you or of you, you don’t necessarily like that... you didn’t ask for it but may be you did - its all been going stale for a while so you did ask for it all to become interesting and it all started being a bit more interesting two years back and now its just all changing way too fast. More importantly think I am changing too fast and rest is changing with me cause my comfort zone is shifting - cause well I wanted to do something different. So here it is that time to start new life, new you in your season - Happy Aquarius Season to you and happy birthday to Aquarius Sun. It just is how your season would be for next few years but this is a landmark one as lot of energy concentrated in your sign is being challenged by your own inertia to change things cause you feel the comfort zone will be lost in some ways - not registering there is no comfort zone anymore. When a kite has taken a flight there is no ground to rest on so its better to learn to fly breathlessly a bit cause stopping isn’t an option at this stage. Unprecedented growth is the reward awaiting of you taking over the reigns of your life in your hand. You have taken a journey where you are fully owning everything in your life, now so don’t look back - start another new chapter in that new direction you have decided to go on. There could be physical volatility in home, family or place of living - its like some constant ground you stood on is shaking - cause its limiting your ability to go where you need to. Its like you need to almost forget where you came from to become who you need to be - leaving the nest is one thing, forgetting the patterns that physically kept you there is another. This is like you are literally being reprogrammed as a person - physically in your body, in your fitness, in what kind of a leader you are and how you show up to the external world. And as part of that reprogramming, your old patterns would have to be irrevocably erased. Whatever it takes!

#Pisces : Peace, healing, health, recognizing your hidden talents & place in universe

Most brilliant creators go to isolation away from everyone to create their masterpiece even though the masterpiece is for the enjoyment of the very people they are going away from. Its like somehow they need to connect with themselves before they can give to others their best work. Its like for it all to be kosher pure chaste and brilliant it needs to be all free of any influence. Do you feel the need to shut all that noise sometimes so you can hear what the universe is trying to talk just to yourself - so you can find why you came here - what is your role and what are you here to serve. Uranus in your house of mind, create such sensitivity and brilliance in your mind that you feel sometimes an idea a minute coming - yet not having an outlet for it all sometimes just leaves a restless feeling that makes it impossible to settle down or sleep sometime. What if you needed a beat to put it all down, what if you needed to create your island so you can in that silence synthesize all that the rest of the connections have inspired you to think of. I am in no way suggesting its time to go on a mountain but I am saying there are two parts of you - conflicting parts of you fighting it out right now. One is teaming with day to day bustle, so much talk, so much information, so much connection, so many ideas, so many people in surrounding acting erratically. Yet not being able to leave that cause I know I can create here something unique, I am learning so much commercially, I am meeting so many unique people, I am actively engaged in my mind and body. Yet this can make you exhausted and scattered. Aquarius season and this year helps you find that corner behind the stage where all the real work happens. You work on a network project behind the scene there, you find peace in your thoughts there, you possibly connect with your hidden skills there, you meditate, put yourself in unique healing positions and potions to bottle all that brilliance into something of value, something of impact, something that can benefit many people. Gift that place behind the stage this season by starting a practice, finding your spirituality again, work on a behind the scene project thats your vision, deal with your fears and inner world. Its going to completely change how you deal with that active, bustling yet brilliant external life of yours. All innovators do this and you are one. All innovators also decide to give away & serve before they get & gain.

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ortizobsessed · 4 years

Text

The Best Gift

This one was requested by @xx--day-dreamer--xx!

Reader x Juice where you throw a surprise party for Juice with the help of the club.

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1911

Masterlist

Today was the day! It was Juice’s birthday, and everything you’d been planning the last couple weeks was finally going to happen. Though you two weren’t “official” your relationship was definitely flirty, and you wanted to do something special for him to show how much you care.

Many ideas had been tossed around during your discussions with Gemma about just how much Juice should know. “If I pretend to forget his birthday, he’s going to know something is up,” you admitted. “He knows I’m good with dates. I’ve had to remind him to wish some of the other guys a happy birthday before.”

Gemma laughed and shook her head, “Oh that boy...why does that not surprise me?”

Smiling along with her, you two agreed that at least you should acknowledge it was his birthday. That way you would be able to keep him busy during the day while everyone else set things up at the clubhouse.

“It’s really sweet what you’re doing for him. He’s going to love it- and you.” Her words calmed you, while simultaneously making you more nervous.

“Oh gosh, I hope so.” You felt your cheeks flush, and Gemma winked at you knowingly.

When you woke up that morning, the first thing you did was call Juice. You couldn’t wait to start the day! You had planned quite a few things that you knew he would love. Dialing his number, it felt like the phone rang for ages. He answered the call, and it was impossible to miss the excitement in his voice, “Hey! How are you sweetheart?”

Your stomach was full of butterflies at this point, you loved it when he called you that. “It’ll be better once I get to see you, birthday boy!”

You could practically hear his smile through the phone. “Back at you! And thank you!”

You smiled to yourself, and suggested, “I’ll come pick you up in a half hour?”

“I’ll be ready.” You heard him pause, as if he was going to say more, but he stopped himself. You made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Great, I’ll see you soon!”

Pulling up in front of Juice’s house, he was already waiting for you on the front step. You put your car in park, turned it off, and hopped out. Walking across the lawn, you met him halfway, and reached your arms out to him. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he pulled you close and you mumbled against his chest, “Happy Birthday, Juan.”

He hugged you tighter and replied, “Thank you so much, Y/N.”

“Well, we should get going! We’ve got a full day ahead of us!”

The smile on his face made your heart melt.

You two spent the day going from place to place, doing anything you could think of that Juice would love. Everything from breakfast at his favourite café, to a matinee at the movie theatre, and a trip to his favourite electronics store. You knew he had been eyeing up the newest first-person shooter game that was set to come out in a couple days. You had pre-ordered one and gift wrapped it, then convinced the store manage to keep it at the store for Juice. He was more excited than you had expected, thanking you profusely for it.

Watching the time almost religiously, it was getting close to 6:00 and Chibs would be calling any minute. Just then, Juice’s phone rang.

Back at the clubhouse, Jax whistled to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, okay, everyone quiet down! Chibs is going to call Juice now!” The room went silent. It was actually rather impressive just how quiet a room full of people, all with very large personalities, could be.

You could hear Chibs’ accent through the phone. “Hey Juicy Boy, look uh- Clay wants us all in chapel in 30. Needs to discuss something important that came up today. Has to be dealt with soon as possible.”

When Juice hung up the phone, it took everything in you not to give away the fact that you were in on it. “Chibs?” Juice nodded. “What did he want?”

“Looks like we’ll have to push our supper plans back a little bit. Clay called a meeting so I have to head to the clubhouse for a bit.”

“Aww man, I’m sorry. It has to be today?” You hoped he couldn’t hear the slight tremble in your voice.

“It sounded pretty urgent. You know how it is, the club comes first.” His words tugged at your heartstrings, but you knew it was all going to be worth it, so you stuck to your plan.

“I get it. Shouldn’t take too long right? I could just come with you, hang out there for a bit, then we can head for supper as soon as you’re done?”

“Yeah it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes, and I would like that!”

Trying to play it cool you added, “Perfect! Besides, I’d like to visit with everyone for a bit. I haven’t seen them in a while!”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he reached his hand out to you.

You noticed the strangled smile on his face, so as you walked hand in hand towards your car, you asked gently, “Everything okay?”

Hesitating momentarily, he answered honestly, “Yeah- yeah, I’m good. Just a bit of a bummer, I think they forgot about my birthday. But hey, I’m not that great with dates either, huh?”

You laughed softly, and looked up at him, “It’s not your strong suit, no,” making him laugh along with you.

Pulling into the parking lot of the clubhouse, you were pleased to see the parking lot no more busy than usual. You knew Gemma would have made sure everyone understood that they needed to park on the street, or better yet a couple blocks away, so Juice wasn’t tipped off that something was going on.

As you walked towards the clubhouse, you found your hand in his once again. “Sorry this had to interrupt our day, I was having a good time! But thanks for tagging along, I’m glad you’re here.”

You couldn’t hide the smile on your face, but you and Juice had a playful relationship, so you replied slyly, “Actually, I’m really only here to see the other guys.” You shrugged your shoulders and tried your best to suppress a laugh.

Juice gave you a knowing look, but decided to play along. “You know, I had a feeling you were only using me to get close to Tig.”

Unable to hold it in anymore, that full laugh of yours came out. You hated your laugh, but Juice loved it, and he was always so good at bringing it out of you.

“Come on,” you sighed, “Let’s get you into that meeting so we can go for supper sooner.”

Juice held the door open for you, and once inside he looked around curiously. “Where is everyone?”

The excitement was really starting to get to you, and all you could do was hope that he didn’t look you in the eyes, cause you knew that would be the end of it.

“I don’t know-“ you paused for a second to gather yourself, “maybe they’re already at the table waiting for you?”

Juice hummed, “Yeah, maybe.”

He looked over at you, and you were convinced the look on your face had given it all away, but he continued, “Okay well I’ll head in. Be out in a bit!”

Either you were a better actor than you thought, or this boy was totally oblivious; your money was on the latter. Whatever the reason, you were glad you hadn’t spoiled the surprise this close to the payoff.

You didn’t think it was possible for so many people to pile into that tiny room, but somehow they made it work. As Juice opened the big doors, you made sure to be within a few steps. In no time at all, the lights were being flipped on and everyone yelled, “SURPRISE!!”

The look on Juice’s face took your breath away. It was a better reaction than you ever could have hoped for. All you wanted was for this loyal, self-less and caring man to know that people needed him, too. You were more than confident you had accomplished that.

Lyla and Opie’s kids were right at the front, noise makers in hand. Tig and Happy has insisted on confetti, so they were standing on either side of the door, throwing the tiny pieces of paper they hand-cut themselves, at Juice.

As Juice did his best to take it all in, you could see tears welling in his eyes. He looked over at you and asked lovingly, “Did you do all this?” Words escaped you, so you simply nodded, and tried your best to fight back tears of your own.

Juice motioned for you to come closer, so you took a few steps towards him and he reached out to you. Placing his arm around your shoulder, you leaned into his side and slid your hand around his back.

Everyone started filtering out bit by bit, each stopping to wish Juice a Happy Birthday. Jax and Tara were the last ones to leave the room, giving each of you a hug on their way out.

Juice breathed in deep and stared at the floor for a second, before looking up at you. “Wow,” was all he found himself able to say.

“So...I hope you like surprises,” you teased, making him laugh.

Moving his arm from around your shoulder, he kicked the doorstop out from under one of the doors that someone had propped open. You took the hint and stepped into the meeting room.

You two were alone once again.

“You know, I was pretty excited to go out for supper with you,” he confessed, a hint of humour in his voice. “Lying to me about food is a tough one to recover from.”

You laughed and asked, “How ever will I be able to repay you?”

Staring up at Juice, you could tell the gears in his mind were turning. As if ignoring everything inside him that said it might be a bad idea, he placed his hands on either side of your face and gazed into your eyes lovingly. “I think I have an idea.”

Your hands found their way to his waist, pulling him closer, and the soft smile you gave him was all he needed.

He leaned in, kissing you tenderly.

The kiss didn’t last long, but it was full of passion, desire, and relief; finally.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you two looked at each other for a short period of time before you broke the silence. “So- this morning- on the phone-” Juice gave you a puzzled look. “As we were saying goodbye- I don’t know- maybe it’s all in my head... I just- I thought maybe you were going to say something else. Were you?”

He hesitated, then smiled. “Honestly?” Laughing softly, he confessed, “I was- uhh- I was going to say- I love you.” Your eyes grew wide, and a huge smile spread across your face. He added, “I want you to be my Old Lady.”

You responded playfully with the somewhat cliché, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Kissing him once more, you whispered, “I love you too,” against his lips, and you felt him smile.

“I’m pretty sure this is the best birthday gift anyone has ever given me.”

#the best gift #juice imagine #juice ortiz imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #juice ortiz #juan carlos ortiz #sons of anarchy #soa #samcro #redwood original #men of mayhem #theo rossi #fan fiction

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foolscapper · 3 years

Note

Spn prompt! I have a HUGE love of incoherent/delirious Sam and panicking/worried Dean, whether it's head injury, curse, blood loss, or dangerously high fever 👉👈

Your wish is my command! It ended up... longer than anticipated... but here you are! Unbeta’d, we die like men. This is weechesters and involves a kid being hurt, so if that’s something that’d bother anyone, feel free to skip over this!

(Posted to Archiveofourown as well.)

Sylvester Sharpe turned from the beat up Ford truck he'd parked on the corner of A Street and Cotton Circle after a voice coolly demanded his attention. The boy that met his critical stare was about half his age — youthful, maybe somewhere between sixteen or eighteen: dirty-blonde hair; strange old necklace; a charcoal black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, darker with sweat around a neckline littered with holes that implied he really loved that goddam shirt. Sylvester furrowed his brow, put out his cigarette on the lip of a truck bed full of trash and beer bottles and stolen shit he'd been selling to good buddies who know a thing or two about loose lips getting busted, and squinted at the boy like he were pea-sized.

"What?" Sylvester said, the clipped sound one of impatience.

"I said," the freckled boy replied back, terse, "Do they call you 'Sly' around here?"

Sylvester snorted, loose-limbed and careless and ready to move on to the nearest liquor store to get a new pack of Marlboros. He turned toward his open truck door to move along. He said, "Yeah, I'm Sly."

The kid lunged, and they were on ground in a few seconds flat.

An old man in an ivy cap walking his dog watched as the teenager started to beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

**************** **************** **************** ****************

You don't mess around when it comes to concussions. Concussions are traumatic brain injuries — sometimes it doesn't feel like that, because you think "oh, well, they just shook some screws loose; they just have some stars circling around their head, and they'll be fine in a few hours". But real life ain't cartoons.

If there's one thing you could give their old man credit for, it was that he never undervalued a trip to the ER when it came to the safekeeping of his son's brains. Dean had a concussion before, himself. Just before he turned fifteen; got thrown into a wall by a ghost before returning back to their hotel room and vomiting his guts out in a toilet not even worth pissing in. Sam had been about eleven, casting the kindest and most worried shadow over the hunch of Dean's back, rubbing his shoulders and nervously parroting Dad about how he absolutely shouldn't go to sleep, no matter how much he slurred he wanted to.

Dad looked up the nearest ER and drove him down.

The nurses had to stand there with their mouths in a thin, concerned line while Dean rambled on and on about how he'd caught a Chupacabra in a giant net once in Texas and ganked a vampire last week in Pasadena. And, of course, Dean also asked where Sam was — over and over and over and over — until Sam had to lean forward in his waiting room chair and wave at him, a constant reminder that he hasn't been left behind anywhere. Sam had tired lines around his mouth, then, and worry in his eyes that had been overcast with exhaustion. That's one of the few things Dean could remember about that night. Just thinking, 'Man, Sammy, why you look so tired?'

If he hadn't been so fucking concussed, the answer'd be obvious.

**************** **************** **************** ****************

Stuck in some half-dead town in Nevada in the summer of '95, Dean was more than a little restless; Dad had left them to go wipe a vampire nest a few small towns south, and apparently Dean hadn't been "big britches" enough to handle a hunt of that scope yet. Which was total horseshit, because he was sixteen; he could outdrink any old chump at the bar and he'd gotten a kill list so long that it rivaled a suburban mom's grocery list.

They settled into an apartment with no furniture save for a two-seated couch and some mattresses — and exactly two months worth of rent covered with no plans to renew — but at least it also had a television with a few channels, too. Sweating from the heat, he traded the urge to hunt with the privilege of kicking up his feet and watching The People's Court. School had ended an hour or so before, but Sammy'd stayed behind for some extracurricular club he'd been practically vibrating to join, and Dean had no plans to shoot it down while Dad wasn't around to comment on it.

There was a small struggle at the front door to unlock it, and Dean listened with a quirked eyebrow.

"You forget how human hands work, Stuart Little?"

The door creaked open a fraction in response, and then stayed that way for a moment. Through the sliver of open air, Dean heard a small sob that made his stomach fall through the couch, and as he swung himself up onto his feet Sam walked through the door and nearly right into him — it was easy to see why, because his right eye was completely swollen shut, purpled and shiny. Dry blood clung under his nose and matted one side of his head, and he swayed on his feet when Dean's hands jolted out to grab his shoulders. The kid's backpack was nowhere to be seen. Probably dropped and abandoned.

"Sam. Sammy." His hand reached to touch, and he found the bloody, clumped hair hid a lump the size of a golf ball, split and oozing. The kid shuddered with pain, and tears continued to leak down one side of his face. The fear mutates and splits off, leaving a new, fresh wave of emotion: fury. This isn't a monster. These aren't claw marks or some bruise caused by a furious ghost. Some punk-ass kids must have jumped him at the school and left him like this. And his brother walked all the way back here like that. He would even bet they aren't Sam's age. Sam wouldn't have let them do this without a hell of a fight.

He could barely stop the snarl of his lips, the cold calmness. "... Sam, who did this?"

"I don't..." Sam licked his lips, looking around like he wasn't sure where he was. Garbled words took time to form with a tied tongue. Dean could bet if he peeled the other eye open, the pupils would be mismatched in size. "I don't remember. I'm... I don't know. Dean."

The fury had to wait. He moved to walk Sam to the couch, planted him there and squeezed his brother's shoulder; another cold wave of outrage washed over him when Sam winced in pain, like something was hurt there, too. "It's okay. It's okay, little brother, just don't move. I'm going to clean you up, and we're gonna — get you to the urgent care. You hear me? It'll only take a minute."

He got the first aid from the bare kitchen cabinet, dug around for all the things he'd been familiar grabbing any time Dad had gotten his bell rang. He fumbled with the supplies with all the grace Sam had opening the front door. Uttered a sorry before he carefully pressed the gel icepack to Sam's eye. The other eye locked onto him, red and wet, glazed with delirium.

"Dean," Sam wept, and Dean had to focus hard to make out what he was saying: "Dean, I think I'm dead... I tried to find help, but nobody — nobody stopped... I think they can't see me. I think I'm a ghost."

Jesus. Yeah, the kid was concussed. Bad.

"No way. Not my little brother. Never gonna let that happen." His smile was strained as he grabbed Sam's wrist and raised the hand to the boy's own face. "Ghosts aren't big on crying, right? The salt would burn like a bitch."

"Dean..."

"Yeah?"

"My ears're weird... Sounds weird," he admitted weakly, like he'd done something wrong.

"It's okay, dude. You're concussed."

"... Oh." Sam sat for a moment. Looked around the small, unlived space. The People's Court was moving into a commercial. "Dean... Don' tell Dad. Don't tellem I messed up."

Dean pressed a palm to Sam's chest, his thumb gently rubbing the hill of his collarbone to soothe him. Usually about now they'd be wrestling over some stupid fight, or he'd be getting him into a headlock to test his reflexes, or Sam'd be throwing pencils at him for interrupting his train of thought at the kitchen table.

"You didn't mess anything up. I promise." It was a Herculean effort to keep his hands soft and caring, because all they wanted to do now was rip someone to pieces. He was gonna. As soon as Sam was good, he was gonna split his knuckles knocking someone's teeth out. He was gonna paint the dirt with it. Gonna blacken both eyes and bleed both nostrils and break a few things in someone's body.

... But only after making sure Sammy'd be alright.

Sam was missing a backpack and about forty bucks in money he'd earned from mowing lawns for the balding, dorky librarian living across the street. That same librarian ushered the boys into the back seat of her Sedan and made a beeline for the nearest ER. With Sam leaning against him, his knobby elbow jutting into his ribs, Dean answered a question nervously asked from the driver's seat.

"I don't know who did it. But I'm real good at hunting down whatever I got to."

**************** **************** **************** ****************

There was a gratifying sound of Sylvester's skull hitting the side of his own truck after Dean threw him into it headlong. Storming forward, he doesn't hesitate to pick Sly back up by his flannel jacket to do it all over again. "Taking from the grown-ups not good enough for you?! You think you can fucking steal from kids, huh?! Think you can beat up some kid a third your size, huh?! You fuck—"

Wheezing, Sylvester tried to drag himself up into the driver's seat of his truck, a feeble effort to escape his punishments. A small crowd from a barbershop across the street formed, but kept their distance — older ladies mostly who knew better than to put their hands between a dog fight. Dean ignored them to grab Sylvester by the front of his collar and hoist him a foot up from the seat he'd slumped on. Their faces were inches apart, so that he could look into hazel eyes seeing red. "If I ever see you again, I'mma kill you. Do you understand? Do I make myself clear? I'll sleep like a baby after."

Sylvester didn't reply, but he did moan in pain, and Dean considered that an answer. He dropped him and stepped over his heaving chest with dust-stained boots to retrieve a backpack out of the truck bed. Then he reached into the man's jean pocket with swelling knuckles, digging more than forty dollars out of the billfold he finds there and shoving the wad into his own pocket. Then he chucked the rest of the wallet across the unleased dirt field.

"Go fuck yourself," Dean said finally, and left just as he'd come.

**************** **************** **************** ****************

Dean and Sam could barely fit on the apartment's couch together, legs crammed together under a quilted blanket while the television had cast an ever-changing glow over them. Sam's face was still a mess of Dean's least favorite colors, but now he could see both of his eyes, and that helped loosen the knot in his stomach. John had been called from the ER, told the story from front to back, and he filled the teenager with grim vindication when he complimented Dean's recent successful hunt.

The verdict: a 24-hour observation in the hospital, during which John Winchester strode in to keep vigilant watch over Dean as he kept vigilant watch over Sam; he hadn't stopped watching him since they'd gotten home after, either. Dean could hear his father's snores through the door into the one bedroom. Who knows when the last time Dad slept had been; he'd come straight back from the end of the destroyed vamp nest, no pitstops.

"... Dean?" Sam asked after him, wearily. If he had a nickel for every time the boy said it today, he'd be a millionaire. But there was an awareness in Sam's eyes this time that had been frighteningly missing earlier, as he stared at him from across the short couch. In the ER, it had taken a lot of coaxing and promising that Sam wasn't as dead as he'd thought he was, and now Dean was very confident he finally believed it a day late and a dollar short.

"Yeah?"

"Your hands."

He glanced down at the bruised, scraped up knuckles, and just shook his head at the sight of Sam's apprehension; he hadn't told Sam exactly what happened, but his brother was smart. Smarter than most people who came and went in their lives. Smarter than Dean had ever felt he could be. He sighed as he flexed his hands. "Don't worry. I'm not going to jail for murder or anything. Just... rest, okay?"

Sam's chin sunk into the blanket. Not appeased, but relenting.

The battered kid mumbled, "You're the one who looks tired," then he smiled in that way that made Dean regret his bleeding heart. Dean's mouth opened for a moment, then closed. He played it off as best he could, but the rough emotion in the way he glanced aside and rubbed a hand down his mouth was hardly subliminal. "Yeah, well. Sometimes worrying too much is exhausting, dude."

Sam bit his lip. "I'll try not to worry you as much, then."

Dean reached out, patted the bony knee near his.

"... I might have to hold you to that."

But really? He would never.

#spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #weechesters #preseries #spn prompts #spn fanfic #hurt!sam #hurt/comfort #warning for injured child!!!

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scxrlettwxtches · 5 years

Text

worn out jackets | hwang hyunjin

Genre: badboy!hyunjin x class president!reader, fluff, angst Warnings: cursing(?)

Word Count: +10.0k

Description: When you accidentally find yourself monitoring the detention of the school’s bad-boy prince Hwang Hyunjin, it leads to a path of personal discovery that neither of you could’ve foresaw. Author’s Note: so i’m back. i haven’t written anything in months, but now that school started, i found a need to vent out my feelings again, so here we are. i can’t explain why my venting ended up into a 10k fic, but yeah. here’s my first stray kids imagine ever! hope you enjoy!

“For the last time, Hwang Hyunjin, could you please leave me alone and let me do my job?”

The smirk you got in return gave you the answer you didn’t want to hear. It was only the two of you in the classroom, your teacher having run out long ago and making you watch over the bad-boy delinquent that was currently stuck in detention. She was probably eagerly waiting for you to walk in to receive your week’s work so she could escape the unbearable claws of Hwang Hyunjin.

Speaking of Hyunjin, he was still staring at you with that interested spark in his eyes, as if you were some sort of toy he’d never seen. It held an intensity that you’ve never had directed at yourself before, but you held his stare steadily, only breaking your gaze to focus on the work in front of you.

“Embarrassed, princess?” You could hear the triumphant smile in his voice, and it grated uncomfortably on your ears.

“Hardly, I just have more important things to be doing, which you apparently do not.”

“That’s not true. Believe it or not, I’m a very busy man,” Hyunjin had the audacity to look offended as he replied, perking up as he suggested, “Maybe if you--I don’t know--let me out of this stupid place early--”

“In your dreams, idiot.”

Hyunjin’s expectant face fell in a pout before it morphed almost instantly into a slightly more dangerous scowl (jeez, how does he have a facial expression for every second of his life?), “Come on, Class President,” he drawled in that deep voice he used to woo the entire female school population, “You don’t want to be such a prissy, good girl, do you?”

“Sadly for you,” you began, marking the paper you were reading with more force than necessary, “that’s exactly what I want to be.”

Your reply made Hyunjin roll his eyes, flopping on his desk in frustration with an audible groan. Luckily for you, that was the end of his verbal annoyance, although the small wads of paper that he continuously threw your way did slow your efficiency by at least 6%.

An annoyance. That was what Hwang Hyunjin was to you.

When the second hand of the clock struck the zero to signal 5:00 pm, you leapt out of your seat even faster than the person attending detention, carefully but quickly packing your work into your worn out backpack. Without as much of a look back, you headed for the door, moving as fast as you could without it being counted as running.

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, President,” Hyunjin’s teasing voice sounded from behind. In your confusion, you disobeyed your own rule to ignore Hwang Hyunjin at all costs. Something about his wording made you unsettled. After all, the two of you have many classes together (not that you checked, he was just so loud), and it would be expected to see each other the next day, so why--

Hyunjin seemed to sense your confusion, and decided to enlighten you with a piece of information, “I guess your memory isn’t as good as everyone says. Ms. Jeon said you were to monitor all my detentions.”

You didn’t like where this was heading.

“I’m in detention for a week.”

Motherfucker.

You bolted out of the classroom faster than you ever thought you could move, but not before you caught a glimpse of Hyunjin’s victorious smile. God, you just didn’t know what caused the strong feelings of hatred for him specifically. It wasn’t because he was a so-called “Stray Kid,” the nine person group of wild boys that pranced around the school like they owned it. As a matter of fact, you were quite friendly with Jisung and Jeongin, who were both part of the group (actually, Jeongin doesn’t even count. he’s a sweet summer child and you wanted nothing more than to adopt him and get those stupid boys to stop brainwashing him.)

No, it wasn’t because he was one of those boys. It just always felt like Hwang Hyunjin was created to be the exact opposite of you.

He basked in the spotlight, and all you wanted was to disappear (the class president thing doesn’t automatically make you popular, don’t trust anime). He didn’t have a care in the world, and all you had were sleepless nights of stress, anxiety, and studying. He grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, and he flaunted his money with every article of clothing he wore, while you were stuck with patching your overused sweaters and jeans so you could save enough money to splurge on your favorite ice cream.

You guess you had some pretty complicated emotions about Hwang Hyunjin, but maybe it was mostly bitterness.

You pondered about it until a car swung to the front of the school to meet you, and immediately things felt just that much better.

“Hey, mom.”

“Hey, sweetie,” she smiled, pulling out of the parking lot, “School okay?”

Normally, you’d say things were good. There’s no point in bothering your mother when she was already working three to four jobs trying to pay bills. But this time, you couldn’t find it in you to pretend that you were happy.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

“It might not be soon.”

ii.

Detention monitoring the third day was just as miserable as the two days before. Hyunjin apparently had no intention of letting you work in peace, and made it his personal mission to annoy you until you were fully ready to commit a serious crime.

“Does it ever get boring, doing every teacher’s paperwork?”

“No,” you answered (lied) coldly, “And put your phone away. One would think you’d know the rules of detention, seeing that you get put here so often.”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow at your snappish insult, “God, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today,” he muttered loud enough so you could hear, but put his phone back in his pocket. You wanted to grab him by the collar and tell him that actually, you didn’t even get in bed last night, too busy trying to finish the work given to you.

When he noticed you pointedly ignoring him, he groaned, the boredom of sitting in a classroom and doing nothing becoming too much for His Royal Highness, “Do people ever call you a pain in the ass?”

You shrugged, “Maybe? I don’t see how that’s supposed to affect me, though.”

“Wow,” Hyunjin sounded genuinely a little impressed, “You’re just one unbreakable ice princess, aren’t you?”

Not knowing how to answer that, you ignored him again, your anger simmering quietly under the surface. People could call you a pain in the ass, whatever, but you weren’t a princess. You didn’t kill yourself trying to earn money just to be associated with a spoiled brat.

You were so distracted that you didn’t even notice Hyunjin getting out of his seat, prowling towards you like an experienced predator. It wasn’t until he slammed your desk hard that you jumped, and realized that Hwang Hyunjin was standing over you with eyes set to devour you alive.

Every hair on your body stood up as he bent down, his face only inches from yours. Your face grew flush, and you squeezed your eyes shut instinctively. Despite your cold, unapproachable front, you were just a stressed sixteen year old girl and oh god this asshole is going to steal your first kiss-

Your thoughts were broken by a dark chuckle, “I take back what I said,” you slowly opened your eyes to find Hyunjin still towering over you, but now moving away from your face, “Not as unbreakable as I thought.”

There was no way to describe your flushed fury and under it, the bubbling fear that was now subsiding, “Get away from me,” you said, your voice so icy Hyunjin was taken slightly aback, “You will sit in your seat for the rest of the detention or I will report you to the principal.”

Hyunjin honestly didn’t know why you sounded so angry, but he knew better than to push you any further, and sat back in his seat with an easy grace that just made you want to punch the disgusting (handsome) smirk off his face.

There were multiple more attempts by him to grab your attention, but it seemed like you had finally had enough, pointedly ignoring him until the clock struck five. Then, without a word, you stuffed the papers in your bag, not caring if they were crumpled, and stalked out of the classroom.

As you walked towards the exit of the school, you finally remembered to check your phone, and you heart almost stopped when you saw two missed calls from your mom. As another money saving tactic, neither of you call unless things were urgent, and the fact that she called twice was enough to make you panic.

Calling her back, you continued to walk towards the school doors, every ring making you more nervous. When you heard the sound of your mom picking up, you couldn’t stop a sigh of relief, “Mom? What’s going on?”

“Hey, sweetie,” she sounded so tired, “Nothing’s wrong, don’t panic.”

“Okay,” you said doubtfully, “but you never call unless it’s urgent.”

“Everything’s fine. I just used up all my texts for the month, so I had to call,” she sighed, and you could hear the sadness in her voice, “The hospital is completely overcrowded, and they need more nurses to work additional shifts. I’m really sorry, baby, but I don’t think I can pick you up or come home tonight.”

You ignored the spike of pain in your heart, already dreading the cold, emptiness of your house tonight, “No worries, mom. I’ll be fine on my own. Don’t overwork yourself.”

She chuckled, “I’m so grateful to have a daughter like you,” noises interrupted your conversation, and she spoke again with the same tiredness as before, “I got to go back to work. Love you.”

“Love you too, mom.”

She had hung up before you could finish.

By now, you were in the outside of the school, standing in the spot your mom would typically pick you up from. You should feel disappointed, sad, anything, but this wasn’t the first time you had to spend the night by yourself. It had almost become a part of your life that you were just numb to.

As you shuffled to slip your phone back into your backpack, you heard a familiar and unwanted voice behind you, “Where’s your ride, princess?”

“Coming,” your teeth clenched as you refused to face him. All you wanted was for him to just go away, get away from me please-

“Really?” he sounded mildly amused, as if he couldn’t believe you were still trying to put up a front, “That didn’t sound like what was happening from your phone call.”

“Do you just enjoy invading people’s privacy?” you snarled, finally whipping around to glare at a bored looking Hyunjin.

“How are you planning to get home?” he ignored your question entirely, only fueling your anger.

Trying to control your emotions, you answered more coldly, “There’s lots of ways to get home.”

Hyunjin smirked at your unwavering consistency in confronting him, “I’m sure there are, but I was asking which way you’ll take,” God, this day was already not going so well, and this asshole just has to keep pushing more buttons.

“Public transportation.”

A victorious smile emerged on the boy’s face, as if he had already guessed, “I’ll come with you, then.”

“No way,” you growled with as much force as you could muster, backing away instinctively.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, “Would you stop being tsundere about this? Seoul isn’t that safe at night.”

“And you’re supposed to protect me?”

“Class Prez, don’t you have any trust in me at all?”

“You tell me,” you spit viciously, and it took Hyunjin a moment to understand the incident you were thinking about. It was only then that he realized that he had genuinely scared you when he made his move.

“Ah, if you’re thinking about- uh- that thing during detention,” for the first time, Hyunjin stumbled over his words slightly and even sounded slightly ashamed, “I didn’t know it would scare you that much. That’s not the reaction it normally receives.”

You scoffed, rather betrayed but not surprised that it was as much of an apology as you would get, “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Not wanting to entertain Hwang Hyunjin any longer, you spun on your heel and began walking out of the parking lot and towards the bus stop. Pulling out your ancient looking headphones, you turned up the music to the loudest volume you could without damaging your hearing, and lost yourself to your playlist.

It wasn’t until you looked around from your seat at the bus stop that you realized that Hyunjin was also there, leaning casually on the side of a pole and scrolling through his phone. Was he actually serious about walking you home? Before he could catch you glancing at him, you looked away, unwilling to acknowledge his presence.

When your bus arrived, you got on without a word to Hyunjin, but as you sat down in an empty seat and placed your backpack in the other, you watched as he smoothly pressed his wallet against the payment machine and stepped into the bus.

Okay, so maybe he was serious.

As you walked on, you had noticed that the only two empty seats were now occupied by you and your backpack, and you weren’t that cruel. As Hyunjin walked through the center of the bus, you silently removed your bag from the seat next to you, a clear signal.

Hyunjin’s smile (note: it was a smile this time, not a smirk) was almost enough to stop you from regretting that decision.

He sat down beside you without all his usual swagger, and looked at you almost expectantly, but you weren’t in the mood to start chit chatting. Honestly, when would you ever be in the mood to willingly have a conversation with him.

Keeping your eyes directed outside the window, you promptly ignored Hyunjin’s presence, only occasionally exchanging accidental glances when you looked to check the number of stops. To your surprise, he was mostly quiet throughout the trip, and when the bus made it to a random place in the bustling part of downtown Seoul, you quietly began to shuffle around.

“Is this your stop?” Hyunjin leaned towards you and whispered. You shrugged halfheartedly, brushing off his question, but Hyunjin seemed satisfied, leaning back in his seat with a happy expression on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked as you pushed him to get off, the bus pulling into the stop.

Hyunjin’s smile widened, and for a split second, you allowed yourself to admire his handsome face, “Because,” he grinned, “the fact that you heard me means that you lowered your music volume enough to hear if I was speaking.”

Your face felt hot, and you could vaguely remember pressing the volume button down almost unconsciously. And maybe, just maybe, you were waiting for Hyunjin to start talking first. But god, did you hope that he didn’t catch on to that.

You stalked off the bus with a thoroughly amused boy at your tail.

As you walked down the busy street, the neon ads flashing and the after school life bustling, you stopped at a tall skyscraper that you recognized was an apartment complex. Hyunjin looked at the building and whistled.

“Is this your place? Damn, you really are a princess, Class President,” there wasn’t any malice that you could detect in his voice, but the words carved deep wounds as you faced him, still avoiding his gaze.

“Don’t call me that, Hyunjin,” you spoke softly, but you knew he heard you, because the cocky smile faltered ever so slightly. Then, swallowing your pride, you gave him a quick bow, “Thanks for taking me home.”

Hyunjin glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck and looking nothing like the sadistic playboy persona he had in school, “Ah, don’t make it so formal, Prez.” The two of you stood there for an awkward moment, before you half walk, half sprinted into the building.

iii.

Hyunjin watched as you entered the building, and deciding that you were safely inside, turned around to make his own way home. His brain was muddled with various thoughts, though most of them pertained to you.

You had shut down his princess pet name so seriously that his bravado had fell apart almost instantly. Every time he called you that, he could see the aggravation it caused you, which gave him a strange sort of glee. It wasn’t often that one could see the Class President get riled up, and he loved that it was a side of you that only he could see.

Still, the way you had snapped this time, not furiously like you usually reacted, but softly as if broken and resigned, almost made him feel guilty. For the first time, you addressed him directly by his name (despite the context, his name sounded so right falling from your lips), and the fact that you did made him wonder just why “princess” made you so angry.

Despite his determination to be cool, swag, come on Hwang Hyunjin don’t get soft over one girl--, he found himself looking back at your apartment complex, only to spot you quietly walking out of the building and back onto the street.

Now, this was interesting. Hyunjin watched as you turned down a corner, and delightedly decided follow you in a totally not creepy way. He was just making sure you were safe (and also wanted to see what sort of shenanigans the class president gets herself into).

The street you had turned into was significantly less lit, suddenly taking on a suspicious energy. Hyunjin scrunched his nose as the smell of trash and sewage filled his nose, and he briefly wondered if you were worth him dirtying his new shoes for.

(Yes, the answer was always yes.)

From what he could see, you seemed unnervingly familiar with this road, not even flinching at the way your shoes got dirty, or the smells that pervaded his nose. He followed you at a distance, but with your headphones on, it wasn’t like you could hear him.

He had decided not to make his presence known, sure that you would lash out and never show him whatever secret business you were doing. Still, he almost broke his own rule multiple times, when he caught some dirty looking men leering at you from the sides of the road. He clenched his fists, unnaturally aggravated and itching to punch a couple of them, but he made no moves.

It was until he turned the corner you had half a minute ago that he saw you walking towards a very, very run down house. You didn’t go to the real door though, instead making your way towards a side entrance. Hyunjin looked around the neighborhood, losing focus on you until he suddenly heard a very vulgar curse spill out of your mouth.

“God fucking dammit,” you spit, Hyunjin feeling his heart jump in surprise at your surprising language. He watched as you frantically looked under the doormat and through your backpack, growling in frustration as you pounded on the door, “Mom, come on!”

Despite his less than adequate grades (whatever, he could just pay any university to let him in), Hyunjin wasn’t dumb, and it didn’t take him more than a second to realize that this was your house, your real house. It wasn’t that fancy apartment complex he had dropped you off at, it was this building that looked a push away from falling apart.

Oh, that’s why she hates being called princess.

And the guilt from before crashed back down on him like a tsunami wave.

iv.

Of all things that could happen, of course your mom would forget to put the key back. She had taken yours two days before, and it seemed like you now had no way of getting in your house.

Defeated, you let your head fall on the wooden door, not too hard but enough to make it pulse in pain. Tears threatened to fill your eyes, and you angrily blinked them away because it’s just an accident, this isn’t the worst you’ve been through, pull yourself together-

“So, this is where you really live.”

Without thinking and almost entirely on instinct, your backpack slips off your shoulders and you swing it behind you, fully ready to smack whoever was talking with the full force of both your calculus and history textbooks.

“Did you fucking stalk me?” you snapped, the backpack falling out of your hands in shock as none other than Hwang Hyunjin stood before you, his hands raised up in defense.

“Well, I wasn’t going to until I saw you sneak out of the building like a thief--hey!” he exclaimed indignantly as you picked up your backpack and pushed past him forcefully, “Where are you going?”

“Away from you!” you spit venomously, and ow, that one kinda stung, Hyunjin thought.

“Why aren’t you going inside?”

“God, Hwang Hyunjin,” you suddenly sounded so tired, so worn out, nothing like the firm, cold Class President he was used to. And again, you used his real name (it wasn’t like his heart jumped again), “can you please just leave me alone?”

“You’re locked out, aren’t you?” you avoided his eyes, something you seemed to do whenever you were caught, “What are you going to do until someone comes with the key?”

“I’ll figure something out,” you snapped, clearly trying to push him away, “My mom’s coming home soon, so can you please just go?”

That’s a lie, and Hyunjin knew it. He heard your phone call and he knew your mom wasn’t coming back tonight.

“Stay at my place,” the words fell out before he could process them, and even you dropped your defenses for a moment in surprise before your eyes narrowed again.

Hyunjin backtracked immediately, “Not in a weird way, like I’m trying to seduce you!” he wondered why he was trying so hard to explain himself, “I’m sure some other people will be crashing there too, if you’re worried about being alone with me.”

For a moment, he could see it. The want, the pure desire to be with others, to not be alone. Then, you looked conflicted, but Hyunjin had caught you at a point where you were without options.

“Whatever. If I think for any second that I’m being taken advantage of, I’m calling the cops.”

Your normal snappishness had returned somewhat, and Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel relieved. It made his heart hurt, when he saw you so broken and defeated. Not that he cared, of course.

You couldn’t help but be a little let down that Hyunjin’s place wasn’t a mansion like many people have whispered about around the school. A penthouse condo in the center of Seoul wasn’t anything less than expensive and it screamed money in bold comic-sans font, but it sort of ruined your spoiled, prince-like impression of Hwang Hyunjin.

Something must’ve shown on your face as the two of you made it to the door, because Hyunjin smirked, “Disappointed?”

“I was expecting some sort of fancy mansion,” you answered honestly, shrugging.

Hyunjin couldn’t help but giggle, the sweet sound contrasting to his black leather jacket and his unseemly uniform, “Nah, the mansion is my mom and dad’s. This is my own place that I bought to, you know, hang.”

You take back what you thought. Still a spoiled prince.

Hyunjin unlocked the door and gestured for you to enter first, following after you and shutting the door with a loud bang. He silently asked for your jacket, and you were in the process of shrugging it off when voices yelled from what you imagined was the living room.

“Oi, Hyunjin! What took you so long?” a low voice that sounded strangely familiar called out.

“Sorry, I brought a guest over!”

It got eerily quiet for a second, before you heard the sound of chaos as multiple people seemed to step over one another. What were they doing?

“Since when did you hang out with anyone but us?”

Hyunjin made an offended noise, and you almost laughed. Almost.

“Why don’t you come over and say hi?”

A flurry of motion happened and before you knew it, eight boys stood in front of you, wide-eyed and curious. Of course it was Stray Kids. You beat yourself up inwardly for not expecting this.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

Your heart fluttered with relief because for the first time that day, you finally saw someone that knew you, cared about you. Without hesitation, you ran into Han Jisung’s arms, who looked both shocked and concerned as he immediately held you. Jeongin, who was the last to walk from the living room to the hallway, pushed through the rest of the boys to rest a gentle hand on your back, frantically asking you what was wrong.

Hyunjin felt himself grip your jacket tightly, fist clenched until his knuckles were white, feeling uncharacteristically angry, “Do you guys know each other?”

Jisung pried his worried eyes away from your trembling form in his arms and answered, “We’re good friends.”

Ah, so you didn’t hate him because he was a Stray Kid. Until then, Hyunjin was sure that the main reason you looked at him with such anger was because he was in this group, a gang of rowdy boys that weren’t satisfied by following the rules. But as he watched Jisung pull you towards the couch still holding you, your own hands clutching his sleeves tightly, Hyunjin realized that there was an entirely different reason for your hatred that he didn’t know about.

Hyunjin hung up your jacket at the hanger, and was dead set on joining Jisung with his goal of comforting you when a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the kitchen.

“Any reason you brought your Class President to your apartment?” Chan asked suspiciously, “I wasn’t aware you guys knew each other.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes because god, can Chan act any more like an absolute dad?

“We met in detention yesterday.”

“The class president was in detention?”

“What? No, she’d never do anything that would put her in detention,” Hyunjin scoffed, “Ms. Jeon made her monitor my detentions for the week.”

“Detention for a week?!” Chan exclaimed, “Hyunjin, we talked about this. Shit, if your parents find out-”

“I know, I know,” Hyunjin snapped, “I’ll figure it out, okay?”

Chan sighed tiredly, and Hyunjin felt a little jolted about how similar it sounded to you when you looked too burdened and too young to be faced with so much pressure.

“Fine, but how does the class prez monitoring your detention lead you to bringing her here?” Chan’s eyes narrowed as his voice grew annoyed, “I swear, if you brought another one for a quick hookup-”

“No!” Hyunjin yelled louder than he expected, his heart pounding. The very thought of toying with you and then throwing you to the side (which, sadly, is not an uncommon occurrence) made him feel strangely sick, “No, I walked her home, and when she couldn’t find her key, I offered to let her spend the night.”

“Wow, you walked her home?” Jisung entered the kitchen, grabbing a glass and opening the fridge to find a drink (juice), “Since when did you do that for anyone?”

Hyunjin was beginning to grow annoyed at his friends’ constant suspicion of his actions. These were good deeds, bad boy Hyunjin was literally just trying to be nice and what did he get in return? An absolute roasting.

“Well, I did it, so fuck off,” he suddenly remembered that Jisung was just with you, “Is--uh--class prez okay?”

Jisung scowled, “Bro, you know her name is Y/N. Maybe you can stop calling her class prez?” he picked up the glass full of orange juice and made his way out of the kitchen, “She’s fine, just not having a great day.”

“Wow, I couldn’t tell.”

“You know,” Jisung spoke sharply, and Hyunjin was beginning to feel like the embers of their past conflicts were growing brighter. They haven’t had a fight in a while, but Jisung seemed quite riled up, “a lot of it was your fault.”

Hyunjin scowled, because why was everyone just getting on his case today? He was being nicer than he had ever been for months, and all everyone’s doing was defending you. Angrily, he pushed past Jisung to stalk to his room, “Whatever.”

vi.

You must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when you opened your eyes, you found the sky dark and you laying in Jisung’s arms. As you tried to swallow, your throat burned from thirst, and you silently untangled yourself from your friend so you could get a drink.

Once you stumbled into the kitchen, you realized that you had no idea where anything was, and you resorted to the most logical solution of opening every single drawer until you found something and why were almost all of these empty--

“Looking for something?” you gasped in fright and whipped around to see Hwang Hyunjin standing in the doorway dressed in a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants. From his squinting eyes and raspy voice, he probably just woke up as well.

“Oh, yeah,” you tore your eyes away from him and tilted you head towards the drawers, “I’m trying to grab a drink, but I can’t find any cups.”

Hyunjin sighed, as if you were forcing him to do something he wouldn’t ever do to save his own life, but hobbled to a drawer that you haven’t opened yet and pulled out two plastic cups, “There are drinks in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” you moved to open the fridge, only for Hyunjin to open it for you and grab what looked like orange juice. Your favorite.

As he poured his own cup, he must’ve noticed your interested stare since he beckoned you over and poured you a cup as well. It was then that you noticed that this Hyunjin was different from the one you knew. The one you see at school is all sharp edges, dangerous activities, and an untouchable aura that hurt everyone that tried to get close. The one you see now was soft, vulnerable, and everything that Hwang Hyunjin wasn’t supposed to embody.

The two of you drank in silence, which was okay with you, but seemed to make Hyunjin uncomfortable enough that he decided to try his hand in small talk, “Does your--uh--mom know you’re here?”

“No,” you said, “Don’t wanna use phone minutes for something like this. I’m not gonna see her until after school tomorrow anyway.”

Hyunjin picked up a home phone lying on the kitchen counter and handed it to you, “It doesn’t use phone call minutes, if you want to let her know.”

You took it hesitantly, slightly cautious that it might be a prank, but Hyunjin’s posture was completely relaxed, open, “Is-is it,” you began, licking your lips, “is it okay if I call now?”

“Go for it.”

Hyunjin could only stare as you sent him a small, grateful smile (the first one you’ve ever given him) and disappeared down the hallway to call your mom. No, he absolutely wasn’t starstruck, but there was something about that small albeit hesitant smile that just lit up the room. It was almost like Hyunjin thought you were seriously beautiful--

No way. He smacked his head in frustration. He couldn’t fall for someone, not after three days. This wasn’t a kdrama, and love certainly never worked that way.

But it wasn’t exactly just three days, his brain whispered. If he had to admit it to himself, Hyunjin was always aware of your presence. I mean, how could he not, when you were the only one that wasn’t all over the floor to please him and also seemed to have a great disliking for him. Maybe he was slightly masochistic, but he had found your silent coldness towards him rather alluring.

No. It couldn’t happen. Even if Hyunjin did admit he was ever so slightly attracted to you, it would never happen. He would never let it happen. You were too good, too genuine, too true to your own feelings for him to taint with his bad habits and dark thoughts.

“Here,” Hyunjin looked up, startled as you handed him back the phone, so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice you walk back to the kitchen. You stared at him suspiciously, honestly a little worried about how jumpy he looked.

Hyunjin took the phone silently, and you maneuvered past him to grab your cup of orange juice, “Did you get to talk to your mom?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you didn’t smile, but your face glowed with more happiness than it had the last couple days.

Swallowing your pride (it seems that Hyunjin had a knack of making you say things you don’t normally want to say), you cleared your throat and tugged on Hyunjin’s sleeve, since he was too spaced out to notice that you wanted to say something.

“Um, Hyunjin,” the boy flinched slightly as his head whipped to look at you. God, you didn’t even want to think about how flushed your face was, “Thank you for today.”

Hyunjin looked dazed for a long moment, and you were beginning to worry that you had accidentally broken him. Then he smiled, not that smirk that was so infamous in school, but that smile that made him so soft, genuine, and totally didn’t send your heart spiraling in the most disgusting way.

“Can I ask you a question?” You gestured for Hyunjin, who looked rather hesitant, to continue.

“Do you hate me?”

If he had asked you this question the day before, you would’ve answered without hesitation that yes, you hated everything that was associated or directly related to Hwang Hyunjin so get out of my face. But now, you weren’t sure what the answer was.

“I did,” you said carefully, watching as Hyunjin’s face fell slightly.

“Why? I thought it was because I’m Stray Kid, but then I see you with Jeongin and Jisung. What is so wrong with me that makes you despise me over others?” his voice broke ever so slightly at the end, and behind his bruised knuckles, playboy persona, and leather jackets, you could see his desperate need for validation.

Your heart hammered as you gripped his sleeve, “It-it doesn’t really have much to do with you,” and to be completely honest with yourself, it really didn’t, “It’s true that I’m not a fan of you hooking up with random girls and just throwing them away after you’re done with them, and I don’t particularly appreciate you breaking the rules all the time since I’m your class president and technically responsible for all your shi–actions,” you hastily corrected yourself.

“But the reason I hated you wasn’t because of any of those things, at least I don’t think so,” you continued, softer than before as if by doing so, Hyunjin would stop pressing you for answers, “It was something a lot more personal than about you.”

“Personal?” Hyunjin grabbed your hand that was still on his sleeve almost unconsciously, holding it gently. His eyes were wide as he asked urgently, “Have I ever done something to you–,”

“No, no!” you squeezed your eyes shut, “I promise, it really doesn’t have anything to do with you and how you treat me, so could you please drop it?”

“No,” he said stubbornly, holding your hand tighter, “I need to know what I did wrong to make you hate me–,”

You were beginning to grow frustrated, not really wanting to have a conversation like this while you were still tired and drained, “I told you, it’s not you. It’s my own problem, so don’t worry about it, okay?”

The boy asked snappishly, “How exactly am I not supposed to worry about it? Could you please cut the bullshit and just tell me what the fuck I’ve done–“

“Hyunjin!” for the first time that night, you raised your voice, and Hyunjin only then realized how shaken up you were. Your lip trembled like you were about to cry (that’s not possible, because you’re so strong, so unbreakable) as you tried to free your hand from his grip.

Hyunjin let go immediately, a flash of guilt on his face as you shrunk away from him a little, “Hyunjin,” you repeated, your tone softer and more tired than before, “please don’t push the topic anymore. I-it’s not like I’m trying to hide anything or be all secretive about it, I just—“ your voice choked up, “I don’t think I can bear saying it out loud. Maybe someday soon, I’ll have the courage to admit it to you, but not today. I just can’t, okay?”

There was something so vulnerable about the way you were speaking, Hyunjin felt all the fight leave his body as he moved forward to reach for you, calling your name. He tried not to feel horribly disappointed when you backed away even further, stretching your arms in front of you as if trying to maintain the distance between the two of you.

“I think I’m feeling a little drowsy, so I’ll go to sleep” you lied, and Hyunjin knew it, “Thank you for letting me stay over, Hyunjin. It really does mean a lot to me.”

As you curled under the fluffy blankets, lying on the sofa next to Jisung (that boy could sleep through the apocalypse if no one woke him up), you couldn’t help but feel that you and Hyunjin always seemed to go one step forward and then two steps backwards. You wanted to be honest with him, you really did. You wanted to admit that you may have misjudged him, that he had been nothing but kind to you for the day, and had never actually done anything to hurt you.

It was too bad that your feelings regarding Hwang Hyunjin were so tangled in envy, jealousy, admiration and guilt that you couldn’t imagine yourself admitting any of those things to him in person.

Maybe your relationship with him was just destined to fall apart.

vii.

After all the chaos of the night before, it felt odd to return back to school like nothing had happened. You walked to school on your own, sneaking out of Hyunjin’s apartment as the rest of the boys were sleeping. You went about your day doing the same thing as before, crossing paths with Hyunjin or any of the Stray Kid members without batting an eyelash or giving any indication that you knew them at all. Hyunjin did the same, back to his leather jackets and battle hardened smirks.

That’s why, when you walked into the detention room with a new bag full of papers, you weren’t sure which Hyunjin to expect, or if Hyunjin would even show up at all.

To your surprise, he was there before you were, his eyes closed as he dozed off on his arm. All his previous sharpness had disappeared as he slept, a gentle expression gracing his face. Without his piercing gaze always staring at you like he was reading your soul, you could finally take a moment and admire just how seriously handsome Hwang Hyunjin was.

You gently shifted his arms to place him in a more comfortable position, and as you stared at his peaceful face, you couldn’t help but move to brush a stray hair out of his face. Even though he was asleep, your face flushed at how soft his locks were, and you had a festering urge to run your hands through his hair–

“Enjoying the view?”

Letting out a silent scream, you flung yourself backwards, about to fall into the desk behind you as Hyunjin’s inhuman reflexes grabbed your wrist and pulled you forward. You caught yourself on the edge of his desk, but his face was still only inches from yours. Internally combusting, you pulled yourself upright, face hot and flushed.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Hyunjin didn’t sound ‘sorry’ at all, but his voice held a tone of concern, “It would’ve been a pretty bad fall if you hit your side on the desk over there.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, moving to go back to your own desk, only to find Hyunjin still holding onto your wrist, absentmindedly rubbing circles on the back of your hand. Clearing your throat, you looked at your hand pointedly, raising your eyebrows.

Hyunjin only then seemed to notice that he was still playing with your hands, realizing with a jolt. He held it for a second longer, as if studying how your hands fit strangely perfect together, before letting go with an infuriating smirk.

Telling your heart to calm the fuck down, you went back to your seat and pulled out the new load of work given to you by the teachers. As usual, it was impossible for Hyunjin to sit still any longer than thirty seconds, and before you knew it, he was bothering you again.

Slinking over to your desk, he peered over your shoulder to see what you were doing, and you had long given up telling him to stay put.

“Are you,” Hyunjin’s eyes glanced through the red markings you were making on a person’s math test, “grading papers?”

“You’ve bothered me for two days about being a teacher’s pet and doing all their work, but you didn’t know I was grading papers,” you said, deadpanned.

The boy grew rather defensive, “I didn’t actually look at what you were doing,” when you didn’t even bother answering him (only giving him an exaggerated eye roll), he wondered aloud, “Why would you willingly grade papers, though?”

“It’s my part time job,” you said distractedly, focus still on the paper in front of you, “The teachers pay me to do their grading for them.”

“How much do they pay you?”

You shrugged, “It’s not much, but it’s still money,” you finished rather bitterly, swallowing down the green monster of envy rising in your throat.

“And you have to do,” Hyunjin stared at the large pile of stapled packets on your desk, “all of this?’

“Yeah, and the ones in that bag,” you kicked your foot out to bring his attention to a tote bag stuffed to the brim with even more papers.

Hyunjin gave a long look at the mountains of work surrounding you, and with a resigned sigh, he bent down to pull out a large stack of paper from your bag.

“Woah, woah,” with a reflex Hyunjin didn’t know you had, your foot shot out and pressed against his arm, “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he pushed your foot away easily, and walked away with a stack of papers, “I’m gonna grade some of these.”

You must’ve been murdered last night because there was absolutely no way Hyunjin just said that he was going to grade papers, “You’re going to grade papers? Who are you and what have you done to Hyunjin?”

The boy snatched up a random red pen from the teacher’s desk and turned to give you a defensive glare, “You don’t sound convinced.”

“Hate to break it to you, I’ve seen and graded enough of your tests that my doubts are highly warranted.”

“Relax, Class Prez,” Hyunjin drawled, “I know what I’m doing.”

You decided there was no point in arguing with him any longer (the paper’s won’t grade themselves after all), so you relented doubtfully, “I want to read through your work after the first one you grade, though,” Hyunjin didn’t answer, already working on looking through the first test.

Maybe giving Hyunjin something concrete to do wasn’t the worst idea ever, because for the first time since you’ve been forced to monitor his detentions, you finally got some peace and quiet to focus only on your work. You actually forgot Hyunjin was in the room for a good ten minutes, until you realized that he was grading papers unsupervised and that was not okay.

Glancing over to Hyunjin, you grew anxious when you saw that he was on the third packet. Stalking to his desk, you snatched one from his growing pile of finished tests. Your brain ran on overdrive trying to think of any other task you could give him and—huh. What do you know. Hyunjin’s grading was actually good.

You scanned through the test, and as far as you could see, all his markings were correct. The comments were concise and easy to understand. If you had to admit, his were almost as good as yours, and certainly better than your teacher’s.

“Close your mouth, baby,” Hyunjin sounded unbearably smug, but in some way, he did deserve it. Without another word, you put the test back in his pile and went back to your work.

Still, you couldn’t stop thinking about what you just saw. Hyunjin was smart, really smart. No one would be able to write comments like he did unless they fully understood the material and knew it inside and out. So Hyunjin was insanely capable, but you didn’t get it. Why has he never shown it? You’ve graded more than a dozen of his exams, and he had never gotten higher than a passing grade.

What was he pretending for?

The two of you worked in relative silence, and before you knew it, the clock struck five. Putting your pen down, you took a deep, incredulous breath. You finished. With Hyunjin’s help, you actually finished all the work you had to grade. Maybe today, you could finally get some sleep at a human hour and even get some time to relax.

“You’re quite a bookworm actually,” too elated to care, you found yourself teasing Hyunjin, who scowled, a light blush on his cheeks.

“Am not,” he grumbled, and you almost giggled at how utterly adorable he was when he pouts.

“Admit it,” you grinned, “It’s too late to take it back now.”

Hyunjin opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, a loud vibration interrupted the two of you. Patting his pant pocket, he pulled out his phone, a curious expression on his face that completely died the moment he read the caller ID. It was quite scary actually, the way all emotion drained from his face, like a demon had just sucked the life out of him.

He glanced at you, “Do you mind if I—“ he gestured to the phone, and you nodded immediately, a little concerned with what was going on.

Knowing that it wasn’t your place to eavesdrop, you decided to step out of the room to give Hyunjin some privacy. You were out the door and about to head to the girl’s bathroom when you heard it.

“I-I’m sorry, mother. I’ll be better.”

It was Hyunjin, you were sure, but it didn’t sound like him at all. His voice sounded choked up and filled with so much pain that you froze in your steps. You had never heard him cracking like this, and you couldn’t help but listen outside the classroom, standing just right of the door.

Luckily (or unluckily) for you, the phone was rather loud, and as you inched closer, you could make out most of what the person on the other end was saying.

“I’m here trying to enjoy my vacation, finally some alone time with your father,” the voice on the phone wasn’t shouting, but it was cold indifference, and you couldn’t help but feel on edge just from listening, “And you just had to ruin it.”

Hyunjin didn’t—couldn’t—answer, only silently waiting for more of his mother’s scathing remarks, “He’s furious, you know. I hope you’re ready for what you’ll be getting once we come back.”

“Do you know how embarrassing it is, having a son like you?” His mother continued, before sighing, “A spoiled, useless idiot like you being the successor of the Hwang family? Hah! Don’t make me laugh. Yeji is younger than you, and she’s already done enough to make you worthless. This is why I always wish you never existed—“

You’ve heard enough. Vision red, you stalked back into the room, walking to Hyunjin, who’s eyes were trembling both from fear and guilt. Without an explanation, you snatched the phone away from the boy, pressing it to your own ears.

“Mrs. Hwang, am I correct in assuming?” you asked pleasantly.

There was a moment of silence before she barked harshly, “Who is this?”

“I’m the Class President of Hyunjin’s Class,” you said, your voice lilting up as if you were bursting with happiness, “I caught the tail end of your conversation with your son, and I wanted to let you know just how good of a job he’s doing!”

Hyunjin stared at you like you had grown two heads, and his mother was probably thinking the same, “What do you mean?”

You giggled, “Well, I understand that you’re on vacation, and seeing that you haven’t been present for many of the parent-teacher conferences these last couple years, I figured that your information might be a little out of date regarding how Hyunjin’s doing. Actually, we were just grading the last of the math tests for this month!”

“Wasn’t he in detention?” Hyunjin’s mother really had manners poorer than the drunk guys you see walking home, her tone of voice impatient and snappish as if the world should naturally obey her every whim.

“Detention?” you feigned shock, “Not at all! Being given the responsibility to handle the tests of the entire student body is a huge privilege, and I couldn’t have imagined anyone else helping me.”

You took the woman’s silence as an opportunity to end the call, “Actually, I think we have some more papers to look over. I hate to remind you, but calling a student during school hours is prohibited unless it’s an absolute emergency. If Ms. Jeon caught us calling, she’d blow a fuse,” you laughed, “Guess we’d better get back to work. It was great talking to you, Mrs. Hwang!”

Pressing the red button before she had a chance to reply, you breathed a sigh of relief as you put the phone down. Remembering why you had grown so angry that you blatantly lied about a person’s school record, you turned to face Hyunjin, unsure of his reaction.

It wasn’t entirely obvious at first glance, but it was clear to you that Hyunjin was not okay. He stared at the wall without truly looking, his normally defiant posture now sagging. You felt him flinch when you brushed your hand over his.

“Hey,” you prodded as gently as you could, “Let’s go grab a snack at the convenience store,” Hyunjin nodded, allowing you to lead him out of the classroom.

It was rather a blessing that the school wasn’t too crowded, and no one was around when the two of you walked out of the building. Rumors were the last thing you or Hyunjin needed right now. Because of this, you decided to head to the confidence store farther away from the school, near a small children’s park.

This whole time as you walked, Hyunjin didn’t speak once, only following you silently. It was then that you realized how comforting Hyunjin’s nonstop bothering had become to you. Still, he never pulled his hand away from yours, holding it like a precious lifeline that he might crush if he squeezed too hard.

You made it to a park bench, and it almost scared you how obedient he was, sitting down without a snarky remark or even a hint of a smirk.

“Wait here,” you said, pulling your wallet out of your backpack, “I’ll grab something for us.”

When you returned, half expecting Hyunjin to have left already, he was still sitting on the bench, his body hunched over with his head resting on his hands. He looked so defeated, and you wondered to yourself how taking the richest boy in school to a dirt cheap convenience store was going to make things any better.

“Here,” you said awkwardly, watching as Hyunjin slowly lifted his head up, his long black hair masking parts of his face. Still, you could see the genuine surprise on his face as he took your offering with a soft spoken thank you.

The two of you ate in absolute silence, Hyunjin probably because he just had what could be the worst phone call in history, and you because...well, you just had no idea what the word socializing meant.

“How did you know I like sushi?” Hyunjin’s voice startled you, and you took a minute to process his words.

You laughed, trying to hide the blush on your face, “Whenever you eat lunch, it’s always some sort of onigiri or masubi, so I just assumed it was your favorite.”

“Were you watching me?” he asked curiously, and wow your face must’ve been bright red at this point.

“Not you specifically,” you said hastily, “Your group tends to attract a lot of attention, in case you didn’t know.”

(That was a lie, since you didn’t know what any other member eats for lunch.)

Hyunjin seemed to realize that, “I see,” he answered simply, but you could see the corner of a smile creeping back onto his face.

Knowing that there might not be a better time, you started, “Um, so about what I said on the phone...I actually have access to the school system, perks of being a teacher’s pet,” you chuckled, expecting Hyunjin to catch on to your use of the nickname he gave you, but it seemed to fly over his head, “If your mom ever gets on your case like that again, I could alter the records and take out your detention. “

Hyunjin gaped at you, wide-eyed and you couldn’t miss the light blush on his cheeks, “You would—you’d do that?”

Instinctively, you scowled, not used to being looked at with such admiration especially not from this boy, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not encouraging you to get more detentions,” you warned before softening, “But yeah, so if your parents hound you about it, just let me know.”

For the first time, Hyunjin was literally stunned into silence. The staring grew too much for you, and eventually you looked down at your legs, avoiding his eyes.

“You must think I’m insane,” Hyunjin chuckled, and you hated the bitter, self hatred woven into every syllable, “A boy who loves getting in trouble can’t even stand one lecture from his mom.”

“Hyunjin, answer me honestly,” you began, forgetting about your delicious ice cream bar for a moment, “Do you actually enjoy getting in trouble?”

“Or,” you closed your eyes, already predicting how harsh this might sound, “Do you just want attention?”

The boy next to you didn’t answer. He didn’t even flinch, and you were beginning to worry that he had grown so offended by your statement that he’d shut you out completely. As you peeked from the corner of your eye, what you would’ve never expected was to see Hyunjin’s beautiful eyes shimmering as tears silently fell down his face.

Hyunjin was crying.

Hyunjin was crying oh fuck—

“Shit—crap, I’m sorry,” your hands waved around wildly before fumbling for your backpack, frantically searching for some tissues. Pulling out some new ones, you turned back to hand them to Hyunjin, but seeing that he was in no shape to take them from you, you resorted to helping him. As gently as you could, you wiped the tears from his face, occasionally using your thumb to brush a stray tear away.

“Y/N,” Hyunjin choked, and the way he called your name was so damn heartbreaking that you immediately stopped what you were doing, your hands still gently cupping his face.

In his eyes, you could see such a mural of emotions, so many layers that were hidden away and buried by shame. For the first time, you could finally see the Hyunjin that he had tried so hard to pretend didn’t exist. And for the first time, you didn’t see the rich prince you would never be able to relate to, but you saw a boy who had lived a life so lonely that even his money wasn’t enough to satiate the hole in his heart.

“Oh, Hyunjin,” you said sadly, brushing his wet bangs out of his face, “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I’ll be here.”

Hyunjin’s shoulders trembled, and without warning, he buried his face into your shoulder, and wept. The cries were gut wrenching, filled with so much pain, and you silently sent a “fuck you” towards the people that had broken Hyunjin to this point. Your hands ran through his damp, sweaty hair comfortingly, and Hyunjin responded by burying his head farther into the crook of your neck.

“I hate it,” he sobbed, “I hate waking up every day knowing that they’d rather go on five consecutive business trips than cross paths with me at home. I hate knowing that they fly to the United States to go visit Yeji on a whim, but they would never return to their home country if it means interacting with me.”

“But the worst thing,” Hyunjin choked, and you shushed him gently, telling him to breathe, “the worst thing is that I still want them to be here. I still want them to know that I exist. I passed all the college entrance exams in the beginning of high school to show that I was capable. I won dance competitions throughout the country to show that I was passionate about things that I loved. All I ever got was text to tell me to move my competition earnings to their bank account.”

You stayed silent, knowing that nothing you could say would have any meaning, not when you still didn’t completely understand the whole dynamics of his family. You did have enough to deduce that his parents were assholes, though.

“Then, I stopped searching for their approval, and began just trying to get their attention,” he hiccuped, his tone turning from sad to bitter, “I started throwing outrageous parties at their place. I started smoking visibly around people I knew would report back to them. I started getting involved with the wrong crowd, ending up being beat up almost every weekend,” he smiled, “It was a miracle that I found Chan there one day, and he saved me before I could get myself killed.”

“Hyunjin,” you began fiercely, shifting so you could stare him straight in the eyes, “No one, not even your parents, deserve you to change who you are just to get them to notice you. If you care about them more than they care about you, people like that aren’t worth it.”

The boy sounded laughed softly, “Huh, that’s almost exactly what Chan told me.”

“Because it’s the truth, idiot.”

Hyunjin hummed distractedly, and as he looked off into the distance, tears pooled in his eyes again, “I know it’s true. But it still hurts,” he said sadly, and you pulled him into your embrace again, comforting him quietly.

viii.

As he cried into your shoulder, his tears staining your jacket (which he silently noted was worn out and thin, too thin for the winter weather), Hyunjin realized that he was going to have to break his former promise.

You, who had nothing, was willing to swallow your bitterness to comfort him, a spoiled brat who had everything. (He always caught onto the jealousy you threw in his direction; maybe he was just too ashamed to admit it.) You, who would skip lunch for days in a row (he knew you did that, he saw you slink away from the cafeteria many times with a forlorn look at the lunch line), spent the money to buy him sushi because you remembered that he liked it. And you, the girl whose responsibilities were to enforce school rules, were willing to break into the school system just so he didn’t have to face another lecture from his parents.

It’s no use, Hyunjin thought, as he leaned in closer and wrapped his arms around you. I can’t just fall out of love with her at this point.

He’s already in too deep to get out now.

~~~

a/n: oh btw, there is a part 2 of this that im writing if anyone wants to read it lol

#hwang hyunjin #stray kids #stray kids imagines #hwang hyunjin imagine #hwang hyunjin scenarios #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #my fics

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an-angels-blessing · 3 years

Text

Perfect

Song🐣🎵- Quite Miss Home

Artist🤸‍♂️🎤- James Arthur

Warnings😳⛔- Fluff

Prompt🥺🔥- N/A

Shota and Y/N have been married since they were 18. Shota proposed when they were in their second year at UA, though they had been together since their third year of middle school. If you ask anyone they went to UA with, they would tell you Shota and Y/N were perfect for each other. Shota's quirk to cancel other quirks was parallel to Y/N's quirk to enhance the quirk of anyone they wanted. If you ever saw Shota or Y/N in the hallway, the other wasn't far to follow along with Hizashi and Shirakumo. The four were inseparable and Y/N was the glue. Shota and Y/N were both quiet but they were for different reasons. Shota was quiet because he didn't like people, but Y/N... they were quiet because they were shy. So their relationship included a lot of cuddle time and deep conversations when they were alone.

No one understands Shota like Y/N and vise versa for them. The couple graduated at 18, and married later that summer. From that moment they lived their life together with a kitten, Oboro. The couple opted to move to America where Y/N started her own agency as the number 5 hero in America. Her quirk made her one of the top heros to work with, so her hands were never empty. Though they would rather work with the police force as well as the fire department over the heros.

Everything was perfect, until Aizawa and Y/N received an offer to work at their alma mater. They both accepted, All Might was in his prime and Y/N's job listing were lessening. So the agency was put in the hands of their most trusted sidekick. The golden trio was back and better than ever. Perfect wasn't put on hold, it was simply moved... back to the halls where it started.

For 5 years both Aizawa's worked side by side, Shota as the 1-A homeroom teacher and Y/N as the 1-B home room teacher. Though when it came to performance the classes were no different. 1-A and 1-B worked side by side, they were equal in terms of power and it even sparked a light competition between the couple. Who would have a top student in the sports festival, and every year... Y/N won. There was nothing to complain about, until All Might came back to Japan. The crime rate not only increased but the amount of heroes decreased while All Might was active so LA was getting hit hard. The couple were paying close attention to the news, both locally and in the States as well because that was their home for years. It wasn't until Y/N received a phone call, from their sidekick, that they knew it was worse than the news was making it seem.

"Level up, we need you back. I know you're in Japan and we wouldn't ask unless it was urgent but Regnearo is back. They are getting away with petty thefts because we don't have the manpower. We need you boss." Sebastian wasn't one to give up so Y/N when they received a phone call at 2 in the morning they knew everything wasn't okay. Sebastian was stressed and it was obvious from the strain in his voice. Y/N had given up on sleeping and their new goal was calming Sebastian down. So they got out of bed and headed towards the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. For the next hour the two talked about the current state of America. When they finally hung up, Y/N sat at their glass dining room table. Anxiously tapping their foot, thinking about what to do. They sat for another hour before Shota stumbled through the door. "Shit! Why are you in here?" Shota wasn't expecting to find his spouse sitting in the dark, so it scared him when he turned on the light, but Y/N did answer... they didn't even turn to look at him. "Baby? Whats wrong?" Instead of touching his spouse, Shota took a seat across from Y/N like they did whenever the other needed to talk. The two sat there in silence until Y/N looked up. Tears streaming down their cheeks and eyes blood shot. "Sebastian called me." Shota simply listened as Y/N spoke, their voice cracking unintentionally. "I need to go back." That was the calmest thing Y/N said since Shota walked through the door. Any other person would lash out and question how Y/N could ask to change their entire life... but Shota knew Y/N better than he knew himself. They wouldn't have decided this if it wasn't important. "Then we'll tell Nezu tomorrow and book a flight. We can pack now." Shota was always understanding and compromised with Y/N, but they weren't asking for compromise. So they shook their head lightly, "No Shota. I'm leaving. I already booked the flight. Stay here, those students need you." This shocked Shota, everything they have ever done has been together... middle school, high school, marriage, America, and now teaching. Y/N was going to do this alone, and that killed him, but he knew that if he asked... Y/N would stay. "What about your class?" Shota didn't know how long Y/N had been up, but he knew that they had already thought threw everything before telling him. "Hopefully I won't be gone for long, but I want you to teach them. I'll change their schedules and Hizashi is always there if you need help." The tears had stopped and been replaced with a small smile on their face. A single tear slipped from Shota's eyes as his linked with his spouse. The rest of the day the couple talked and packed before Y/N borded her flight to America. For two years the Aizawa's figured out a pattern. Every day Y/N would call Aizawa before he went to sleep, and vise versa. They would talk about their day until the other fell asleep where they would stay on the phone until the other awoke. Though this worked, they missed each other dearly. Y/N heard about the new tryouts, specifically Izuku Midoriya, and how different they were. To be frank, they wanted to be a teacher again, and America was back on track so there was nothing stopping them. So they booked a flight back for a month from now. It would be the day before the sports festival.

Everything was going as planned, and the moments Y/N would receive a call where Shota was covered in bandages they wanted to rush home. But everytime, Hizashi decided against it... everything had been set and there was only two weeks left. Y/N received a call from Shota while in the airport, they could hear his class in the background. "Hey, um... Present Mic was a little too loud and now the class wants to meet you." Shota sounded tired, not mentally but physically from his students despite the fact it was still only 8AM. Y/N could help but chuckle, "Do they know?" Everyone knew Hizashi Yamada had a loud mouth, but he could keep somethings to himself so when he said no Y/N wasn't surprised. "Ok, put me on speaker." Shota did exactly that as his class quieted down. "Hi 1-A." Their voice was cheerful and full of life, completely opposite to Shota, and 1-A was loud to the point that they spoke over each other. "Hiii" "Are you and Mr. Aizawa dating?" "You sound cute" "What's your name?" "How old are you?" "Are you a hero?" "Are you a babe?" "Will you let them answer!!" Shota cut everyone off and they quickly silenced, this made Y/N laugh. "Hi. No, we aren't dating, though he is my roommate. Thank you. I'm Y/N. I'm 29. Yes. And I'm not answering that, you sound creepy." Y/N answered every question they heard with a smile though it couldn't be seen. "What is it like living with Mr. Aizawa?" Y/N thought for a moment, as a husband he was amazing, but as a roommate he could get annoying. "It's intriguing, we've been roommates since we graduated high-school. But I'm in the States right now, so I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss it." Their response was the truth, Shota was amazing. "What do you miss?" Y/N didn't have to think and neither did Shota.

The first to speak was Y/N their voice held a lot of emotions. "I'm in the kitchen while you smoke outside. You're careful not to let the smoke inside. I always tell you it's poison, but I know it helps you take the edge off the day." Shota had been smoking since they moved to America, and they hated it. It had nothing to do with the smoke, but Y/N had seen what it could do to a person. From that moment Shota promised one a day, maybe two if the work load called for it. And even in distance Shota kept his promise. Instead of smoking, the couple would visit their favorite bar, sometimes with Hizashi if he was off. "We get a drink before it's closing time. The one on high street with the blinking sign. All these memories feel poignant. I won't be there to see the snow melt away" The three had so many memories there, Shota almost forgot about that place until Y/N brought it up. The smile plastered on Shota's face scared 1-A, not because it was creepy... but because it was sincere and genuine. "Why'd you leave?" There was a moment of silence that Kaminari broke. As Y/N looked down at their plane ticket, the past year flashed through their thoughts. "I've been gone on business. I gotta make some money, I really feel the distance. And I quite miss home" America needed 'Level Up' but at this moment, they need Shota and he needs them. And maybe if Y/N asked, they might get a job, bringing perfect back to this small family. "What about you Mr. Aizawa, do you miss them?" 1-A expected him to ignore them, but he didn't. "Yeah, I miss them. I miss you telling me to leave my shoes at the door, 'cause you just swept the floor and the dirt drives you crazy." Shota chuckled slightly at the memory, 1-A's eyes were the size of saucers. Their nonchalant, monotone, stoic teacher was openly showing his emotions. Y/N was simply listening, "Yeah, I quite miss home, 'Cause it feels like poetry." The first year Y/N left moved really slow, neither could fall asleep without the other company. It was like a bad drama, it rained for a week straight as if it was a metaphor. "When the rain falls down on the window while you're in my arms and we're watching the TV." All Shota could do was simply stare at his phone, your name plastered across the screen above your wedding photo. You were always the perfect spouse, you cooked for him when he got home late from patrol, and you always made sure the house was clean if Hizashi decided to make a grand entrance uninvited. You did all of this while still working longer and harder shifts than he did, you were perfect. "I smell you cooking from the living room and then I tell you that I love your food. I know it doesn't come easy, but you know it reminds me where I'm from" 1-A erupted into a bunch of 'awws' from Shota's statement. You could tell that he was in love with Y/N, it was obvious even in the eyes of 15 and 16 year olds. But, they weren't dating, so 1-A was left to assume it was one sided. "I'm in another city, I got nobody with me. And it just really hit me that I quite miss home." Y/N said one last thing before the intercom called their flight, so they muted themselves directly after. The second year they were gone, it had just become normal, but they would both be lying if they said they were sleeping comfortably.

When Y/N muted themselves, Shota took them off speaker and pressed the phone to his ear. "I gotta go baby, I'll call you later." Shota responded with a quick 'alright' knowing he couldn't respond how he wanted to. "I love you." "I do too." With that the couple hung up, Y/N boarded their flight and within 13 hours, they were back home for good. That morning was officially the sports festival, all of UA and Japan's top heroes gathered to see who was the strongest. All the heroes were gathered in the bleachers while the students were standing in rows by class in front of the stage with Shota, Hizashi, and Nemuri. She stood in front of a mic before speaking, "Good morning Japan!! And welcome to UA's annual Sports Festival. We would normally have the person who scored the highest on the entrance exam, which would be Bakugou Katsuki from class 1-A, but this year we have a special guest." The crowd erupted in cheers, this was the day that all of Japan wait for and they were curious who the guest was. On the stage Nemuri and Hizashi had wide smiles on their faces while Shota stood with his eyes closed. When the person walked on stage, everyone in the audience knew who they were, and even the students had some idea. "Hey UA, I'm the upgrade hero Level Up. God I missed this place. Here's the truth, this tournament is to see your classmates' limits and yours as well. Take this seriously, but do not lose friends over this. And always remember, go beyond... plus ultra." Shota recognized that voice, but he thought it was impossible until he heard the hero's name. When Shota opened his eyes, there his spouse stood, in all their glory boosting the next generation of heroes as they did every year while teaching 1-B. He thought he was hallucinating, all Shota could do was stare. "It's me baby, I'm back." Y/N turned around as Nemuri went back to the mic, finally speaking to their husband. At that moment, he didn't know what to do, so he picked Y/N up and refused to let them go. The couple laid in the announcing booth, Y/N on top of Shota's chest. They were jet lagged and Shota was not complaining. His whole life was back in his arms and the Aizawas were perfect again.

Song

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#shota aizawa #song stories #fluff #James arthur #UA #Spouse reader

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hockeysweetheart · 4 years

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So This post will be about the realitonship Between Peeta And Katniss this will be a long one PART 1... Catching Fire and Mockingjay will be in another post

Peeta Mellark! Oh, no, I think. Not him. Because I recognize this name, although I have never spoken directly to its owner. Peeta Mellark.

Why him? I think. Then I try to convince myself it doesn't matter. Peeta Mellark and I are not friends. Not even neighbors. We don't speak. Our only real interaction happened years ago. He's probably forgotten it. But I haven't and I know I never will. It was during the worst time. My father had been killed in the mine accident three months earlier in the bitterest January anyone could remember. The numbness of his loss had passed, and the pain would hit me out of nowhere, doubling me over, racking my body with sobs. Where are you? I would cry out in my mind. Where have you gone? Of course, there was never any answer. The district had given us a small amount of money as compensation for his death, enough to cover one month of grieving at which time my mother would be expected to get a job. Only she didn't. She didn't do anything but sit propped up in a chair or, more often, huddled under the blankets on her bed, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. Once in a while, she'd stir, get up as if moved by some urgent purpose, only to then collapse back into stillness. No amount of pleading from Prim seemed to affect her. I was terrified. I suppose now that my mother was locked in some dark world of sadness, but at the time, all I knew was that I had lost not only a father, but a mother as well. At eleven years old, with Prim just seven, I took over as head of the family. There was no choice. I bought our food at the market and cooked it as best I could and tried to keep Prim and myself looking presentable. Because if it had become known that my mother could no longer care for us, the district would have taken us away from her and placed us in the community home. I'd grown up seeing those home kids at school. The sadness, the marks of angry hands on their faces, the hopelessness that curled their shoulders forward. I could never let that happen to Prim. Sweet, tiny Prim who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason, who brushed and plaited my mother's hair before we left for school, who still polished my father's shaving mirror each night because he'd hated the layer of coal dust that settled on everything in the Seam. The community home would crush her like a bug. So I kept our predicament a secret. But the money ran out and we were slowly starving to death. There's no other way to put it. I kept telling myself if I could only hold out until May, just May 8th, I would turn twelve and be able to sign up for the tesserae and get that precious grain and oil to feed us. Only there were still several weeks to go. We could well be dead by then. Starvation's not an uncommon fate in District 12. Who hasn't seen the victims? Older people who can't work. Children from a family with too many to feed. Those injured in the mines. Straggling through the streets. And one day, you come upon them sitting motionless against a wall or lying in the Meadow, you hear the wails from a house, and the Peacekeepers are called in to retrieve the body. Starvation is never the cause of death officially. It's always the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. But that fools no one. On the afternoon of my encounter with Peeta Mellark, the rain was falling in relentless icy sheets. I had been in town, trying to trade some threadbare old baby clothes of Prim's in the public market, but there were no takers. Although I had been to the Hob on several occasions with my father, I was too frightened to venture into that rough, gritty place alone. The rain had soaked through my father's hunting jacket, leaving me chilled to the bone. For three days, we'd had nothing but boiled water with some old dried mint leaves I'd found in the back of a cupboard. By the time the market closed, I was shaking so hard I dropped my bundle of baby clothes in a mud puddle. I didn't pick it up for fear I would keel over and be unable to regain my feet. Besides, no one wanted those clothes. I couldn't go home. Because at home was my mother with her dead eyes and my little sister, with her hollow cheeks and cracked lips. I couldn't walk into that room with the smoky fire from the damp branches I had scavenged at the edge of the woods after the coal had run out, my bands empty of any hope. I found myself stumbling along a muddy lane behind the shops that serve the wealthiest townspeople. The merchants live above their businesses, so I was essentially in their backyards. I remember the outlines of garden beds not yet planted for the spring, a goat or two in a pen, one sodden dog tied to a post, hunched defeated in the muck. All forms of stealing are forbidden in District 12. Punishable by death. But it crossed my mind that there might be something in the trash bins, and those were fair game. Perhaps a bone at the butcher's or rotted vegetables at the grocer's, something no one but my family was desperate enough to eat. Unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied. When I passed the baker's, the smell of fresh bread was so overwhelming I felt dizzy. The ovens were in the back, and a golden glow spilled out the open kitchen door. I stood mesmerized by the heat and the luscious scent until the rain interfered, running its icy fingers down my back, forcing me back to life. I lifted the lid to the baker's trash bin and found it spotlessly, heartlessly bare. Suddenly a voice was screaming at me and I looked up to see the baker's wife, telling me to move on and did I want her to call the Peacekeepers and how sick she was of having those brats from the Seam pawing through her trash. The words were ugly and I had no defense. As I carefully replaced the lid and backed away, I noticed him, a boy with blond hair peering out from behind his mother's back. I'd seen him at school. He was in my year, but I didn't know his name. He stuck with the town kids, so how would I? His mother went back into the bakery, grumbling, but he must have been watching me as I made my way behind the pen that held their pig and leaned against the far side of an old apple tree. The realization that I'd have nothing to take home had finally sunk in. My knees buckled and I slid down the tree trunk to its roots. It was too much. I was too sick and weak and tired, oh, so tired. Let them call the Peacekeepers and take us to the community home, I thought. Or better yet, let me die right here in the rain. There was a clatter in the bakery and I heard the woman screaming again and the sound of a blow, and I vaguely wondered what was going on. Feet sloshed toward me through the mud and I thought, It's her. She's coming to drive me away with a stick. But it wasn't her. It was the boy. In his arms, he carried two large loaves of bread that must have fallen into the fire because the crusts were scorched black. His mother was yelling, "Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent will buy burned bread!" He began to tear off chunks from the burned parts and toss them into the trough, and the front bakery bell rung and the mother disappeared to help a customer. The boy never even glanced my way, but I was watching him. Because of the bread, because of the red weal that stood out on his cheekbone. What had she hit him with? My parents never hit us. I couldn't even imagine it. The boy took one look back to the bakery as if checking that the coast was clear, then, his attention back on the pig, he threw a loaf of bread in my direction. The second quickly followed, and he sloshed back to the bakery, closing the kitchen door tightly behind him. I stared at the loaves in disbelief. They were fine, perfect really, except for the burned areas. Did he mean for me to have them? He must have. Because there they were at my feet. Before anyone could witness what had happened I shoved the loaves up under my shirt, wrapped the hunting jacket tightly about me, and walked swiftly away. The heat of the bread burned into my skin, but I clutched it tighter, clinging to life. By the time I reached home, the loaves had cooled somewhat, but the insides were still warm. When I dropped them on the table, Prim's hands reached to tear off a chunk, but I made her sit, forced my mother to join us at the table, and poured warm tea. I scraped off the black stuff and sliced the bread. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. It was good hearty bread, filled with raisins and nuts. I put my clothes to dry at the fire, crawled into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep. It didn't occur to me until the next morning that the boy might have burned the bread on purpose. Might have dropped the loaves into the flames, knowing it meant being punished, and then delivered them to me. But I dismissed this. It must have been an accident. Why would he have done it? He didn't even know me. Still, just throwing me the bread was an enormous kindness that would have surely resulted in a beating if discovered. I couldn't explain his actions. We ate slices of bread for breakfast and headed to school. It was as if spring had come overnight. Warm sweet air. Fluffy clouds. At school, I passed the boy in the hall, his cheek had swelled up and his eye had blackened. He was with his friends and didn't acknowledge me in any way. But as I collected Prim and started for home that afternoon, I found him staring at me from across the school yard. Our eyes met for only a second, then he turned his head away. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed, and that's when I saw it. The first dandelion of the year. A bell went off in my head. I thought of the hours spent in the woods with my father and I knew how we were going to survive. To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Peeta Mellark, and the bread that gave me hope, and the dandelion that reminded me that I was not doomed. And more than once, I have turned in the school hallway and caught his eyes trained on me, only to quickly flit away. I feel like I owe him something, and I hate owing people. Maybe if I had thanked him at some point, I'd be feeling less conflicted now. I thought about it a couple of times, but the opportunity never seemed to present itself. And now it never will. Because we're going to be thrown into an arena to fight to the death. Exactly how am I supposed to work in a thank-you in there? Somehow it just won't seem sincere if I'm trying to slit his throat.

Can I just say How much Peeta must be like Oh my god yes I am with the girl I love. But how will I tell that when we are trying to kill each other

I have misjudged him. I think of his actions since the reaping began. The friendly squeeze of my hand. His father showing up with the cookies and promising to feed Prim. did Peeta put him up to that? His tears at the station. Volunteering to wash Haymitch but then challenging him this morning when apparently the nice-guy approach had failed. And now the waving at the window, already trying to win the crowd. All of the pieces are still fitting together, but I sense he has a plan forming. He hasn't accepted his death. He is already fighting hard to stay alive. Which also means that kind Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave me the bread, is fighting hard to kill me.

"What's he saying?" I ask Peeta. For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling. And I must be, too. "I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta. He grabs my right hand in his left, and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods and gives a thumbs-up, and that's the last thing I see before we enter the city.

IS CINNA A Matchmaker and The others because shit I be dammed.

A warning bell goes off in my head. Don't be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is. But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Just you wait soon you’ll see What Peeta’s Plan will be.

Then Peeta totally covers for her... and They go talk on the rooftop about it and Peeta does...

Peeta and I walk together down the corridor to our rooms. When we get to my door, he leans against the frame, not blocking my entrance exactly but insisting I pay attention to him. "So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." He's asking for an explanation, and I'm tempted to give him one. We both know he covered for me. So here I am in his debt again. If I tell him the truth about the girl, somehow that might even things up. How can it hurt really? Even if he repeated the story, it couldn't do me much harm. It was just something I witnessed. And he lied as much as I did about Delly Cartwright. I realize I do want to talk to someone about the girl. Someone who might be able to help me figure out her story.

Peeta takes off his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I start to take a step back, but then I let him, deciding for a moment to accept both his jacket and his kindness. A friend would do that, right? "They were from here?" he asks, and he secures a button at my neck. ( UMM SURE “ friends” do that Katniss...

"It's getting chilly. We better go in," he says. Inside the dome, it's warm and bright. His tone is conversational. "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" "Yes. Do you know him?" I ask. "Not really. I hear the girls talk about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other," he says. "No, we're not related," I say. Peeta nods, unreadable. "Did he come to say good-bye to you?" "Yes," I say, observing him carefully. "So did your father. He brought me cookies." Peeta raises his eyebrows as if this is news. But after watching him lie so smoothly, I don't give this much weight. "Really? Well, he likes you and your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a houseful of boys." The idea that I might ever have been discussed, around the dinner table, at the bakery fire, just in passing in Peeta's house gives me a start. It must have been when the mother was out of the room. "He knew your mother when they were kids," says Peeta. Another surprise. But probably true. "Oh, yes. She grew up in town," I say. It seems impolite to say she never mentioned the baker except to compliment his bread. We're at my door. I give back his jacket. "See you in the morning then."

Okay Peeta I see what your doing... Seeing if anything Is going on between Katniss and Gale... I totally almost missed this.

When Haymitch has finished several platters of stew, he pushes back his plate with a sigh. He takes a flask from his pocket and takes a long pull on it and leans his elbows on the table. "So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now." "Why would you coach us separately?" I ask. "Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch. I exchange a look with Peeta. "I don't have any secret skills," he says. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels." I never thought about Peeta eating the squirrels I shot. Somehow I always pictured the baker quietly going off and frying them up for himself. Not out of greed. But because town families usually eat expensive butcher meat. Beef and chicken and horse. "You can coach us together," I tell Haymitch. Peeta nods. "All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," says Haymitch. "I can't do anything," says Peeta. "Unless you count baking bread." "Sorry, I don't. Katniss. I already know you're handy with a knife," says Haymitch. "Not really. But I can hunt," I say. "With a bow and arrow." "And you're good?" asks Haymitch. I have to think about it. I've been putting food on the table for four years. That's no small task. I'm not as good as my father was, but he'd had more practice. I've better aim than Gale, but I've had more practice. He's a genius with traps and snares. "I'm all right," I say. "She's excellent," says Peeta. "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells the butcher. She can even bring down deer." This assessment of my skills from Peeta takes me totally by surprise. First, that he ever noticed. Second, that he's talking me up. "What are you doing?" I ask him suspiciously. "What are you doing? If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself," says Peeta. I don't know why, but this rubs me the wrong way. "What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour," I snap at him. "Tell him that. That's not nothing." "Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't," he shoots back. "He can wrestle," I tell Haymitch. "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother." "What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" says Peeta in disgust. "There's always hand-to-hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" I can hear my voice rising in anger. "But you won't! You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says maybe District Twelve will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!" bursts out Peeta. "Oh, she meant you," I say with a wave of dismissal. "She said, 'She's a survivor, that one.' She is," says Peeta. That pulls me up short. Did his mother really say that about me? Did she rate me over her son? I see the pain in Peeta's eyes and know he isn't lying. Suddenly I'm behind the bakery and I can feel the chill of the rain running down my back, the hollowness in my belly. I sound eleven years old when I speak. "But only because someone helped me." Peeta's eyes flicker down to the roll in my hands, and I know he remembers that day, too. But he just shrugs. "People will help you in the arena. They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you." "No more than you," I say. Peeta rolls his eyes at Haymitch. "She has no idea. The effect she can have." He runs his fingernail along the wood grain in the table, refusing to look at me. What on earth does he mean? People help me? When we were dying of starvation, no one helped me! No one except Peeta. Once I had something to barter with, things changed. I'm a tough trader. Or am I? What effect do I have? That I'm weak and needy? Is he suggesting that I got good deals because people pitied me? I try to think if this is true. Perhaps some of the merchants were a little generous in their trades, but I always attributed that to their long-standing relationship with my father. Besides, my game is first-class. No one pitied me!

I glower at the roll sure he meant to insult me. After about a minute of this, Haymitch says, "Well, then. Well, well, well. Katniss, there's no guarantee they'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?" "I know a few basic snares," I mutter. "That may be significant in terms of food," says Haymitch. "And Peeta, she's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?" says Haymitch. Peeta and I nod. "One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute," says Haymitch. We both start to object, but Haymitch slams his hand on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training." I bite my lip and stalk back to my room, making sure Peeta can hear the door slam. I sit on the bed, hating Haymitch, hating Peeta, hating myself for mentioning that day long ago in the rain. It's such a joke! Peeta and I going along pretending to be friends! Talking up each other's strengths, insisting the other take credit for their abilities. Because, in fact, at some point, we're going to have to knock it off and accept we're bitter adversaries. Which I'd be prepared to do right now if it wasn't for Haymitch's stupid instruction that we stick together in training. It's my own fault, I guess, for telling him he didn't have to coach us separately. But that didn't mean I wanted to do everything with Peeta. Who, by the way, clearly doesn't want to be partnering up with me, either. I hear Peeta's voice in my head. She has no idea. The effect she can have. Obviously meant to demean me. Right? but a tiny part of me wonders if this was a compliment. That he meant I was appealing in some way. It's weird, how much he's noticed me. Like the attention he's paid to my hunting. And apparently, I have not been as oblivious to him as I imagined, either. The flour. The wrestling. I have kept track of the boy with the bread.

OH MY GOD someone stop me before the whole freaking book is on this

Okay I am skipping the training the Katniss shot an arrow at the gamemakers scored 11 bla bla read that in the book and to Peeta asking to train alone.

The stew's made with tender chunks of lamb and dried plums today. Perfect on the bed of wild rice. I've shoveled about halfway through the mound when I realize no one's talking. I take a big gulp of orange juice and wipe my mouth. "So, what's going on? You're coaching us on interviews today, right?" "That's right," says Haymitch. "You don't have to wait until I'm done. I can listen and cat at the same time," I say. "Well, there's been a change of plans. About our current approach," says Haymitch. "What's that?" I ask. I'm not sure what our current approach is. Trying to appear mediocre in front of the other tributes is the last bit of strategy I remember. Haymitch shrugs. "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."

Betrayal. That's the first thing I feel, which is ludicrous. For there to be betrayal, there would have had to been trust first. Between Peeta and me. And trust has not been part of the agreement. We're tributes. But the boy who risked a beating to give me bread, the one who steadied me in the chariot, who covered for me with the redheaded Avox girl, who insisted Haymitch know my hunting skills. was there some part of me that couldn't help trusting him? On the other hand, I'm relieved that we can stop the pretense of being friends. Obviously, whatever thin connection we'd foolishly formed has been severed. And high time, too. The Games begin in two days, and trust will only be a weakness. Whatever triggered Peeta's decision - and I suspect it had to do with my outperforming him in training - I should be nothing but grateful for it. Maybe he's finally accepted the fact that the sooner we openly acknowledge that we are enemies, the better.

Ha no sweety he has a bigger plan he doesn’t want you to know yet.

I'm still in a daze for the first part of Peeta's interview. He has the audience from the get-go, though; I can hear them laughing, shouting out. He plays up the baker's son thing, comparing the tributes to the breads from their districts. Then has a funny anecdote about the perils of the Capitol showers. "Tell me, do I still smell like roses?" he asks Caesar, and then there's a whole run where they take turns sniffing each other that brings down the house. I'm coming back into focus when Caesar asks him if he has a girlfriend back home. Peeta hesitates, then gives an unconvincing shake of his head. "Handsome lad like you. There must be some special girl. Come on, what's her name?" says Caesar. Peeta sighs. "Well, there is this one girl. I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping." Sounds of sympathy from the crowd. Unrequited love they can relate to. "She have another fellow?" asks Caesar. "I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta. "So, here's what you do. You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" says Caesar encouragingly. "I don't think it's going to work out. Winning. won't help in my case," says Peeta. "Why ever not?" says Caesar, mystified. Peeta blushes beet red and stammers out. "Because. because. she came here with me."

For a moment, the cameras hold on Peeta's downcast eyes as what he says sinks in. Then I can see my face, mouth half open in a mix of surprise and protest, magnified on every screen as I realize, Me! He means me! I press my lips together and stare at the floor, hoping this will conceal the emotions starting to boil up inside of me. "Oh, that is a piece of bad luck," says Caesar, and there's a real edge of pain in his voice. The crowd is murmuring in agreement, a few have even given agonized cries. "It's not good," agrees Peeta. "Well, I don't think any of us can blame you. It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady," says Caesar. "She didn't know?" Peeta shakes his head. "Not until now." I allow my eyes to flicker up to the screen long enough to see that the blush on my cheeks is unmistakable. "Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar asks the audience. The crowd screams assent. "Sadly, rules are rules, and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well, best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours." The roar of the crowd is deafening. Peeta has absolutely wiped the rest of us off the map with his declaration of love for me. When the audience finally settles down, he chokes out a quiet "Thank you" and returns to his seat. We stand for the anthem. I have to raise my head out of the required respect and cannot avoid seeing that every screen is now dominated by a shot of Peeta and me, separated by a few feet that in the viewers' heads can never be breached. Poor tragic us.

Okay How Katniss shows her love is this

After the anthem, the tributes file back into the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators. I make sure to veer into a car that does not contain Peeta. The crowd slows our entourages of stylists and mentors and chaperones, so we have only each other for company. No one speaks. My elevator stops to deposit four tributes before I am alone and then find the doors opening on the twelfth floor. Peeta has only just stepped from his car when I slam my palms into his chest. He loses his balance and crashes into an ugly urn filled with fake flowers. The urn tips and shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces. Peeta lands in the shards, and blood immediately flows from his hands. "What was that for?" he says, aghast. "You had no right! No right to go saying those things about me!" I shout at him. Now the elevators open and the whole crew is there, Effie, Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia. "What's going on?" says Effie, a note of hysteria in her voice. "Did you fall?" "After she shoved me," says Peeta as Effie and Cinna help him up. Haymitch turns on me. "Shoved him?" "This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the entire country?" I answer. "It was my idea," says Peeta, wincing as he pulls spikes of pottery from his palms. "Haymitch just helped me with it." "Yes, Haymitch is very helpful. To you!" I say. "You are a fool," Haymitch says in disgust. "Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own." "He made me look weak!" I say. "He made you look desirable! And let's face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You're all they're talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!" says Haymitch. "But we're not star-crossed lovers!" I say. Haymitch grabs my shoulders and pins me against the wall. "Who cares? It's all a big show. It's all how you're perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker. Oh, oh, oh, how the boys back home fall longingly at your feet. Which do you think will get you more sponsors?" The smell of wine on his breath makes me sick. I shove his hands off my shoulders and step away, trying to clear my head. Cinna comes over and puts his arm around me. "He's right, Katniss." I don't know what to think. "I should have been told, so I didn't look so stupid." "No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have read as real," says Portia. "She's just worried about her boyfriend," says Peeta gruffly, tossing away a bloody piece of the urn. My cheeks burn again at the thought of Gale. "I don't have a boyfriend." "Whatever," says Peeta. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it. Besides you didn't say you loved me. So what does it matter?" The words are sinking in. My anger fading. I'm torn now between thinking I've been used and thinking I've been given an edge. Haymitch is right. I survived my interview, but what was I really? A silly girl spinning in a sparkling, dress. Giggling. The only moment of any substance I hail was when I talked about Prim. Compare that with Thresh, his silent, deadly power, and I'm forgettable. Silly and sparkly and forgettable. No, not entirely forgettable, I have my eleven in training. But now Peeta has made me an object of love. Not just his. To hear him tell it I have many admirers. And if the audience really thinks we're in love. I remember how strongly they responded to his confession. Star-crossed lovers. Haymitch is right, they eat that stuff up in the Capitol. Suddenly I'm worried that I didn't react properly. "After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?" I ask. "I did," says Portia. "The way you avoided looking at the cameras, the blush." They others chime in, agreeing. "You're golden, sweetheart. You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block," says Haymitch. I'm embarrassed about my reaction. I force myself to acknowledge Peeta. "I'm sorry I shoved you." "Doesn't matter," he shrugs. "Although it's technically illegal." "Are your hands okay?" I ask. "They'll be all right," he says.

Okay I have to admit that was kinda sweet but Honey Pushing him yeah hes gonna love that.

There Nerves of the Hunger Games talk is kinda cute I will admit but Then its like wtf

My feet move soundlessly across the tiles. I'm only yard behind him when I say, "You should be getting some sleep." He starts but doesn't turn. I can see him give his head a slight shake. "I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all." I come up beside him and lean over the edge of the rail. The wide streets are full of dancing people. I squint to make out their tiny figures in more detail. "Are they in costumes?" "Who could tell?" Peeta answers. "With all the crazy clothes they wear here. Couldn't sleep, either?" "Couldn't turn my mind off," I say. "Thinking about your family?" he asks. "No," I admit a bit guiltily. "All I can do is wonder about tomorrow. Which is pointless, of course." In the light from below, I can see his face now, the awkward way he holds his bandaged hands. "I really am sorry about your hands." "It doesn't matter, Katniss," he says. "I've never been a contender in these Games anyway." "That's no way to be thinking," I say. "Why not? It's true. My best hope is to not disgrace myself and. " He hesitates. "And what?" I say. "I don't know how to say it exactly. Only. I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" he asks. I shake my head. How could he die as anyone but himself? "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not." I bite my lip feeling inferior. While I've been ruminating on the availability of trees, Peeta has been struggling with how to maintain his identity. His purity of self. "Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" I ask. "No, when the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else. I can't go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to. to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games," says Peeta. "But you're not," I say. "None of us are. That's how the Games work." "Okay, but within that framework, there's still you, there's still me," he insists. "Don't you see?" "A little. Only. no offense, but who cares, Peeta?" I say. "I do. I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" he asks angrily. He's locked those blue eyes on mine now, demanding an answer. I take a step back. "Care about what Haymitch said. About staying alive." Peeta smiles at me, sad and mocking. "Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart." It's like a slap in the face. His use of Haymitch's patronizing endearment. "Look, if you want to spend the last hours of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve." "Wouldn't surprise me if you do," says Peeta. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?"

"Count on it," I say. Then I turn and leave the roof. I spend the rest of the night slipping in and out of a doze, imagining the cutting remarks I will make to Peeta Mellark in the morning. Peeta Mellark. We will see how high and mighty he is when he's faced with life and death. He'll probably turn into one of those raging beast tributes, the kind who tries to eat someone's heart after they've killed them.

Okay The 74th Games ( shit this is long)

When suddenly I notice Peeta, he's about five tributes to my right, quite a fair distance, still I can tell he's looking at me and I think he might be shaking his head. But the sun's in my eyes, and while I'm puzzling over it the gong rings out. And I've missed it! I've missed my chance! Because those extra couple of seconds I've lost by not being ready are enough to change my mind about going in. My feet shuffle for a moment, confused at the direction my brain wants to take and then I lunge forward, scoop up the sheet of plastic and a loaf of bread. The pickings are so small and I'm so angry with Peeta for distracting me that I sprint in twenty yards to retrieve a bright orange backpack that could hold anything because I can't stand leaving with virtually nothing.

An argument breaks out until one tribute silences the others. "We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!" I almost fall out of the tree. The voice belongs to Peeta

Thank goodness, I had the foresight to belt myself in. I've rolled sideways off the fork and I'm facing the ground, held in place by the belt, one hand, and my feet straddling the pack inside my sleeping bag, braced against the trunk. There must have been some rustling when I tipped sideways, but the Careers have been too caught up in their own argument to catch it. "Go on, then, Lover Boy," says the boy from District 2. "See for yourself." I just get a glimpse of Peeta, lit by a torch, heading back to the girl by the fire. His face is swollen with bruises, there's a bloody bandage on one arm, and from the sound of his gait he's limping somewhat. I remember him shaking him his head, telling me not to go into the fight for the supplies, when all along, all along he'd planned to throw himself into the thick of things. Just the opposite of what Haymitch had mid him to do. Okay, I can stomach that. Seeing all those supplies was tempting. But this. this other thing. This teaming up with the Career wolf pack to hunt down the rest of us. No one from District 12 would think of doing such a thing! Career tributes are overly vicious, arrogant, better fed, but only because they're the Capitol's lapdogs. Universally, solidly hated by all but those from their own districts. I can imagine the things they're saying about him back home now. And Peeta had the gall to talk to me about disgrace? Obviously, the noble boy on the rooftop was playing just one more game with me. But this will be his last. I will eagerly watch the night skies for signs of his death, if I don't kill him first myself. The Career tributes are silent until he gets out of ear shot, then use hushed voices. "Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?" "Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife." Is he? That's news. What a lot of interesting things I'm learning about my friend Peeta today. "Besides, he's our best chance of finding her." It takes me a moment to register that the "her" they're referring to is me. "Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" "She might have. Seemed pretty simpleminded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke." "Wish we knew how she got that eleven." "Bet you Lover Boy knows." The sound of Peeta returning silences them. "Was she dead?" asks the boy from District 2. "No. But she is now," says Peeta. Just then, the cannon fires. "Ready to move on?" The Career pack sets off at a run just as dawn begins to break, and birdsong fills the air. I remain in my awkward position, muscles trembling with exertion for a while longer, then hoist myself back onto my branch. I need to get down, to get going, but for a moment I lie there, digesting what I've heard. Not only is Peeta with the Careers, he's helping them find me. The simpleminded girl who has to be taken seriously because of her eleven. Because she can use a bow and arrow. Which Peeta knows better than anyone. But he hasn't told them yet. Is he saving that information because he knows it's all that keeps him alive? Is he still pretending to love me for the audience? What is going on in his head?

But it's too late to run. I pull a slimy arrow from the sheath and try to position it on the bowstring but instead of one string I see three and the stench from the stings is so repulsive I can't do it. I can't do it. I can't do it. I'm helpless as the first hunter crashes through the trees, spear lifted, poised to throw. The shock on Peeta's face makes no sense to me. I wait for the blow. Instead his arm drops to his side. "What are you still doing here?" he hisses at me. I stare uncomprehendingly as a trickle of water drips off a sting under his ear. His whole body starts sparkling as if he's been dipped in dew. "Are you mad?" He's prodding me with the shaft of the spear now. "Get up! Get up!" I rise, but he's still pushing at me. What? What is going on? He shoves me away from him hard. "Run!" he screams. "Run!" Behind him, Cato slashes his way through the brush. He's sparkling wet, too, and badly stung under one eye. I catch the gleam of sunlight on his sword and do as Peeta says. Holding tightly to my bow and arrows, banging into trees that appear out of nowhere, tripping and falling as I try to keep my balance. Back past my pool and into unfamiliar woods. The world begins to bend in alarming ways. A butterfly balloons to the size of a house then shatters into a million stars. Trees transform to blood and splash down over my boots. Ants begin to crawl out of the blisters on my hands and I can't shake them free. They're climbing up my arms, my neck. Someone's screaming, a long high pitched scream that never breaks for breath. I have a vague idea it might be me. I trip and fall into a small pit lined with tiny orange bubbles that hum like the tracker jacker nest. Tucking my knees up to my chin, I wait for death. Sick and disoriented, I'm able to form only one thought: Peeta Mellark just saved my life.

The news sinks in. Two tributes can win this year. If they're from the same district. Both can live. Both of us can live. Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta's name.

I clap my hands over my mouth, but the sound has already escaped. The sky goes black and I hear a chorus of frogs begin to sing. Stupid! I tell myself. What a stupid thing to do! I wait, frozen, for the woods to come alive with assailants. Then I remember there's almost no one left. Peeta, who's been wounded, is now my ally. Whatever doubts I've had about him dissipate because if either of us took the other's life now we'd be pariahs when we returned to District 12. In fact, I know if I was watching I'd loathe any tribute who didn't immediately ally with their district partner. Besides, it just makes sense to protect each other. And in my case - being one of the star-crossed lovers from District 12 - it's an absolute requirement if I want any more help from sympathetic sponsors.

Hugging the rocks, I move slowly in the direction of the blood, searching for him. I find a few more bloodstains, one with a few threads of fabric glued to it, but no sign of life. I break down and say his name in a hushed voice. "Peeta! Peeta!" Then a mockingjay lands on a scruffy tree and begins to mimic my tones so I stop. I give up and climb back down to the stream thinking, He must have moved on. Somewhere farther down. My foot has just broken the surface of the water when I hear a voice. "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I whip around. It's come from the left, so I can't pick it up very well. And the voice was hoarse and weak. Still, it must have been Peeta. Who else in the arena would call me sweetheart? My eyes peruse the bank, but there's nothing. Just mud, the plants, the base of the rocks. "Peeta?" I whisper. "Where are you?" There's no answer. Could I just have imagined it? No, I'm certain it was real and very close at hand, too. "Peeta?" I creep along the bank. "Well, don't step on me." I jump back. His voice was right under my feet. Still there's nothing. Then his eyes open, unmistakably blue in the brown mud and green leaves. I gasp and am rewarded with a hint of white teeth as he laughs. It's the final word in camouflage. Forget chucking weights around. Peeta should have gone into his private session with the Gamemakers and painted himself into a tree. Or a boulder. Or a muddy bank full of weeds. "Close your eyes again," I order. He does, and his mouth, too, and completely disappears. Most of what I judge to be his body is actually under a layer of mud and plants. His face and arms are so artfully disguised as to be invisible. I kneel beside him. "I guess all those hours decorating cakes paid off." Peeta smiles. "Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying." "You're not going to die," I tell him firmly. "Says who?" His voice is so ragged. "Says me. We're on the same team now, you know," I tell him. His eyes open. "So, I heard. Nice of you to find what's left of me." I pull out my water bottle and give him a drink. "Did Cato cut you?" I ask. "Left leg. Up high," he answers. "Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," I say. "Lean down a minute first," he says. "Need to tell you something." I lean over and put my good ear to his lips, which tickle as he whispers. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it." I jerk my head back but end up laughing. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind." At least, he's still able to joke around. But when I start to help him to the stream, all the levity disappears. It's only two feet away, how hard can it be? Very hard when I realize he's unable to move an inch on his own. He's so weak that the best he can do is not to resist. I try to drag him, but despite the fact that I know he's doing all he can to keep quiet, sharp cries of pain escape him. The mud and plants seem to have imprisoned him and I finally have to give a gigantic tug to break him from their clutches. He's still two feet from the water, lying there, teeth gritted, tears cutting trails in the dirt on his face. "Look, Peeta, I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?" I say. "Excellent," he says. I crouch down beside him. No matter what happens, I tell myself, don't stop until he's in the water. "On three," I say. "One, two, three!" I can only manage one full roll before I have to stop because of the horrible sound he's making. Now he's on the edge of the stream. Maybe this is better anyway. "Okay, change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in," I tell him. Besides, if I get him in, who knows if I'd ever be able to get him out? "No more rolling?" he asks. "That's all done. Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?" I say. It's hard to know where to start. He so caked with mud and matted leaves, I can't even see his clothes. If he's wearing clothes. The thought makes me hesitate a moment, but then I plunge in. Naked bodies are no big deal in the arena, right? I've got two water bottles and Rue's water skin. I prop them against rocks in the stream so that two are always filling while I pour the third over Peeta's body. It takes a while, but I finally get rid of enough mud to find his clothes. I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife and drench him again to work it loose. He's badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the one under his ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg. Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he's lying in what's become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but the minute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he's burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boy from District 1 and find pills that reduce your temperature. My mother actually breaks down and buys these on occasion when her home remedies fail. "Swallow these," I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine. "You must be hungry." "Not really. It's funny, I haven't been hungry for days," says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That's when I know how sick he is. "Peeta, we need to get some food in you," I insist.

"It'll just come right back up," he says. The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple. "Thanks. I'm much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?" he asks.

"Soon," I promise. "I need to look at your leg first." Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him. I can see the tear Cato's sword made in the fabric over his thigh, but it in no way prepares me for what lies underneath. The deep inflamed gash oozing both blood and pus. The swelling of the leg. And worst of all, the smell of festering flesh.

I want to run away. Disappear into the woods like I did that day they brought the burn victim to our house. Go and hunt while my mother and Prim attend to what I have neither the skill nor the courage to face. But there's no one here but me. I try to capture the calm demeanor my mother assumes when handling particularly bad cases.

"Pretty awful, huh?" says Peeta. He's watching me closely.

"So-so." I shrug like it's no big deal. "You should see some of the people they bring my mother from the mines." I refrain from saying how I usually clear out of the house whenever she's treating anything worse than a cold. Come to think of it, I don't even much like to be around coughing. "First thing is to clean it well."

I've left on Peeta's undershorts because they're not in bad shape and I don't want to pull them over the swollen thigh and, all right, maybe the idea of him being naked makes me uncomfortable. That's another thing about my mother and Prim. Nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my little sister would be of far more use to Peeta than I am. I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg. what on earth can I do for that?

"Why don't we give it some air and then. " I trail off.

"And then you'll patch it up?" says Peeta. He looks almost sorry for me, as if he knows how lost I am.

"That's right," I say. "In the meantime, you eat these." I put a few dried pear halves in his hand and go back in the stream to wash the rest of his clothes. When they're flattened out and drying, I examine the contents of the first-aid kit. It's pretty basic stuff. Bandages, fever pills, medicine to calm stomachs. Nothing of the caliber I'll need to treat Peeta.

"We're going to have to experiment some," I admit. I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg. I tell myself this is a good thing and bite the inside of my cheek hard because my breakfast is threatening to make a reappearance.

"Katniss?" Peeta says. I meet his eyes, knowing my face must be some shade of green. He mouths the words. "How about that kiss?"

I burst out laughing because the whole thing is so revolting I can't stand it.

"Something wrong?" he asks a little too innocently.

"I. I'm no good at this. I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus," I say. "Euh!" I allow myself to let out a groan as I rinse away the first round of leaves and apply the second. "Euuuh!"

"How do you hunt?" he asks.

"Trust me. Killing things is much easier than this," I say. "Although for all I know, I am killing you."

"Can you speed it up a little?" he asks.

"No. Shut up and eat your pears," I say.

After three applications and what seems like a bucket of pus, the wound does look better. Now that the swelling has gone down, I can see how deep Cato's sword cut. Right down to the bone.

"What next, Dr. Everdeen?" he asks.

"Maybe I'll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?" I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton. Although, against the sterile bandage, the hem of his undershorts looks filthy and teeming with contagion. I pull out Rue's backpack. "Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your shorts."

"Oh, I don't care if you see me," says Peeta.

"You're just like the rest of my family," I say. "I care, all right?" I turn my back and look at the stream until the undershorts splash into the current. He must be feeling a bit better if he can throw.

"You know, you're kind of squeamish for such a lethal person," says Peeta as I beat the shorts clean between two rocks. "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all."

I wrinkle my nose at the memory. "What's he sent you so far?"

"Not a thing," says Peeta. Then there's a pause as it hits him. "Why, did you get something?"

"Burn medicine," I say almost sheepishly. "Oh, and some bread."

"I always knew you were his favorite," says Peeta.

"Please, he can't stand being in the same room with me," I say.

"Because you're just alike," mutters Peeta. I ignore it though because this really isn't the time for me to be insulting Haymitch, which is my first impulse.

I let Peeta doze off while his clothes dry out, but by late afternoon, I don't dare wait any longer. I gently shake his shoulder. "Peeta, we've got to go now."

"Go?" He seems confused. "Go where?"

"Away from here. Downstream maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger," I say. I help him dress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. "Come on. You can do this."

But he can't. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards downstream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he's going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area. Of course, I'd love to get him up in a tree, but that's not going to happen. It could be worse though. Some of the rocks form small cavelike structures. I set my sights on one about twenty yards above the stream. When Peeta's able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I'd like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it's only just cooling off, he's shivering.

I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he's not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit. Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave. The result is unsatisfactory. An animal might not question it, but a human would see hands had manufactured it quickly enough. I tear it down in frustration.

"Katniss," he says. I go over to him and brush the hair back from his eyes. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have found me if you could," I say. His forehead's burning up. Like the medicine's having no effect at all. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I'm scared he's going to die.

"Yes. Look, if I don't make it back - " he begins.

"Don't talk like that. I didn't drain all that pus for nothing," I say.

"I know. But just in case I don't - " he tries to continue.

"No, Peeta, I don't even want to discuss it," I say, placing my fingers on his lips to quiet him.

"But I - " he insists.

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he's right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It's the first time I've ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. "You're not going to die. I forbid it. All right?"

"All right," he whispers.

I step out in the cool evening air just as the parachute floats down from the sky. My fingers quickly undo the tie, hoping for some real medicine to treat Peeta's leg. Instead I find a pot of hot broth.

Haymitch couldn't be sending me a clearer message. One kiss equals one pot of broth. I can almost hear his snarl. "You're supposed to be in love, sweetheart. The boy's dying. Give me something I can work with!"

And he's right. If I want to keep Peeta alive, I've got to give the audience something more to care about. Star-crossed lovers desperate to get home together. Two hearts beating as one. Romance.

Never having been in love, this is going to be a real trick. I think of my parents. The way my father never failed to bring her gifts from the woods. The way my mother's face would light up at the sound of his boots at the door. The way she almost stopped living when he died.

"Peeta!" I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He's dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he'd be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He's great at this stuff.

I hold up the pot. "Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you."

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot. I let him drift off to sleep then and attend to my own needs, wolfing down a supper of groosling and roots while I watch the daily report in the sky. No new casualties. Still, Peeta and I have given the audience a fairly interesting day. Hopefully, the Gamemakers will allow us a peaceful night. I automatically look around for a good tree to nest in before I realize that's over. At least for a while. I can't very well leave Peeta unguarded on the ground. I left the scene of his last hiding place on the bank of the stream untouched - how could I conceal it? - and we're a scant fifty yards downstream. I put on my glasses, place my weapons in readiness, and settle down to keep watch. The temperature drops rapidly and soon I'm chilled to the bone. Eventually, I give in and slide into the sleeping bag with Peeta. It's toasty warm and I snuggle down gratefully until I realize it's more than warm, it's overly hot because the bag is reflecting back his fever. I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don't know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks the fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead. It seems weak, but I'm afraid to do anything too drastic. I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta, refreshing the bandage, and trying not to dwell on the fact that by teaming up with him, I've made myself far more vulnerable than when I was alone. Tethered to the ground, on guard, with a very sick person to take care of. But I knew he was injured. And still I came after him. I'm just going to have to trust that whatever instinct sent me to find him was a good one. When the sky turns rosy, I notice the sheen of sweat on Peeta's lip and discover the fever has broken. He's not back to normal, but it's come down a few degrees. Last night, when I was gathering vines, I came upon a bush of Rue's berries. I strip off the fruit and mash it up in the broth pot with cold water. Peeta's struggling to get up when I reach the cave. "I woke up and you were gone," he says. "I was worried about you." I have to laugh as I ease him back down. "You were worried about me? Have you taken a look at yourself lately?" "I thought Cato and Clove might have found you. They like to hunt at night," he says, still serious. "Clove? Which one is that?" I ask. "The girl from District Two. She's still alive, right?" he says. "Yes, there's just them and us and Thresh and Foxface," I say. "That's what I nicknamed the girl from Five. How do you feel?" "Better than yesterday. This is an enormous improvement over the mud," he says. "Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag. and you." Oh, right, the whole romance thing. I reach out to touch his cheek and he catches my hand and presses it against his lips. I remember my father doing this very thing to my mother and I wonder where Peeta picked it up. Surely not from his father and the witch. "No more kisses for you until you've eaten," I say. We get him propped up against the wall and he obediently swallows the spoonfuls of the berry mush I feed him. He refuses the groosling again, though. "You didn't sleep," Peeta says. "I'm all right," I say. But the truth is, I'm exhausted. "Sleep now. I'll keep watch. I'll wake you if anything happens," he says. I hesitate. "Katniss, you can't stay up forever." He's got a point there. I'll have to sleep eventually. And probably better to do it now when he seems relatively alert and we have daylight on our side. "All right," I say. "But just for a few hours. Then you wake me." It's too warm for the sleeping bag now. I smooth it out on the cave floor and lie down, one hand on my loaded bow in case I have to shoot at a moment's notice. Peeta sits beside me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before him, his eyes trained on the world outside. "Go to sleep," he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don't want him to stop and he doesn't. He's still stroking my hair when I fall asleep. Too long. I sleep too long. I know from the moment I open my eyes that we're into the afternoon. Peeta's right beside me, his position unchanged. I sit up, feeling somehow defensive but better rested than I've been in days. "Peeta, you were supposed to wake me after a couple of hours," I say. "For what? Nothing's going on here," he says. "Besides I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot." This, of course, brings on a scowl that makes him grin. That's when I notice how dry his lips are. I test his cheek. Hot as a coal stove. He claims he's been drinking, but the containers still feel full to me. I give him more fever pills and stand over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water. Then I tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings, which are showing improvement. I steel myself and unwrap the leg. My heart drops into my stomach. It's worse, much worse. There's no more pus in evidence, but the swelling has increased and the tight shiny skin is inflamed. Then I see the red streaks starting to crawl up his leg. Blood poisoning. Unchecked, it will kill him for sure. My chewed-up leaves and ointment won't make a dent in it. We'll need strong anti-infection drugs from the Capitol. I can't imagine the cost of such potent medicine. If Haymitch pooled every donation from every sponsor, would he have enough? I doubt it. Gifts go up in price the longer the Games continue. What buys a full meal on day one buys a cracker on day twelve. And the kind of medicine Peeta needs would have been at a premium from the beginning. "Well, there's more swelling, but the pus is gone," I say in an unsteady voice. "I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," says Peeta. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." "You're just going to have to outlast the others, Peeta. They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win," I say. "Yes, that's a good plan," he says. But I feel this is mostly for my benefit. "You have to eat. Keep your strength up. I'm going to make you soup," I say. "Don't light a fire," he says. "It's not worth it."

The sound of the trumpets startles me. I'm on my feet and at the mouth of the cave in a flash, not wanting to miss a syllable. It's my new best friend, Claudius Templesmith, and as I expected, he's inviting us to a feast. Well, we're not that hungry and I actually wave his offer away in indifference when he says, "Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately." I do need something desperately. Something to heal Peeta's leg. "Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance," says Claudius. There's nothing else, just his words hanging in the air. I jump as Peeta grips my shoulder from behind. "No," he says. "You're not risking your life for me." "Who said I was?" I say. "So, you're not going?" he asks. "Of course, I'm not going. Give me some credit. Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid," I say, helping him back to bed. "I'll let them fight it out, we'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there." "You're such a bad liar, Katniss. I don't know how you've survived this long." He begins to mimic me. "I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going. He shakes his head. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin," he says. Anger flushes my face. "All right, I am going, and you can't stop me!" "I can follow you. At least partway. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure," he says. "You won't get a hundred yards from here on that leg," I say. "Then I'll drag myself," says Peeta. "You go and I'm going, too." He's just stubborn enough and maybe just strong enough to do it. Come howling after me in the woods. Even if a tribute doesn't find him, something else might. He can't defend himself. I'd probably have to wall him up in the cave just to go myself. And who knows what the exertion will do to him? "What am I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?" I say. He must know that's not an option. That the audience would hate me. And frankly, I would hate myself, too, if I didn't even try. "I won't die. I promise. If you promise not to go," he says. We're at something of a stalemate. I know I can't argue him out of this one, so I don't try. I pretend, reluctantly, to go along. "Then you have to do what I say. Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat every bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!" I snap at him. "Agreed. Is it ready?" he asks. "Wait here," I say. The air's gone cold even though the sun's still up. I'm right about the Gamemakers messing with the temperature. I wonder if the thing someone needs desperately is a good blanket. The soup is still nice and warm in its iron pot. And actually doesn't taste too bad. Peeta eats without complaint, even scraping out the pot to show his enthusiasm. He rambles on about how delicious it is, which should be encouraging if you don't know what fever does to people. He's like listening to Haymitch before the alcohol has soaked him into incoherence. I give him another dose of fever medicine before he goes off his head completely. As I go down to the stream to wash up, all I can think is that he's going to die if I don't get to that feast. I'll keep him going for a day or two, and then the infection will reach his heart or his brain or his lungs and he'll be gone. And I'll be here all alone. Again. Waiting for the others. I'm so lost in thought that I almost miss the parachute, even though it floats right by me. Then I spring after it, yanking it from the water, tearing off the silver fabric to retrieve the vial. Haymitch has done it! He's gotten the medicine - I don't know how, persuaded some gaggle of romantic fools to sell their jewels - and I can save Peeta! It's such a tiny vial though. It must be very strong to cure someone as ill as Peeta. A ripple of doubt runs through me. I uncork the vial and take a deep sniff. My spirits fall at the sickly sweet scent. Just to be sure, I place a drop on the tip of my tongue. There's no question, it's sleep syrup. It's a common medicine in District 12. Cheap, as medicine goes, but very addictive. Almost everyone's had a dose at one time or another. We have some in a bottle at home. My mother gives it to hysterical patients to knock them out to stitch up a bad wound or quiet their minds or just to help someone in pain get through the night. It only takes a little. A vial this size could knock Peeta out for a full day, but what good is that? I'm so furious I'm about to throw Haymitch's last offering into the stream when it hits me. A full day? That's more than I need. I mash up a handful of berries so the taste won't be as noticeable and add some mint leaves for good measure. Then I head back up to the cave. "I've brought you a treat. I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream." Peeta opens his mouth for the first bite without hesitation. He swallows then frowns slightly. "They're very sweet." "Yes, they're sugar berries. My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?" I say, poking the next spoonful in his mouth. "No," he says, almost puzzled. "But they taste familiar. Sugar berries?" "Well, you can't get them in the market much, they only grow wild," I say. Another mouthful goes down. Just one more to go. "They're sweet as syrup," he says, taking the last spoonful. "Syrup." His eyes widen as he realizes the truth. I clamp my hand over his mouth and nose hard, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to make himself vomit the stuff up, but it's too late, he's already losing consciousness. Even as he fades away, I can see in his eyes what I've done is unforgivable. I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. "Who can't lie, Peeta?" I say, even though he can't hear me. It doesn't matter. The rest of Panem can.

The sound of rain drumming on the roof of our house gently pulls me toward consciousness. I fight to return to sleep though, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets, safe at home. I'm vaguely aware that my head aches. Possibly I have the flu and this is why I'm allowed to stay in bed, even though I can tell I've been asleep a long time. My mother's hand strokes my cheek and I don't push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don't trust her. Then there's a voice, the wrong voice, not my mother's, and I'm scared. "Katniss," it says. "Katniss, can you hear me?" My eyes open and the sense of security vanishes. I'm not home, not with my mother. I'm in a dim, chilly cave, my bare feet freezing despite the cover, the air tainted with the unmistakable smell of blood. The haggard, pale face of a boy slides into view, and after an initial jolt of alarm, I feel better. "Peeta." "Hey," he says. "Good to see your eyes again." "How long have I been out?" I ask. "Not sure. I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood," he says. "I think it's stopped finally, but I wouldn't sit up or anything." I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily. "You're better," I say. "Much better. Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick," he says. "By this morning, almost all the swelling in my leg was gone." He doesn't seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I'm just too beat-up and I'll hear about it later when I'm stronger. But for the moment, he's all gentleness. "Did you eat?" I ask. "I'm sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized it might have to last a while. Don't worry, I'm back on a strict diet," he says. "No, it's good. You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon," I say. "Not too soon, all right?" he says. "You just let me take care of you for a while." I don't really seem to have much choice. Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin. "Your boots and socks are still damp and the weather's not helping much," he says. There's a clap of thunder, and I see lightning electrify the sky through an opening in the rocks. Rain drips through several holes in the ceiling, but Peeta has built a sort of canopy over my head an upper body by wedging the square of plastic into the rock above me

The memory of the feast returns full-force and I feel sick. "He did. But he let me go." Then, of course, I have to tell him. About things I've kept to myself because he was too sick to ask and I wasn't ready to relive anyway. Like the explosion and my ear and Rue's dying and the boy from District 1 and the bread. All of which leads to what happened with Thresh and how he was paying off a debt of sorts. "He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?" asks Peeta in disbelief. "Yes. I don't expect you to understand it. You've always had enough. But if you'd lived in the Seam, I wouldn't have to explain," I say. "And don't try. Obviously I'm too dim to get it." "It's like the bread. How I never seem to get over owing you for that," I say. "The bread? What? From when we were kids?" he says. "I think we can let that go. I mean, you just brought me back from the dead." "But you didn't know me. We had never even spoken. Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back. I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then," I say. "Why did you, anyway?" "Why? You know why," Peeta says. I give my head a slight, painful shake. "Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing." "Haymitch?" I ask. "What's he got to do with it?" "Nothing," Peeta says. "So, Cato and Thresh, huh? I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?" But the thought only upsets me. "I think we would like Thresh. I think he'd be our friend back in District Twelve," I say. "Then let's hope Cato kills him, so we don't have to," says Peeta grimly. I don't want Cato to kill Thresh at all. I don't want anyone else to die. But this is absolutely not the kind of thing that victors go around saying in the arena. Despite my best efforts, I can feel tears starting to pool in my eyes. Peeta looks at me in concern. "What is it? Are you in a lot of pain?" I give him another answer, because it is equally true but can be taken as a brief moment of weakness instead of a terminal one. "I want to go home, Peeta," I say plaintively, like a small child. "You will. I promise," he says, and bends over to give me a kiss. "I want to go home now," I say. "Tell you what. You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it," lie says. "Okay?" "Okay," I whisper. "Wake me if you need me to keep watch." "I'm good and rested, thanks to you and Haymitch. Besides, who knows how long this will last?" he says. What does he mean? The storm? The brief respite ii brings us? The Games themselves? I don't know, but I'm ion sad and tired to ask. It's evening when Peeta wakes me again. The rain has turned to a downpour, sending streams of water through our ceiling where earlier there had been only drips. Peeta has placed the broth pot under the worst one and repositioned the plastic to deflect most of it from me. I feel a bit better, able to sit up without getting too dizzy, and I'm absolutely famished. So is Peeta. It's clear he's been waiting for me to wake up to eat and is eager to get started.

ither that or he's got very generous sponsors," says Peeta. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread." I raise my eyebrows before I remember he doesn't know about the message Haymitch sent us a couple of nights ago. One kiss equals one pot of broth. It's not the sort of thing I can blurt out, either. To say my thoughts aloud would be tipping off the audience that the romance has been fabricated to play on their sympathies and that would result in no food at all. Somehow, believably, I've got to get things back on track. Something simple to start with. I reach out and take his hand. "Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out," I say mischievously. "Yeah, about that," says Peeta, entwining his fingers in mine. "Don't try something like that again." "Or what?" I ask. "Or. or. " He can't think of anything good. "Just give me a minute." "What's the problem?" I say with a grin. "The problem is we're both still alive. Which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing," says Peeta. "I did do the right thing," I say. "No! Just don't, Katniss!" His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there's real anger in his voice. "Don't die for me. You won't be doing me any favors. All right?" I'm startled by his intensity but recognize an excellent opportunity for getting food, so I try to keep up. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta, did you ever think of that? Maybe you aren't the only one who. who worries about. what it would be like if. " I fumble. I'm not as smooth with words as Peeta. And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen back home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread. "If what, Katniss?" he says softly. I wish I could pull the shutters closed, blocking out this moment from the prying eyes of Panem. Even if it means losing food. Whatever I'm feeling, it's no one's business but mine. "That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," I say evasively, although Haymitch never said anything of the kind. In fact, he's probably cursing me out right now for dropping the ball during such an emotionally charged moment. But Peeta somehow catches it. "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself," he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we're both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don't get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it's just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta's been distracted. "I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it's bedtime anyway," he says.

I'm not really sure how to ramp up the romance. The kiss last night was nice, but working up to another will take some forethought. There are girls in the Seam, some of the merchant girls, too, who navigate these waters so easily. But I've never had much time or use for it. Anyway, just a kiss isn't enough anymore clearly because if it was we'd have gotten food last night. My instincts tell me Haymitch isn't just looking for physical affection, he wants something more personal. The sort of stuff he was trying to get me to tell about myself when we were practicing for the interview. I'm rotten at it, but Peeta's not. Maybe the best approach is to get him talking. "Peeta," I say lightly. "You said at the interview you'd had a crush on me forever. When did forever start?" "Oh, let's see. I guess the first day of school. We were five. You had on a red plaid dress and your hair. it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up," Peeta says. "Your father? Why?" I ask. "He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner,'" Peeta says. "What? You're making that up!" I exclaim. "No, true story," Peeta says. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could've had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings. even the birds stop to listen.'" "That's true. They do. I mean, they did," I say. I'm stunned and surprisingly moved, thinking of the baker telling this to Peeta. It strikes me that my own reluctance to sing, my own dismissal of music might not really be that I think it's a waste of time. It might be because it reminds me too much of my father. "So that day, in music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot right up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent," Peeta says. "Oh, please," I say, laughing. "No, it happened. And right when your song ended, I knew - just like your mother - I was a goner," Peeta says. "Then for the next eleven years, I tried to work up the nerve to talk to you." "Without success," I add. "Without success. So, in a way, my name being drawn in the reaping was a real piece of luck," says Peeta. For a moment, I'm almost foolishly happy and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we're supposed to be making up this stuff, playing at being in love not actually being in love. But Peeta's story has a ring of truth to it. That part about my father and the birds. And I did sing the first day of school, although I don't remember the song. And that red plaid dress. there was one, a hand-me-down to Prim that got washed to rags after my father's death. It would explain another thing, too. Why Peeta took a beating to give me the bread on that awful hollow day. So, if those details are true. could it all be true? "You have a. remarkable memory," I say haltingly. "I remember everything about you," says Peeta, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention." "I am now," I say. "Well, I don't have much competition here," he says. I want to draw away, to close those shutters again, but I know I can't. It's as if I can hear Haymitch whispering in my ear, "Say it! Say it!" I swallow hard and get the words out. "You don't have much competition anywhere." And this time, it's me who leans in. Our lips have just barely touched when the clunk outside makes us jump. My bow comes up, the arrow ready to fly, but there's no other sound. Peeta peers through the rocks and then gives a whoop. Before I can stop him, lie's out in the rain, then handing something in to me. A silver parachute attached to a basket. I rip it open at once and inside there's a feast - fresh rolls, goat cheese, apples, and best of all, a tureen of that incredible lamb stew on wild rice. The very dish I told Caesar Flickerman was the most impressive thing the Capitol had to offer. Peeta wriggles back inside, his face lit up like the sun. "I guess Haymitch finally got tired of watching us starve."

Every cell in my body wants me to dig into the stew and cram it, handful by handful into my mouth. But Peeta's voice stops me. "We better take it slow on that stew. Remember the first night on the train? The rich food made me sick and I wasn't even starving then." "You're right. And I could just inhale the whole thing!" I say regretfully. But I don't. We are quite sensible. We each have a roll, half an apple, and an egg-size serving of stew and rice. I make myself eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls - they even sent us silverware and plates - savoring each bite. When we finish, I stare longingly at the dish. "I want more." "Me, too. Tell you what. We wait an hour, if it stays down, then we get another serving," Peeta says. "Agreed," I say. "It's going to be a long hour." "Maybe not that long," says Peeta. "What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me. no competition. best thing that ever happened to you. " "I don't remember that last part," I say, hoping it's too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. "Oh, that's right. That's what I was thinking," he says. "Scoot over, I'm freezing." I make room for him in the sleeping bag. We lean back against the cave wall, my head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around me. I can feel Haymitch nudging me to keep up the act. "So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?" I ask him. "No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you," he says. "I'm sure that would thrill your parents, you liking a girl from the Seam," I say. "Hardly. But I couldn't care less. Anyway, if we make it back, you won't be a girl from the Seam, you'll be a girl from the Victor's Village," he says. That's right. If we win, we'll each get a house in the part of town reserved for Hunger Games' victors. Long ago, when the Games began, the Capitol had built a dozen fine houses in each district. Of course, in ours only one is occupied. Most of the others have never been lived in at all. A disturbing thought hits me. "But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!" "Ah, that'll be nice," says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. "You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games' tales." "I told you, he hates me!" I say, but I can't help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. "Only sometimes. When he's sober, I've never heard him say one negative thing about you," says Peeta. "He's never sober!" I protest. "That's right. Who am I thinking of? Oh, I know. It's Cinna who likes you. But that's mainly because you didn't try to run when he set you on fire," says Peeta. "On the other hand, Haymitch. well, if I were you, I'd avoid Haymitch completely. He hates you." "I thought you said I was his favorite," I say. "He hates me more," says Peeta. "I don't think people in general are his sort of thing." I know the audience will enjoy our having fun at Haymitch's expense. He has been around so long, he's practically an old friend to some of them. And after his head-dive off the stage at the reaping, everybody knows him. By this time, they'll have dragged him out of the control room for interviews about us. No telling what sort of lies he's made up. He's at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to be ready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he's holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of trying to keep us alive. It's funny. Haymitch and I don't get along well in person, but maybe Peeta is right about us being alike because he seems able to communicate with me by the timing of his gifts. Like how I knew I must be close to water when he withheld it and how I knew the sleep syrup just wasn't something to ease Peeta's pain and how I know now that I have to play up the romance. He hasn't made much effort to connect with Peeta really. Perhaps he thinks a bowl of broth would just be a bowl of broth to Peeta, whereas I'll see the strings attached to it. A thought hits me, and I'm amazed the question's taken so long to surface. Maybe it's because I've only recently begun to view Haymitch with a degree of curiosity. "How do you think he did it?" "Who? Did what?" Peeta asks. "Haymitch. How do you think he won the Games?" I say. Peeta considers this quite a while before he answers. Haymitch is sturdily built, but no physical wonder like Cato or Thresh. He's not particularly handsome. Not in the way that causes sponsors to rain gifts on you. And he's so surly, it's hard to imagine anyone teaming up with him. There's only one way Haymitch could have won, and Peeta says it just as I'm reaching this conclusion myself. "He outsmarted the others," says Peeta. I nod, then let the conversation drop. But secretly I'm wondering if Haymitch sobered up long enough to help Peeta and me because he thought we just might have the wits to survive. Maybe he wasn't always a drunk. Maybe, in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die. Year after year after year. I realize that if I get out of here, that will become my job. To mentor the girl from District 12. The idea is so repellent, I thrust it from my mind. About half an hour has passed before I decide I have to eat again. Peeta's too hungry himself to put up an argument. While I'm dishing up two more small servings of lamb stew and rice, we hear the anthem begin to play. Peeta presses his eyes against a crack in the rocks to watch the sky. "There won't be anything to see tonight," I say, far more interested in the stew than the sky. "Nothing's happened or we would've heard a cannon." "Katniss," Peeta says quietly. "What? Should we split another roll, too?" I ask. "Katniss," he repeats, but I find myself wanting to ignore him. "I'm going to split one. But I'll save the cheese for tomorrow," I say. I see Peeta staring at me. "What?" "Thresh is dead," says Peeta. "He can't be," I say. "They must have fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it," says Peeta. "Are you sure? I mean, it's pouring buckets out there. I don't know how you can see anything," I say. I push him away from the rocks and squint out into the dark, rainy sky. For about ten seconds, I catch a distorted glimpse of Thresh's picture and then he's gone. Just like that. I slump down against the rocks, momentarily forgetting about the task at hand. Thresh dead. I should be happy, right? One less tribute to face. And a powerful one, too. But I'm not happy. All I can think about is Thresh letting me go, letting me run because of Rue, who died with that spear in her stomach. "You all right?" asks Peeta. I give a noncommittal shrug and cup my elbows in my hands, hugging them close to my body. I have to bury the real pain because who's going to bet on a tribute who keeps sniveling over the deaths of her opponents. Rue was one thing. We were allies. She was so young. But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh's murder. The word pulls me up short. Murder! Thankfully, I didn't say it aloud. That's not going to win me any points in the arena. What I do say is, "It's just. if we didn't win. I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. And because of Rue." "Yeah, I know," says Peeta. "But this means we're one step closer to District Twelve." He nudges a plate of foot into my hands. "Eat. It's still warm." I take a bite of the stew to show I don't really care, but it's like glue in my mouth and takes a lot of effort to swallow. "It also means Cato will be back hunting us." "And he's got supplies again," says Peeta. "He'll be wounded, I bet," I say. "What makes you say that?" Peeta asks. "Because Thresh would have never gone down without a fight. He's so strong, I mean, he was. And they were in his territory," I say. "Good," says Peeta. "The more wounded Cato is the better. I wonder how Foxface is making out." "Oh, she's fine," I say peevishly. I'm still angry she thought of hiding in the Cornucopia and I didn't. "Probably be easier to catch Cato than her." "Maybe they'll catch each other and we can just go home," says Peeta. "But we better be extra careful about the watches. I dozed off a few times." "Me, too," I admit. "But not tonight." We finish our food in silence and then Peeta offers to take the first watch. I burrow down in the sleeping bag next to him, pulling my hood up over my face to hide it from the cameras. I just need a few moments of privacy where I can let any emotion cross my face without being seen. Under the hood, I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue's, if I win. Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. When Peeta wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He's holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. "Don't be mad," he says. "I had to eat again. Here's your half." "Oh, good," I say, immediately taking a huge bite. The strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind Prim makes, the apples are sweet and crunchy. "Mm." "We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," he says. "Bet that's expensive," I say. "Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale," says Peeta, pulling the sleeping bag up around him. In less than a minute, he's snoring. Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it's true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there's something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted. One thing about us, since I bring our food home on a daily basis, most of it is so fresh you have to make sure it isn't going to make a run for it. Somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually but all at once. The downpour ends and there's only the residual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now overflowing stream below us. A full, beautiful moon emerges, and even without the glasses I can see outside. I can't decide if the moon is real or merely a projection of the Gamemakers. I know it was full shortly before I left home. Gale and I watched it rise as we hunted into the late hours. How long have I been gone? I'm guessing it's been about two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of preparation in the Capitol. Maybe the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, I badly want it to be my moon, the same one I see from the woods around District 12. That would give me something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where the authenticity of everything is to be doubted. Four of us left.

For the first time, I allow myself to truly think about the possibility that I might make it home. To fame. To wealth. To my own house in the Victor's Village. My mother and Prim would live there with me. No more fear of hunger. A new kind of freedom. But then. what? What would my life be like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I'm not really sure who I am, what my identity is. The idea scares me some. I think of Haymitch, with all his money. What did his life become? He lives alone, no wife or children, most of his waking hours drunk. I don't want to end up like that.

"But you won't be alone," I whisper to myself. I have my mother and Prim. Well, for the time being. And then. I don't want to think about then, when Prim has grown up, my mother passed away. I know I'll never marry, never risk bringing a child into the world. Because if there's one thing being a victor doesn't guarantee, it's your children's safety. My kids' names would go right into the reaping balls with everyone else's. And I swear I'll never let that happen.

The sun eventually rises, its light slipping through the cracks and illuminating Peeta's face. Who will he transform into if we make it home? This perplexing, good-natured boy who can spin out lies so convincingly the whole of Panem believes him to be hopelessly in love with me, and I'll admit it, there are moments when he makes me believe it myself? At least, we'll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we've saved each other's lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. Anything beyond that though. and I feel Gale's gray eyes watching me watching Peeta, all the way from District 12.

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

"We're wasting hunting time," I say when I finally break away.

"I wouldn't call it wasting," he says giving a big stretch as he sits up. "So do we hunt on empty stomachs to give us an edge?"

"Not us," I say. "We stuff ourselves to give us staying power."

"Count me in," Peeta says. But I can see he's surprised when I divide the rest of the stew and rice and hand a heaping plate to him. "All this?"

"We'll earn it back today," I say, and we both plow into our plates. Even cold, it's one of the best things I've ever tasted. I abandon my fork and scrape up the last dabs of gravy with my finger. "I can feel Effie Trinket shuddering at my manners."

"Hey, Effie, watch this!" says Peeta. He tosses his fork over his shoulder and literally licks his plate clean with his tongue making loud, satisfied sounds. Then he blows a kiss out to her in general and calls, "We miss you, Effie!"

I cover his mouth with my hand, but I'm laughing. "Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave."

He grabs my hand away. "What do I care? I've got you to protect me now," says Peeta, pulling me to him.

"Come on," I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss.

We finish our food in silence and then Peeta offers to take the first watch. I burrow down in the sleeping bag next to him, pulling my hood up over my face to hide it from the cameras. I just need a few moments of privacy where I can let any emotion cross my face without being seen. Under the hood, I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue's, if I win. Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. When Peeta wakes me later, the first thing I register is the smell of goat cheese. He's holding out half a roll spread with the creamy white stuff and topped with apple slices. "Don't be mad," he says. "I had to eat again. Here's your half." "Oh, good," I say, immediately taking a huge bite. The strong fatty cheese tastes just like the kind Prim makes, the apples are sweet and crunchy. "Mm." "We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery," he says. "Bet that's expensive," I say. "Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale," says Peeta, pulling the sleeping bag up around him. In less than a minute, he's snoring. Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it's true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there's something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread, the hard, dry loaves that no one else wanted. One thing about us, since I bring our food home on a daily basis, most of it is so fresh you have to make sure it isn't going to make a run for it. Somewhere during my shift, the rain stops not gradually but all at once. The downpour ends and there's only the residual drippings of water from branches, the rush of the now overflowing stream below us. A full, beautiful moon emerges, and even without the glasses I can see outside. I can't decide if the moon is real or merely a projection of the Gamemakers. I know it was full shortly before I left home. Gale and I watched it rise as we hunted into the late hours. How long have I been gone? I'm guessing it's been about two weeks in the arena, and there was that week of preparation in the Capitol. Maybe the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, I badly want it to be my moon, the same one I see from the woods around District 12. That would give me something to cling to in the surreal world of the arena where the authenticity of everything is to be doubted. Four of us left.

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta's shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss

The boulders diminish to rocks that eventually turn to pebbles, and then, to my relief, we're back on pine needles and the gentle incline of the forest floor. For the first time, I realize we have a problem. Navigating the rocky terrain with a bad leg - well, you're naturally going to make some noise. But even on the smooth bed of needles, Peeta is loud. And I mean loud loud, as if he's stomping his feet or something. I turn and look at him. "What?" he asks. "You've got to move more quietly," I say. "Forget about Cato, you're chasing off every rabbit in a ten-mile radius." "Really?" he says. "Sorry, I didn't know." So, we start up again and he's a tiny bit better, but even with only one working ear, he's making me jump. "Can you take your boots off?" I suggest. "Here?" he asks in disbelief, as if I'd asked him to walk barefoot on hot coals or something. I have to remind myself that he's still not used to the woods, that it's the scary, forbidden place beyond the fences of District 12. I think of Gale, with his velvet tread. It's eerie how little sound he makes, even when the leaves have fallen and it's a challenge to move at all without chasing off the game. I feel certain he's laughing back home. "Yes," I say patiently. "I will, too. That way we'll both be quieter." Like I was making any noise. So we both strip off our boots and socks and, while there's some improvement, I could swear he's making an effort to snap every branch we encounter. Needless to say, although it takes several hours to reach my old camp with Rue, I've shot nothing. If the stream would settle down, fish might be an option, but the current is still too strong. As we stop to rest and drink water, I try to work out a solution. Ideally, I'd dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt, but then he'd be left with only a knife to defend himself against Cato's spears and superior strength. So what I'd really like is to try and conceal him somewhere safe, then go hunt, and come back and collect him. But I have a feeling his ego isn't going to go for that suggestion. "Katniss," he says. "We need to split up. I know I'm chasing away the game." "Only because your leg's hurt," I say generously, because really, you can tell that's only a small part of the problem. "I know," he says. "So, why don't you go on? Show me some plants to gather and that way we'll both be useful." "Not if Cato comes and kills you." I tried to say it in a nice way, but it still sounds like I think he's a weakling. Surprisingly, he just laughs. "Look, I can handle Cato. I fought him before, didn't I?" Yeah, and that turned out great. You ended up dying in a mud bank. That's what I want to say, but I can't. He did save my life by taking on Cato after all. I try another tactic. "What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I hunted?" I say, trying to make it sound like very important work. "What if you show me what's edible around here and go get us some meat?" he says, mimicking my tone. "Just don't go far, in case you need help." I sigh and show him some roots to dig. We do need food, no question. One apple, two rolls, and a blob of cheese the size of a plum won't last long. I'll just go a short distance and hope Cato is a long way off. I teach him a bird whistle - not a melody like Rue's but a simple two-note whistle - which we can use to communicate that we're all right. Fortunately, he's good at this. Leaving him with the pack, I head off. I feel like I'm eleven again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. Away from him though, the woods come alive with animal sounds. Reassured by his periodic whistles, I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. I decide it's enough. I can set snares and maybe get some fish. With Peeta's roots, this will be enough for now. As I travel the short distance back, I realize we haven't exchanged signals in a while. When my whistle receives no response, I run. In no time, I find the pack, a neat pile of roots beside it. The sheet of plastic has been laid on the ground where the sun can reach the single layer of berries that covers it. But where is he? "Peeta!" I call out in a panic. "Peeta!" I turn to the rustle of brush and almost send an arrow through him. Fortunately, I pull my bow at the last second and it sticks in an oak trunk to his left. He jumps back, flinging a handful of berries into the foliage. My fear comes out as anger. "What are you doing? You're supposed to be here, not running around in the woods!" "I found some berries down by the stream," he says, clearly confused by my outburst. "I whistled. Why didn't you whistle back?" I snap at him. "I didn't hear. The water's too loud, I guess," he says. He crosses and puts his hands on my shoulders. That's when I feel that I'm trembling. "I thought Cato killed you!" I almost shout. "No, I'm fine." Peeta wraps his arms around me, but I don't respond. "Katniss?" I push away, trying to sort out my feelings. "If two people agree on a signal, they stay in range. Because if one of them doesn't answer, they're in trouble, all right?" "All right!" he says. "All right. Because that's what happened with Rue, and I watched her die!" I say. I turn away from him, go to the pack and open a fresh bottle of water, although I still have some in mine. But I'm not ready to forgive him. I notice the food. The rolls and apples are untouched, but someone's definitely picked away part of the cheese. "And you ate without me!" I really don't care, I just want something else to be mad about. "What? No, I didn't," Peeta says. "Oh, and I suppose the apples ate the cheese," I say. "I don't know what ate the cheese," Peeta says slowly and distinctly, as if trying not to lose his temper, "but it wasn't me. I've been down by the stream collecting berries. Would you care for some?" I would actually, but I don't want to relent too soon. I do walk over and look at them. I've never seen this type before. No, I have. But not in the arena. These aren't Rue's berries, although they resemble them. Nor do they match any I learned about in training. I lean down and scoop up a few, rolling them between my fingers. My father's voice comes back to me. "Not these, Katniss. Never these. They're nightlock. You'll be dead before they reach your stomach." Just then, the cannon fires. I whip around, expecting Peeta to collapse to the ground, but he only raises his eyebrows. The hovercraft appears a hundred yards or so away. What's left of Foxface's emaciated body is lifted into the air. I can see the red glint of her hair in the sunlight. I should have known the moment I saw the missing cheese. Peeta has me by the arm, pushing me toward a tree. "Climb. He'll be here in a second. We'll stand a better chance fighting him from above." I stop him, suddenly calm. "No, Peeta, she's your kill, not Cato's." "What? I haven't even seen her since the first day," he says. "How could I have killed her?" In answer, I hold out the berries.

Peeta's a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. In no time, I have the rabbits and squirrel roasting, the roots, wrapped in leaves, baking in the coals. We take turns gathering greens and keeping a careful watch for Cato, but as I anticipated, he doesn't make an appearance.

Okay I skipped to the Mutt Part with Peeta and Katniss ( After Catos down on the ground)

I turn my attention to Peeta and discover his leg is bleeding as badly as ever. All our supplies, our packs, remain down by the lake where we abandoned them when we fled from the mutts. I have no bandage, nothing to staunch the flow of blood from his calf. Although I'm shaking in the biting wind, I rip off my jacket, remove my shirt, and zip back into the jacket as swiftly as possible. That brief exposure sets my teeth chattering beyond control. Peeta's face is gray in the pale moonlight. I make him lie down before I probe his wound. Warm, slippery blood runs over my fingers. A bandage will not be enough. I've seen my mother tie a tourniquet a handful of times and try to replicate it. I cut free a sleeve from my shirt, wrap it twice around his leg just under his knee, and tie a half knot. I don't have a stick, so I take my remaining arrow and insert it in the knot, twisting it as tightly as I dare. It's risky business - Peeta may end up losing his leg - but when I weigh this against him losing his life, what alternative do I have? I bandage the wound in the rest of my shirt and lay down with him. "Don't go to sleep," I tell him. I'm not sure if this is exactly medical protocol, but I'm terrified that if he drifts off he'll never wake again. "Are you cold?" he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. It's a bit warmer, sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets, but the night is young. The temperature will continue to drop. Even now I can feel the Cornucopia, which burned so when I first climbed it, slowly turning to ice. "Cato may win this thing yet," I whisper to Peeta. "Don't you believe it," he says, pulling up my hood, but he's shaking harder than I am. The next hours are the worst in my life, which if you think about it, is saying something. The cold would be torture enough, but the real nightmare is listening to Cato, moaning, begging, and finally just whimpering as the mutts work away at him. After a very short time, I don't care who he is or what he's done, all I want is for his suffering to end. "Why don't they just kill him?" I ask Peeta. "You know why," he says, and pulls me closer to him. And I do. No viewer could turn away from the show now. From the Gamemakers' point of view, this is the final word in entertainment. It goes on and on and on and eventually completely consumes my mind, blocking out memories and hopes of tomorrow, erasing everything but the present, which I begin to believe will never change. There will never be anything but cold and fear and the agonized sounds of the boy dying in the horn. Peeta begins to doze off now, and each time he does, I find myself yelling his name louder and louder because if he goes and dies on me now, I know I'll go completely insane. He's fighting it, probably more for me than for him, and it's hard because unconsciousness would be its own form of escape. But the adrenaline pumping through my body would never allow me to follow him, so I can't let him go. I just can't.The only indication of the passage of time lies in the heavens, the subtle shift of the moon. So Peeta begins pointing it out to me, insisting I acknowledge its progress and sometimes, for just a moment I feel a flicker of hope before the agony of the night engulfs me again.Finally, I hear him whisper that the sun is rising. I open my eyes and find the stars fading in the pale light of dawn. I can see, too, how bloodless Peeta's face has become. How little time he has left. And I know I have to get him back to the Capitol.Still, no cannon has fired. I press my good ear against the horn and can just make out Cato's voice."I think he's closer now. Katniss, can you shoot him?" Peeta asks.If he's near the mouth, I may be able to take him out. It would be an act of mercy at this point."My last arrow's in your tourniquet," I say."Make it count," says Peeta, unzipping his jacket, letting me loose.So I free the arrow, tying the tourniquet back as tightly as my frozen fingers can manage. I rub my hands together, trying to regain circulation. When I crawl to the lip of the horn and hang over the edge, I feel Peeta's hands grip me for support.It takes a few moments to find Cato in the dim light, in the blood. Then the raw hunk of meat that used to be my enemy makes a sound, and I know where his mouth is. And I think the word he's trying to say is please.Pity, not vengeance, sends my arrow flying into his skull. Peeta pulls me back up, bow in hand, quiver empty."Did you get him?" he whispers.The cannon fires in answer."Then we won, Katniss," he says hollowly."Hurray for us," I get out, but there's no joy of victory in my voice.

A moment not matter what I will always Watch

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed," he says. "Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor." There's a small burst of static and then nothing more. I stare at Peeta in disbelief as the truth sinks in. They never intended to let us both live. This has all been devised by the Gamemakers to guarantee the most dramatic showdown in history. And like a fool, I bought into it. "If you think about it, it's not that surprising," he says softly. I watch as he painfully makes it to his feet. Then he's moving toward me, as if in slow motion, his hand is pulling the knife from his belt - Before I am even aware of my actions, my bow is loaded with the arrow pointed straight at his heart. Peeta raises his eyebrows and I see the knife has already left his hand on its way to the lake where it splashes in the water. I drop my weapons and take a step back, my face burning in what can only be shame. "No," he says. "Do it." Peeta limps toward me and thrusts the weapons back in my hands. "I can't, I say. "I won't." "Do it. Before they send those mutts back or something. I don't want to die like Cato," he says. "Then you shoot me," I say furiously, shoving the weapons back at him. "You shoot me and go home and live with it!" And as I say it, I know death right here, right now would be the easier of the two. "You know I can't," Peeta says, discarding the weapons. "Fine, I'll go first anyway." He leans down and rips the bandage off his leg, eliminating the final barrier between his blood and the earth. "No, you can't kill yourself," I say. I'm on my knees, desperately plastering the bandage back onto his wound. "Katniss," he says. "It's what I want." "You're not leaving me here alone," I say. Because if he dies, I'll never go home, not really. I'll spend the rest of my life in this arena trying to think my way out. "Listen," he says pulling me to my feet. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me." And he goes on about how he loves me, what life would be without me but I've stopped listening because his previous words are trapped in my head, thrashing desperately around. We both know they have to have a victor. Yes, they have to have a victor. Without a victor, the whole thing would blow up in the Gamemakers' faces. They'd have failed the Capitol. Might possibly even be executed, slowly and painfully while the cameras broadcast it to every screen in the country. If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were. My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. "No, I won't let you." "Trust me," I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets me go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. "On the count of three?" Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. "The count of three," he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight. "Hold them out. I want everyone to see," he says. I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. "One." Maybe I'm wrong. "Two." Maybe they don't care if we both die. "Three!" It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth, taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. "Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you - the tributes of District Twelve!"

And we are not done Yet...

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there's no way I'm letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder. The electric current freezes us in place, and this time I'm glad because I'm not really sure Peeta can hang on for the whole ride. And since my eyes were looking down, I can see that while our muscles are immobile, nothing is preventing the blood from draining out of Peeta's leg. Sure enough, the minute the door closes behind us and the current stops, he slumps to the floor unconscious. My fingers are still gripping the back of his jacket so tightly that when they take him away it tears leaving me with a fistful of black fabric. Doctors in sterile white, masked and gloved, already prepped to operate, go into action. Peeta's so pale and still on a silver table, tubes and wires springing out of him every which way, and for a moment I forget we're out of the Games and I see the doctors as just one more threat, one more pack of mutts designed to kill him. Petrified, I lunge for him, but I'm caught and thrust back into another room, and a glass door seals between us. I pound on the glass, screaming my head off. Everyone ignores me except for some Capitol attendant who appears behind me and offers me a beverage. I slump down on the floor, my face against the door, staring uncomprehendingly at the crystal glass in my hand. Icy cold, filled with orange juice, a straw with a frilly white collar. How wrong it looks in my bloody, filthy hand with its dirt-caked nails and scars. My mouth waters at the smell, but I place it carefully on the floor, not trusting anything so clean and pretty. Through the glass, I see the doctors working feverishly on Peeta, their brows creased in concentration. I see the flow of liquids, pumping through the tubes, watch a wall of dials and lights that mean nothing to me. I'm not sure, but I think his heart stops twice. It's like being home again, when they bring in the hopelessly mangled person from the mine explosion, or the woman in her third day of labor, or the famished child struggling against pneumonia and my mother and Prim, they wear that same look on their faces. Now is the time to run away to the woods, to hide in the trees until the patient is long gone and in another part of the Seam the hammers make the coffin. But I'm held here both by the hovercraft walls and the same force that holds the loved ones of the dying. How often I've seen them, ringed around our kitchen table and I thought, Why don't they leave? Why do they stay to watch? And now I know. It's because you have no choice. I startle when I catch someone staring at me from only a few inches away and then realize it's my own face reflecting back in the glass. Wild eyes, hollow cheeks, my hair in a tangled mat. Rabid. Feral. Mad. No wonder everyone is keeping a safe distance from me.

I slip my legs out of bed, nervous about how they will bear my weight and find them strong and steady. Lying at the foot of the bed is an outfit that makes me flinch. It's what all of us tributes wore in the arena. I stare at it as if it had teeth until I remember that, of course, this is what I will wear to greet my team. I'm dressed in less than a minute and fidgeting in front of the wall where I know there's a door even if I can't see it when suddenly it slides open. I step into a wide, deserted hall that appears to have no other doors on it. But it must. And behind one of them must be Peeta. Now that I'm conscious and moving, I'm growing more and more anxious about him. He must be all right or the Avox girl wouldn't have said so. But I need to see him for myself. "Peeta!" I call out, since there's no one to ask. I hear my name in response, but it's not his voice. It's a voice that provokes first irritation and then eagerness. Effie. I turn and see them all waiting in a big chamber at the end of the hall - Effie, Haymitch, and Cinna. My feet take off without hesitation. Maybe a victor should show more restraint, more superiority, especially when she knows this will be on tape, but I don't care. I run for them and surprise even myself when I launch into Haymitch's arms first. When he whispers in my ear, "Nice job, sweetheart," it doesn't sound sarcastic. Effie's somewhat teary and keeps patting my hair and talking about how she told everyone we were pearls. Cinna just hugs me tight and doesn't say anything. Then I notice Portia is absent and get a bad feeling. "Where's Portia? Is she with Peeta? He is all right, isn't he? I mean, he's alive?" I blurt out. "He's fine. Only they want to do your reunion live on air at the ceremony," says Haymitch. "Oh. That's all," I say. The awful moment of thinking Peeta's dead again passes. "I guess I'd want to see that myself." "Go on with Cinna. He has to get you ready," says Haymitch. It's a relief to be alone with Cinna, to feel his protective arm around my shoulders as he guides me away from the cameras, down a few passages and to an elevator that leads to the lobby of the Training Center. The hospital then is far underground, even beneath the gym where the tributes practiced tying knots and throwing spears. The windows of the lobby are darkened, and a handful of guards stand on duty. No one else is there to see us cross to the tribute elevator. Our footsteps echo in the emptiness. And when we ride up to the twelfth floor, the faces of all the tributes who will never return flash across my mind and there's a heavy, tight place in my chest.

When the elevator doors open, Venia, Flavius, and Octavia engulf me, talking so quickly and ecstatically I can't make out their words. The sentiment is clear though. They are truly thrilled to see me and I'm happy to see them, too, although not like I was to see Cinna. It's more in the way one might be glad to see an affectionate trio of pets at the end of a particularly difficult day.

Okay I know this part doesn’t really have Peeta in it but It’s super important

Haymitch's eyes shift around my musty holding space, and he seems to make a decision. "But nothing. How about a hug for luck?"

Okay, that's an odd request from Haymitch but, after all, we are victors. Maybe a hug for luck is in order. Only, when I put my arms around his neck, I find myself trapped in his embrace. He begins talking, very fast, very quietly in my ear, my hair concealing his lips.

"Listen up. You're in trouble. Word is the Capitol's furious about you showing them up in the arena. The one thing they can't stand is being laughed at and they're the joke of Panem," says Haymitch.

I feel dread coursing through me now, but I laugh as though Haymitch is saying something completely delightful because nothing is covering my mouth. "So, what?"

"Your only defense can be you were so madly in love you weren't responsible for your actions." Haymitch pulls back and adjusts my hairband. "Got it, sweetheart?" He could be talking about anything now.

"Got it," I say. "Did you tell Peeta this?"

"Don't have to," says Haymitch. "He's already there."

"But you think I'm not?" I say, taking the opportunity to straighten a bright red bow tie Cinna must have wrestled him into.

"Since when does it matter what I think?" says Haymitch. "Better take our places." He leads me to the metal circle. "This is your night, sweetheart. Enjoy it." He kisses me on the forehead and disappears into the gloom.

I tug on my skirt, willing it to be longer, wanting it to cover the knocking in my knees. Then I realize it's pointless. My whole body's shaking like a leaf. Hopefully, it will be put down to excitement. After all, it's my night.

The anthem booms in my ears, and then I hear Caesar Flickerman greeting the audience. Does he know how crucial it is to get every word right from now on? He must. He will want to help us. The crowd breaks into applause as the prep teams are presented. I imagine Flavius, Venia, and Octavia bouncing around and taking ridiculous, bobbing bows. It's a safe bet they're clueless. Then Effie's introduced. How long she's waited for this moment. I hope she's able to enjoy it because as misguided as Effie can be, she has a very keen instinct about certain things and must at least suspect we're in trouble. Portia and Cinna receive huge cheers, of course, they've been brilliant, had a dazzling debut. I now understand Cinna's choice of dress for me for tonight. I'll need to look as girlish and innocent as possible. Haymitch's appearance brings a round of stomping that goes on at least five minutes. Well, he's accomplished a first. Keeping not only one but two tributes alive. What if he hadn't warned me in time? Would I have acted differently? Flaunted the moment with the berries in the Capitol's face? No, I don't think so. But I could easily have been a lot less convincing than I need to be now. Right now. Because I can feel the plate lifting me up to the stage. Blinding lights. The deafening roar rattles the metal under my feet. Then there's Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that's when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He's kissing me and all the time I'm thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we're in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flickerman taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him. The audience goes berserk. Whether he knows or not, Peeta is, as usual, playing the crowd exactly right. Finally, Haymitch interrupts us and gives us a good-natured shove toward the victor's chair. Usually, this is a single, ornate chair from which the winning tribute watches a film of the highlights of the Games, but since there are two of us, the Gamemakers have provided a plush red velvet couch. A small one, my mother would call it a love seat, I think. I sit so close to Peeta that I'm practically on his lap, but one look from Haymitch tells me it isn't enough. Kicking off my sandals, I tuck my feet to the side and lean my head against Peeta's shoulder. His arm goes around me automatically, and I feel like I'm back in the cave, curled up against him, trying to keep warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia's put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. I wish Cinna had given me a similar outfit, I feel so vulnerable in this flimsy dress. But I guess that was the point.

All I know is that the only thing keeping me on this love seat is Peeta - his arm around my shoulder, his other hand claimed by both of mine. Of course, the previous victors didn't have the Capitol looking for a way to destroy them. Condensing several weeks into three hours is quite a feat, especially when you consider how many cameras were going at once. Whoever puts together the highlights has to choose what sort of story to tell. This year, for the first time, they tell a love story. I know Peeta and I won, but a disproportionate amount of time is spent on us, right from the beginning. I'm glad though, because it supports the whole crazy-in-love thing that's my defense for defying the Capitol, plus it means we won't have as much time to linger over the deaths. The first half hour or so focuses on the pre-arena events, the reaping, the chariot ride through the Capitol, our training scores, and our interviews. There's this sort of upbeat soundtrack playing under it that makes it twice as awful because, of course, almost everyone on-screen is dead. Once we're in the arena, there's detailed coverage of the bloodbath and then the filmmakers basically alternate between shots of tributes dying and shots of us. Mostly Peeta really, there's no question he's carrying this romance thing on his shoulders. Now I see what the audience saw, how he misled the Careers about me, stayed awake the entire night under the tracker jacker tree, fought Cato to let me escape and even while he lay in that mud bank, whispered my name in his sleep. I seem heartless in comparison - dodging fireballs, dropping nests, and blowing up supplies - until I go hunting for Rue. They play her death in full, the spearing, my failed rescue attempt, my arrow through the boy from District 1's throat, Rue drawing her last breath in my arms. And the song. I get to sing every note of the song. Something inside me shuts down and I'm too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games. But I do notice they omit the part where I covered her in flowers. Right. Because even that smacks of rebellion. Things pick up for me once they've announced two tributes from the same district can live and I shout out Peeta's name and then clap my hands over my mouth. If I've seemed indifferent to him earlier, I make up for it now, by finding him, nursing him back to health, going to the feast for the medicine, and being very free with my kisses. Objectively, I can see the mutts and Cato's death are as gruesome as ever, but again, I feel it happens to people I have never met. And then comes the moment with the berries. I can hear the audience hushing one another, not wanting to miss anything. A wave of gratitude to the filmmakers sweeps over me when they end not with the announcement of our victory, but with me pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, screaming Peeta's name as they try to revive him. In terms of survival, it's my best moment all night. The anthem's playing yet again and we rise as President Snow himself takes the stage followed by a little girl carrying a cushion that holds the crown. There's just one crown, though, and you can hear the crowd's confusion - whose head will he place it on? - until President Snow gives it a twist and it separates into two halves. He places the first around Peeta's brow with a smile. He's still smiling when he settles the second on my head, but his eyes, just inches from mine, are as unforgiving as a snake's. That's when I know that even though both of us would have eaten the berries, I am to blame for having the idea. I'm the instigator. I'm the one to be punished. Much bowing and cheering follows. My arm is about to fall off from waving when Caesar Flickerman finally bids the audience good night, reminding them to tune in tomorrow for the final interviews. As if they have a choice. Peeta and I are whisked to the president's mansion for the Victory Banquet, where we have very little time to eat as Capitol officials and particularly generous sponsors elbow one another out of the way as they try to get their picture with us. Face after beaming face flashes by, becoming increasingly intoxicated as the evening wears on. Occasionally, I catch a glimpse of Haymitch, which is reassuring, or President Snow, which is terrifying, but I keep laughing and thanking people and smiling as my picture is taken. The one thing I never do is let go of Peeta's hand. The sun is just peeking over the horizon when we straggle back to the twelfth floor of the Training Center. I think now I'll finally get a word alone with Peeta, but Haymitch sends him off with Portia to get something fitted for the interview and personally escorts me to my door. "Why can't I talk to him?" I ask. "Plenty of time for talk when we get home," says Haymitch. "Go to bed, you're on air at two."

The interview takes place right down the hall in the sitting room. A space has been cleared and the love seat has been moved in and surrounded by vases of red and pink roses. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event. No live audience at least. Caesar Flickerman gives me a warm hug when I. come in. "Congratulations, Katniss. How are you faring?" "Fine. Nervous about the interview," I say. "Don't be. We're going to have a fabulous time," he says, giving my cheek a reassuring pat. "I'm not good at talking about myself," I say. "Nothing you say will be wrong," he says. And I think, Oh, Caesar, if only that were true. But actually, President Snow may be arranging some sort of "accident" for me as we speak. Then Peeta's there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side. "I hardly get to see you. Haymitch seems bent on keeping us apart." Haymitch is actually bent on keeping us alive, but there are too many ears listening, so I just say, "Yes, he's gotten very responsible lately." "Well, there's just this and we go home. Then he can't watch us all the time," says Peeta. I feel a sort of shiver run through me and there's no time to analyze why, because they're ready for us. We sit somewhat formally on the love seat, but Caesar says, "Oh, go ahead and curl up next to him if you want. It looked very sweet." So I tuck my feet up and Peeta pulls me in close to him. Someone counts backward and just like that, we're being broadcast live to the entire country. Caesar Flickerman is wonderful, teasing, joking, getting choked up when the occasion presents itself. He and Peeta already have the rapport they established that night of the first interview, that easy banter, so I just smile a lot and try to speak as little as possible. I mean, I have to talk some, but as soon as I can I redirect the conversation back to Peeta. Eventually though, Caesar begins to pose questions that insist on fuller answers. "Well, Peeta, we know, from our days in the cave, that it was love at first sight for you from what, age five?" Caesar says. "From the moment I laid eyes on her," says Peeta. "But, Katniss, what a ride for you. I think the real excitement for the audience was watching you fall for him. When did you realize you were in love with him?" asks Caesar. "Oh, that's a hard one. " I give a faint, breathy laugh and look down at my hands. Help. "Well, I know when it hit me. The night when you shouted out his name from that tree," says Caesar. Thank you, Caesar! I think, and then go with his idea. "Yes, I guess that was it. I mean, until that point, I just tried not to think about what my feelings might be, honestly, because it was so confusing and it only made things worse if I actually cared about him. But then, in the tree, everything changed," I say. "Why do you think that was?" urges Caesar. "Maybe. because for the first time. there was a chance I could keep him," I say. Behind a cameraman, I see Haymitch give a sort of huff with relief and I know I've said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a handkerchief and has to take a moment because he's so moved. I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, "So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?"

I turn in to him. "Put you somewhere you can't get hurt." And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

For Caesar, this is a natural place to segue into all the ways we did get hurt in the arena, from burns, to stings, to wounds. But it's not until we get around to the mutts that I forget I'm on camera. When Caesar asks Peeta how his "new leg" is working out.

"New leg?" I say, and I can't help reaching out and pulling up the bottom of Peeta's pants. "Oh, no," I whisper, taking in the metal-and-plastic device that has replaced his flesh.

"No one told you?" asks Caesar gently. I shake my head.

"I haven't had the chance," says Peeta with a slight shrug.

"It's my fault," I say. "Because I used that tourniquet."

"Yes, it's your fault I'm alive," says Peeta.

"He's right," says Caesar. "He'd have bled to death for sure without it."

I guess this is true, but I can't help feeling upset about it to the extent that I'm afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta's shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it's better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover. In fact, he pretty much leaves me alone until the berries come up.

"Katniss, I know you've had a shock, but I've got to ask. The moment when you pulled out those berries. What was going on in your mind. hm?" he says.

I take a long pause before I answer, trying to collect my thoughts. This is the crucial moment where I either challenged the Capitol or went so crazy at the idea of losing Peeta that I can't be held responsible for my actions. It seems to call for a big, dramatic speech, but all I get out is one almost inaudible sentence. "I don't know, I just. couldn't bear the thought of. being without him."

"Peeta? Anything to add?" asks Caesar.

"No. I think that goes for both of us," he says.

Caesar signs off and it's over. Everyone's laughing and crying and hugging, but I'm still not sure until I reach Haymitch. "Okay?" I whisper.

"Perfect," he answers.

I go back to my room to collect a few things and find there's nothing to take but the mockingjay pin Madge gave me. Someone returned it to my room after the Games. They drive us through the streets in a car with blackened windows, and the train's waiting for us. We barely have time to say good-bye to Cinna and Portia, although we'll see them in a few months, when we tour the districts for a round of victory ceremonies. It's the Capitol's way of reminding people that the Hunger Games never really go away. We'll be given a lot of useless plaques, and everyone will have to pretend they love us.

The train begins moving and we're plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Effie is accompanying us back and Haymitch, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mother. Of Gale. I excuse myself to change out of my dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, thoroughly wash the makeup from my face and put my hair in its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Katniss Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. By the time I join the others, the pressure of Peeta's arm around my shoulders feels alien.

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we're allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There's no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can't find anything to say now that we're alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can't know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I've spent gathering them with Gale.

Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can't quite frame it in my mind. I only know that I feel like I've been lying to someone who trusts me. Or more accurately, to two people. I've been getting away with it up to this point because of the Games. But there will be no Games to hide behind back home.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks.

"Nothing," I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I'm fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. "Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay." I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta's eyes.

"What's he mean?" Peeta asks me.

"It's the Capitol. They didn't like our stunt with the berries," I blurt out.

"What? What are you talking about?" he says.

"It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn't make it worse," I say.

"Coaching you? But not me," says Peeta.

"He knew you were smart enough to get it right," I say.

"I didn't know there was anything to get right," says Peeta. "So, what you're saying is, these last few days and then I guess. back in the arena. that was just some strategy you two worked out."

"No. I mean, I couldn't even talk to him in the arena, could I?" I stammer.

"But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn't you?" says Peeta. I bite my lip. "Katniss?" He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance.

"It was all for the Games," Peeta says. "How you acted."

"Not all of it," I say, tightly holding onto my flowers.

"Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what's going to be left when we get home?" he says.

"I don't know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get," I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none's forthcoming.

"Well, let me know when you work it out," he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I know my ears are healed because, even with the rumble of the engine, I can hear every step he takes back to the train. By the time I've climbed aboard, Peeta has disappiared into his room for the night. I don't see him the next morning, either. In fact, the next time he turns up, we're pulling into District 12. He gives me a nod, his face expressionless.

I want to tell him that he's not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can't explain how things are with Gale because I don't know myself. That it's no good loving me because I'm never going to get married anyway and he'd just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn't matter because I'll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we've just been through?

I also want to tell him how much I already miss him. But that wouldn't be fair on my part.

So we just stand there silently, watching our grimy little station rise up around us. Through the window, I can see the platform's thick with cameras. Everyone will be eagerly watching our homecoming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Peeta extend his hand. I look at him, unsure. "One more time? For the audience?" he says. His voice isn't angry. It's hollow, which is worse. Already the boy with the bread is slipping away from me.

I take his hand, holding on tightly, preparing for the cameras, and dreading the moment when I will finally have to let go.

#THG #HUNGER GAME #Hunger games #The Hunger Games #catching fire #CatchingFire #Peeta #Peeta Mellark #katniss and peeta #katniss everdeen #Katniss #everlark #The Hunger Games Catching Fire #mockingjay #mockingjay part 1 #Josh Hutcherson #mockingjay part 2

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Lan Xichen runs from the Cloud Recesses

warning for some mentions of violence and minor character deaths. In the end, I went and cut this chapter in two because it was getting out of hand. I blame Meng Yao!

It starts as a pleasant enough day. Lan Xichen is overseeing a class of their youngest juniors, helping them practice their calligraphy. He always enjoys teaching that and seeing the little ones so focused. There’s a few tongues sticking out in concentration, which Lan Qiren would comment on… but Lan Qiren isn’t here, and Lan Xichen is undisturbed. He finds it cute if anything. Lan Wangji too used to do it. Besides, for now it’s more important to have the children focus on their brushwork. They’ll think of their posture later.

Whenever he gets a few seconds without anyone asking for help, Lan Xichen allows himself to think of the letter he needs to write to Nie Huaisang, one that he will send to Lanling rather than Qinghe, since his fiancé will be headed there soon, before coming to stay a while in Gusu. Lan Xichen has negotiated with his uncle to have reduced duties when Nie Huaisang is here. Lan Qiren wasn’t happy about it, but eventually gave in when he realised Lan Xichen would be too distracted to be any good to him anyway. So Lan Xichen has been planning things for the two of them to do, walks in the mountains if the weather allows, more painting lessons if it doesn’t. He’s found melodies from the Qinghe region in the library that he’s hoping Nie Huaisang will be willing to hear. There should also be enough time for at least one trip to Gusu so they can hang out together somewhere different and have a meal Nie Huaisang will enjoy more than the usual fares of the Cloud Recesses.

And then if Nie Huaisang is willing maybe they’ll kiss again. Lan Xichen is trying not to hope too much for that, his fiancé won’t be as bored as he was at that conference in Nightless City, but still maybe, just maybe…

Just as his thoughts are trailing in a direction they really shouldn't take while teaching, the classroom door opens and Lan Qiren comes in, followed by a very puzzled looking disciple.

"Class is dismissed," Lan Qiren barks at the children. "Lan Chengfu will take you to the dorms while waiting for further instructions. If you disobey him or cause trouble, you'll be punished later. Xichen! You're coming with me."

His nephew startles at the urgency in his uncle's voice, but nods and follows him out without questions. Answers still come soon enough, his uncle explaining the situation as they nearly run toward the library.

"Wen Xu has come to the Cloud Recesses and is accusing us of unorthodoxy. He is demanding that we burn our library and the inner clan's residence in penance."

"Can… can he do that?" Lan Xichen gasps. "It's ridiculous, we're not…"

"He also wants you and your brother to come to Qishan for re-education."

"You mean as hostages. So they've realised after all that they need to strike now…"

It's everything Lan Xichen has most feared. The Wen deciding to make the first move at their convenience, when their opponents aren't quite ready, when so many sects are still so willing to bend over to avoid war…

"What are we going to do?" Lan Xichen pants as they enter the library, only to gasp at the scene there.

A dozen disciples are present, urgently trying to shove as many books and scrolls as they can inside qiankun bags. Lan Wangji is among them, seeming a little dazed by what's happening. He shares their uncle's love of books and academia to a much higher degree than Lan Xichen, and his brother cannot imagine what shock it must be for him to find that someone is willing to have all this knowledge destroyed.

"Hurry!" Lan Qiren barks. "Sect Leader Lan won't be able to keep him distracted forever! Wangji, go out and keep watch."

At that order Lan Wangji throws his uncle a pleading look, as if to say there are still too many books to be put away and he simply cannot do anything else.

"Uncle, I'll go out," Lan Xichen offers.

Before he can take one step, Lan Qiren grabs his wrist to keep him in place.

"Stay. You'll be the one to make a run for it, if it comes to that. Wangji, do as I tell you!"

While his brother reluctantly obeys, Lan Xichen feels the air punched out of him.

"Uncle, surely it should be you who…"

Lan Qiren shoves a qiankun bag in his hands and pushes him toward the shelves.

"You're Gusu Lan's heir. If something happens to the sect, it must be you who rebuild it. Your brother and I will stay behind to buy you time to escape. Now get to work. Take everything you can. Quickly!"

"You think he might…"

"Get to work!"

Pinching his lips to keep himself silent, Lan Xichen obeys. He tries at first to to only pick up work directly relating to Gusu Lan's method of cultivation, but that's too slow, it requires too much thinking. He ends up doing the same as the other disciples and just grabbing everything he can. He focuses on that almost mechanical gesture, trying his best not to think about the way his uncle is contemplating their entire sect's slaughter as a real possibility.

They all work in tense silence for a little while until a commotion makes itself heard from outside. As one they all turn toward the door, freezing when a cry is heard.

"Sect Leader!" Lan Wangji shouts, voice filled with anguish.

Without thinking Lan Xichen tries to dash to the door, only to be stopped again by his uncle. This time Lan Xichen tries to pull free because his brother needs him, but Lan Qiren's hold on him remains strong.

"Everyone, bring Xichen your bags and stay put until I tell you otherwise."

The disciples meekly obey. Lan Xichen lets them attach the bags to his belt, enough of them to cover all his waist, his gaze never leaving the door. There are sounds of fighting outside now, which Lan Xichen cannot ignore. His uncle has to pull him toward the back of the library like a capricious child, before pushing him toward a window.

“Go!” Lan Qiren order. “I’ll protect Wangji. Don’t come back until you can be sure the Wens aren’t watching, and when you do, come through the mountains, not the main gate. Keep a low profile, stay away from other sects. I don’t think it’d be wise to go to Qinghe until things have calmed down, the Wens are probably waiting for an excuse to come after them as well.”

“I can’t leave alone!” Lan Xichen begs. “Uncle, at least Wangji…”

“Wangji will do his duty. Do yours, and save what you can of our knowledge. Hurry, or they’ll realise what we are doing!”

Even though there’s no time to lose, Lan Xichen wastes a few more seconds by hugging his uncle before climbing through the window and leaving the library.

Running is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, but as soon as he’s sure he won’t attract attention, Lan Xichen runs.

Excessive emotion is forbidden, but he cries as he heads toward the mountains, fearful for his brother, for his uncle, for his sect.

Private fights are forbidden, but nobody told that to the Wens waiting at the border of the barrier that surrounds the Cloud Recesses, who attack Lan Xichen the instant he steps out.

It’s not the first time Lan Xichen is in a fight against members of another sect. He’s had chances to spar with Nie Mingjue quite a few times, as well as with some guest disciples. But it was always that: sparring. The Wen cultivators who are after him now aren’t trying to learn or to show off, they’re trying to capture him, dead or alive. Dead more than alive, Lan Xichen guesses from their aggressive movements and his past encounters with Wen Xu. Lan Xichen fights the way he’s been taught to do, strikes and counter-strikes until there’s an opening for a serious blow that would incapacitate his opponent.

In training, Lan Xichen has never taken such a chance to actually maim a person. When the opening appears here, he hesitates for a second to take it, unwilling to spill blood when it goes against so many of the rules he’s been taught. The Wen cultivator he’s fighting at that moment has no such qualms and thrusts his sword under his ribs.

Lan Xichen doesn’t even think. His sword moves of its own volition and slashes at the man’s throat, spraying red around them.

The next one is horrifyingly easy to kill as well, now that Lan Xichen has done it once. The sharp pain on his side helps. It’s them or him and he cannot die, not when his uncle trusts him to protect their sect’s legacy.

Lan Xichen spends the next few days fleeing from the Wens. He only eats whatever wild fruit he can recognise, having brought no money with him, unwilling anyway to risk the safety of civilians. He barely rests, fearful to be caught unaware. The wound on his side keeps reopening every time the Wens catch up with him and pull him in a fight. After a week of this, Lan Xichen can feel himself getting weaker and weaker. He thinks he’s developing a fever, though it’s hard to say. He might just be exhausted.

He is flying away after yet another scuffle when it finally becomes too much. He simply doesn’t have the strength to control his sword anymore and falls down to the ground. The pain of the impact leaves him gasping for breath, but since he was flying low to avoid detection, he sustains no injury. He is, however, too exhausted to even try to get up, and so he lays there on the grass, waiting to be found and captured. It should have been his uncle taking away the books. Lan Qiren would never have weakened so quickly.

It takes little time for footsteps to approach. Lan Xichen, too tired to turn his head and look at his assailants, closes his eyes and awaits his fate. He feels a shadow fall over him, but no blows come to him.

“Gongzi, are you hurt?” a surprisingly gentle voice asks. “I was on the road and I saw you fall… do you need help?”

Slowly, Lan Xichen opens his eyes again. Instead of Wen cultivators, he finds a young man looming over him with a concerned expression. There’s something a little familiar about his face, though Lan Xichen doubts he’s ever met him.

“Don’t stay here,” Lan Xichen orders in a rasp. “If they find you, they’ll hurt you.”

The young man’s eyebrows rise high in surprise at this answer, but he doesn’t leave. His expression turns calculating instead. He looks Lan Xichen over, raises his head to look around, then turns his eyes back to the young man lying on the grass.

“Gongzi, if you allow me, I will take you to safety,” he offers. “I’m on my way home to Yunping City, my horse is right there on the road… if I help you, can you walk until there? I’ll help you get on its back, but I fear I don’t have the strength to carry you.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Lan Xichen protests.

The young man smiles at his answer. He has a pleasant smile, Lan Xichen finds, though it doesn’t fully reach his eyes.

“Let me decide what risks I take,” he replies. “And answer my question. If I help, can you walk?”

Closing his eyes again, Lan Xichen quickly checks his body for any serious injury. Aside from being exhausted and the deep wound on his side, everything is fine.

“I should manage. Thank you.”

The young man doesn’t reply, but carefully helps Lan Xichen sit up. His head is swimming at first from the change of position, but before long and with some help from this stranger, Lan Xichen manages to stand up and even walk. There’s a gentle slope toward the road, which is good because the young man really doesn’t have much strength. He’s a little taller than most ordinary people, but compared to Lan Xichen he is still short, and definitely on the slender side. For some reason, Lan Xichen is reminded of Nie Huaisang… but in fairness, it doesn’t take much for him to think of Nie Huaisang these days.

It’s a bit of a struggle for Lan Xichen to get on the horse, but they manage anyway. Perhaps judging that Lan Xichen’s bright white robes might attract too much attention, the young man takes off his own outer robes and throws them over Lan Xichen’s shoulders before take his horse’s reins to get moving.

It is half day ride to Yunping City and before long, the young man must get uncomfortable with the silence because he starts volunteering information about himself to make conversation. Lan Xichen, although struggling to stay awake, listens and catches the general idea of his saviour’s life.

The young man’s name is Meng Yao and while his mother is of very low origins, his father is a cultivator from Lanling Jin (later, when he feels better, Lan Xichen takes a good look at Meng Yao and guesses who, exactly, fathered him). He tried to join that sect himself, but was rejected because of his mother’s low blood and had to settle for an ordinary life. He now works as a bookkeeper in Yunping City for a rich merchant and is just returning from checking on some issues with an associate of his employer. He’s renting a room in the outskirts of town, and while it is not quite worthy of housing a cultivator, Meng Yao promises that at least nobody will think to look for Lan Xichen there.

By the time they reach the room in question, Lan Xichen can barely stand. They make it up the stairs with great difficulty. The last thing Lan Xichen remembers before passing out is being laid down on a thin bed.

When Lan Xichen wakes up, he finds that his silk clothes have been changed to simpler ones, his headband removed, and his wound has been tended to. The qiankun bags and his sword have been left next to the mattress. There’s a note next to his pillow explaining that Meng Yao had to go meet his employer to report on his journey, but he should be back in a few hours. He advises Lan Xichen to rest, and promises he will bring food when he returns.

Grateful for the kindness of this stranger and still too exhausted to do much else, Lan Xichen falls back to sleep.

He wakes up again after some amount of time to the sound of a door opening. On sheer instinct his hand reaches for Shuoyue but as he grasps the handle, Meng Yao comes in, carrying provisions. The young man freezes in fear for a second at the sight of Lan Xichen ready to unsheathe his weapon, but his expression quickly mellows into a pleasant smile.

“I’m glad to see that gongzi is already better,” Meng Yao says, closing the door behind him. “As you see, I brought food. Here, take as much as you need,” he adds, carefully dropping a filled basket on the edge of the bed. “You cannot heal on an empty stomach.”

“You eat as well,” Lan Xichen replies, taking a small bun from the basket but refusing to bite into it until Meng Yao sits next to the bed and does the same.

The food is different from what Lan Xichen is used to, more seasoned as is typical of the area, but he devours it without protest, only making sure that his host gets his fair share as well. Between this, the tea served to him, and the rest that he’s gotten, Lan Xichen already feels better. When he mentions the idea of leaving though, Meng Yao frowns at him.

“Gongzi, I understand that cultivators heal differently but you are unreasonable,” he says, not quite scolding and yet making Lan Xichen feel chastised. “I understand this house is not what you are used to, but please bear with it for a few days until you can move without worsening your wound.”

“It’s not about your room!” Lan Xichen protests, horrified that he might have given that impression. “Meng gongzi, I am only worried about bringing danger to you, and putting a strain on your resources.”

Meng Yao smiles and tilts his head slightly.

“Gongzi, I’m not so poor that I cannot help you. You… you are used to better things I suppose, but I’m not living so uncomfortably as you seem to think, so don’t worry. This isn’t a hassle at all. As for danger… gongzi, with everything that’s happening lately, I can imagine what sort of trouble you’re in, and I’m not worried. The people who are after you would not come to such a place, and they must be too busy checking that all their hostages are being delivered.”

“What hostages?”

Just like yesterday, Meng Yao’s expression gets calculating again, though this time it retains a certain warmth.

“Gongzi, aren’t you running from the indoctrination?” he asks. When Lan Xichen shakes his head, Meng Yao looks him over and frowns slightly. “I see. You must have been on the run for a bit then. The news is everywhere, even us ordinary folks talk of little else. Apparently, the great Qishan Wen sect has decided that other cultivators were badly trained and needed to be shown better, so every sect has to send all their children and all their junior disciples there. Anyone who resists is killed or taken by force, or so it is said.”

Lan Xichen thinks of Lan Wangji, back in the Cloud Recesses. He thinks of Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang in Qinghe.

Maybe he ate too much, too fast, because he suddenly feels like throwing up. If something happened to them…

“It is only a rumour!” Meng Yao quickly adds, his hand rising toward Lan Xichen's shoulder as if to comfort him, then dropping again without making contact. “The juniors of the sect in Yunping City have gone away, yes, but it was all done without violence. From what I heard, only that great sect in Gusu opposed any resistance and had to be punished, but all the other ones have simply complied. Although if gongzi wishes it, I can try to find more details. My employer deals with the local sect sometimes and they wouldn’t find it too odd if I came to visit.”

“Please, don’t do anything that might bring attention to yourself,” Lan Xichen requests, his dizziness increasing at the idea of what punishment might have been inflicted upon his sect. Wen Xu is known to be imaginative for these things.

He hopes Lan Wangji is well. If they hurt him while Lan Xichen ran away like a coward… he should have stayed, he should have fought, there couldn’t have been that many of them. His uncle ordered him to run, he had to, but maybe just this once he should have disobeyed.

“I will still pay attention to what’s being said,” Meng Yao replies. “I understand that gongzi might not be comfortable telling me his name and sect. I’m not asking for it!” he adds with a hand gesture when Lan Xichen opens his mouth, either to protest or apologise. “If it becomes necessary, I trust gongzi to share relevant information. Otherwise, I will not probe.”

“Aren’t you trusting me too much, Meng gongzi?”

“You trust me as well, gongzi, don’t you?” Meng Yao retorts, seemingly amused now. “I told you to rest, and you did even though I could have gone to fetch your enemies. I brought you food, and you ate it, even when I could have poisoned it to make you easier to capture. Gongzi should be more careful of strangers. For all he knows, his enemies have offered a reward for his capture and spread his description already.”

Lan Xichen startles at the news, but Meng Yao continues smiling peacefully.

“You already know who I am,” Lan Xichen states.

Meng Yao laughs.

“A description is such a vague thing,” he protests. “It is true that Qishan Wen is looking for someone but if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve ever laid eyes on such a person. All they’re speaking about is a young man in white with a headband and a wound. But gongzi, aside from the wound, that’s not you at all.”

“Where did you put my headband?” Lan Xichen asks. It did not matter earlier when he still felt weak, but he’s starting to feel naked without it. Not to mention the vague disgust he feels at the thought someone touched it. Even Nie Huaisang hasn’t dared, although Lan Xichen almost offered it in Nightless City, right before his fiancé’s friends found them.

“Is it really important?” Meng Yao asks. “It is very recognisable.”

“It’s an heirloom,” Lan Xichen explains. “It’s important to my family.”

He expects Meng Yao to scold him again in that gentle manner he has. Instead, the young man nods in understanding and shuffles away from the bed so he can lift a plank from the floor. In the space underneath, Lan Xichen catches glimpses of white as Meng Yao digs out his ribbon. Lan Xichen gratefully takes it back and although he desperately wants to put it back in its proper place, he decides instead to roll his sleeve and tie it around his arm. A compromise. The rules say it must be worn, they never actually say where.

Meng Yao nods approvingly.

“It might be safer that way,” he says. “If gongzi allows, I should have enough space to also hide those qiankun bags until gongzi is fit to leave. I would have hidden them already, but gongzi became very agitated when I touched them while changing him, and I feared it would distress him too much if you did not see them upon waking.”

“Meng gongzi is very considerate,” Lan Xichen replies with a yawn he cannot suppress. “I’m sorry, that was…”

“Gongzi is tired, it’s normal,” Meng Yao cuts him with a small laugh. “Go back to sleep, we can talk more tomorrow. I have asked my employer to let me have a few days off to recover from travelling. I will be able to check on your wounds, and to go out for information.”

Although he feels guilty for disrupting the young man’s life so much, Lan Xichen is too tired to protest again. He can only lay down again, and watches as Meng Yao puts away the remains of their meal, then starts hiding away the bags containing Gusu Lan’s knowledge.

“Meng gongzi, before I sleep, I have one question. Why save me?”

Meng Yao shoots him a surprised look, as if it were obvious to him.

“You were this unwell,” he explains, gesturing at Lan Xichen’s body, “and your first instinct was not to beg for help, but to worry about my safety. I figured even if you turned out to be a thief or a murderer, you would not be a bad man.”

Lan Xichen can only smile at that answer as he closes his eyes.

Meng Yao can accuse him of being too trusting, but he’s hardly any better.

The days that follow are odd.

Lan Xichen cannot help but feel guilty that he is in this safe place, with someone he’s already starting to think of as a friend of sorts, while his family’s fate is uncertain. Meng Yao, against his wishes, has found out that Gusu Lan still stands, even though a large part of the Cloud Recesses burned down. He has also found out that Lan Wangji is alive (Lan Xichen cried in relief) and was only taken away as a hostage, like most young men his age all over the cultivation world. But this leaves as many questions as it answers. Nobody knows what is happening to the hostages in Qishan, and Meng Yao cannot find out how many were wounded or died in the Cloud Recesses.

Sensing his ever growing distress, Meng yao distracts him with chatting, or by asking questions about cultivation. It’s obvious that the subject deeply interests him. It’s equally clear that he knows very little about it, and mostly tried to learn through the sort of fake manuals that sadly get sold as the real deal. As thanks for his hospitality, Lan Xichen sets out to teach him a few basic principles so that at least, if his interest remains in the future, Meng Yao knows enough not to be fooled again by crooks. Besides, it gives them something to do as they wait for his wound to heal.

Lan Xichen feels almost disappointed when at last, Meng Yao decides one day that his wound is now healed enough for him to leave. It has been little more than a week, but Lan Xichen already feels deep affection for the other young man, and he believes the feeling is mutual.

“I do not mind if gongzi stays a little longer,” Meng Yao tells him after giving his diagnosis. “Until it is certain that things are calmer out there.”

It’s tempting, immensely so. Time passes differently in this room, in the company of this new friend. But Lan Xichen has responsibilities out there in the world, and Meng Yao cannot stay away from his own work forever. This respite has come to an end.

“You have done so much for me already,”Lan Xichen says with a sad smile. “I cannot put you in more danger. In fact, I’ll try to leave tonight. I need to go…”

He needs to go to Gusu, his first thought is, but that’s not exact. He wants to go to Gusu so he can check on his people. He wants, also, to go to Qinghe and finally figure out if Nie Huaisang was among the hostages. He prays that he wasn’t, but that would be open rebellion and Meng Yao would have heard about it. All he can do, then, is hope that Nie Huaisang is acting smart and is staying out of trouble, wherever he is.

“Even if you leave, it’ll be dangerous,” Meng Yao notes. “Everyone says it will probably come to war. I wouldn’t be surprised if a number of sects start recruiting soon.”

Something in his tone is almost wishful. Considering some of their conversations and the way they have passed time together, Lan Xichen can only smile.

“You are thinking of trying again to join Lanling Jin.”

Meng Yao startles and looks at him like a dog caught trying to steal a piece of meat before smiling apologetically.

“Gongzi must find me an unsavoury character, wanting to take advantage of such a situation to push for a second chance.”

“On the contrary, I hope this might give you the chance to prove your value. Any sect should be lucky to have a man as clever as you in their rank.”

Meng Yao’s cheeks colour at the praise. He turns away, trying to hide a smile. It’s endearing, truly. Lan Xichen can’t help thinking of Nie Huaisang, so embarrassed at the smallest of compliments. This, in turns, gives him an idea.

“Meng gongzi, must it absolutely be Lanling Jin that you join?”

“It would be… preferable. I made a promise to my mother.”

Lan Xichen winces. That detail, and what he knows of Jin Guangshan’s reputation, tells him more about Meng Yao’s family than the young man probably intended to share. While open on other subjects, Meng Yao tries to avoid talking about his mother if possible, refusing to give any details save to say that she was of low birth. Still, Lan Xichen finds himself comforted in his idea; if he is right about Meng Yao’s father, then his friend should have great potential, enough to make up for a late start.

“Lanling Jin does not easily take in outsiders,” he explains as gently as he can. “But other sects are more welcoming. Meng gongzi, I’m sure you know of Qinghe Nie?”

“I do,” Meng Yao confirms. Then, with only a moment of hesitation, he adds. “Why not your sect though?”

“Mine is sadly as restrictive as Lanling Jin, or else I would offer my help and take you along with me,” Lan Xichen sighs. “But I know well the leader of Qinghe Nie and I know if you come with my recommandation, you will be given the chance you deserve. Sect Leader Nie is a man who will never turn away anyone willing to work hard, and he values competence above birth.”

That gets Meng Yao's attention, his eyes burning even if his smile remains mild.

“Gongzi is too generous.”

“Not at all. I simply believe you can rise above your current circumstances… and it is your wish to do so, isn’t it?”

“Gongzi saw right through me,” Meng Yao admit with a small laugh. “I… I am grateful, truly.”

“As am I,” Lan Xichen replies earnestly, taking the young man’s hands. “Meng Yao, even if our paths must separate for now, I really hope we meet again when you are in Qinghe.”

In answer, Meng Yao gives him the brightest, most open smile he’s shown so far. It makes him look a lot younger suddenly, and once more Lan Xichen finds himself of Nie Huaisang.

If Meng Yao goes to Qinghe, these two might meet. In fact, knowing Nie Huaisang, there is no way he won't notice a new disciple looking so different from their usual recruits, and he's too curious to stay away. Hopefully, this will translate into Nie Huaisang stubbornly deciding to claim Meng Yao as a friend, as he did with others.

Lan Xichen has a feeling these two could get along wonderfully, given the chance.

Now that he isn't trying to avoid a band of pursuing Wens, the return journey to the Cloud Recesses is far shorter. Lan Xichen tries to be careful and to check he isn't followed, but he encounters no problems. It is still unnerving to take such precautions just to go home. Lan Xichen hates that he has to come to a secret back entrance, hates that he dares not go inside the barrier, hates that he must send a butterfly message to his uncle to warn him of his presence and then hide until Lan Qiren either comes to meet him or gives him new instructions.

He waits for hours, hidden up among the branches of an old tree, until night falls. Somewhere far in a distance, Lan Xichen thinks he can hear the curfew bell, although that might be only wishful thinking. Still, soon after, his uncle crosses the barrier and Lan Xichen quickly jumps down from his branch to meet him.

Lan Qiren, always severe by nature, seems to have aged a decade in the couple of weeks since his nephew last saw him. There’s a deep frown carved into his face which grows more pronounced when their eyes meet. Lan Xichen tenses, fearing that he will get scolded for being gone this long, for his commoner’s clothes, for not wearing his ribbon. Instead, his uncle looks him over once and nods his approval. When they meet again, Lan Xichen will have to properly thank Meng Yao for all his advice on making himself less noticeable.

“I’m sorry for not coming home sooner,” Lan Xichen apologises in lieu of greetings. “I ran into some trouble and had to stay hidden. Don’t worry though, the books are fine!”

“And you?”

“As well as I can hope to be,” Lan Xichen replies. There’s no need to mention his wound since it’s healed. His uncle might scold him for being careless in a fight. "I've heard the Wens burned the library?"

"I burned it," Lan Qiren corrects.

Lan Xichen stares at his uncle with horror, hoping that he's suddenly developed a sense of humour. Lan Qiren stares right back, something almost challenging in his expression.

"Wangji and your father were trying to delay them," he states. "Wen Xu lost patience and tried to strike Wangji, but your father took the blow for him and fainted. By the time you'd been sent out, Wangji was on the ground as well and Wen Xu gave me an ultimatum : the library or my nephew."

"Uncle, I'm… I'm sorry. It must have been a hard choice."

"It was not hard," Lan Qiren assures him, challenging again, as if he’s had to defend his decision more than once already, and will not hesitate to do it once more.

Again, Lan Xichen stares. Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes and he wants to hug his uncle, though he dares not. Their uncle is not an affectionate man, but here and there Lan Xichen gets reminded that this is the man who raised his brother and him and cared for them as best as he could, the other parent in their life, the only parent left after their mother’s death.

"How is Wangji?" he quickly asks, trying to hide his emotion.

"He only sustained a minor injury, nothing to worry about."

"And yourself?"

Lan Qiren waves his hand to signify that is unimportant, though his face turns more severe.

"We are trying to keep this secret for the time being, but news will soon filter out. Xichen, your father died a few days after the attack."

"Oh."

Lan Xichen's first thought is an awful one: he's dead, so what? He was never there anyway.

It is unfilial. So is the fact that Lan Xichen never really bothered to worry about his father. And he knows he should feel sad, or perhaps angry and vengeful, but truly the news just leaves him cold. Lan Xichen hasn't seen his father since the death of Nie Mingjue’s father, and even then they barely talked. In a way, Qingheng-Jun died at the same time as his wife, and was mourned less.

"Are you going to succeed him?" Lan Xichen asks.

"Why would I when he has a son who is nearly of age?" Lan Qiren retorts, digging into his sleeve until he finds a jade token which he hands to his nephew.

Lan Xichen almost doesn't take it, recognising it as the token of sect leaders, passed down from one generation to the next since the barrier around the Cloud Recesses was first erected. It is beautiful in spite of its age, almost as white as snow and delicately carved in a way ordinary tokens are not. It is a sign of leadership in the Cloud Recesses and out of it. Although it has not been seen in years, Lan Xichen knows it will be recognised immediately by other sect leaders.

"Uncle, I'm not ready," he whispers.

Not for this burden he only just started really training for. Not for this war that came too soon.

"Nobody is ever ready for these things," Lan Qiren replies. "But you're not going to be alone. I've been there as well, I'm not going to abandon you."

Not like Qingheng-Jun did to all of them. Lan Qiren has always put most of the blame for their situation on Madam Lan, but his brother's faults were too great to not let him have his share of resentment.

Lan Xichen is terrified of this new responsibility, but he will not be his father. If his sect needs him, he will be there.

"What should I do? If I return openly…"

"It would be unwise. Let the Wens think we are broken and destabilised a little longer. I don't think Wen Ruohan ever realised how little your father's opinion mattered, so he won’t see that nothing has really changed for us. He's a powerful man in a leading position, and he underestimates the strength of those lesser than him. We'll use that."

Having said that, Lan Qiren shares his plan.

What the Four Great Sect will choose is important, he has determined, but much like Wen Ruohan they tend to forget the power of those under them. The myriad of smaller sects that exist around them have their own strengths. Some are already in alliances with the Great Sects, but most are fiercely independent and might remain neutral in the coming war, even though the Wens have shown them little mercy in the past. But if someone were to go to them personally and ask for their help, they might be more than willing to join the fight.

"What if I can't convince them?" Lan Xichen worries.

"We are one of the oldest sects in the country, asking for their assistance after their children have been taken from them," Lan Qiren retorts. "You have a good reputation among your elders, Xichen. Show them respect, listen to their demands, and I know they will listen to yours. I know you can do this. You've never disappointed me before.”

It is another weight falling on Lan Xichen's shoulder, another responsibility he's not quite sure he can take on. Still, he'll try his best.

He must be worthy of his uncle's trust.

Flying tirelessly, Lan Xichen visits sect after sect, starting with those that have a good relationship with Gusu Lan so he can get used to this mission among people who bear him no ill will and are already likely to let themselves be won over. Each time, he starts bluntly by explaining that although none of them want it, war is coming. If the indoctrination camp is not enough to start it, then it is still only a question of time before Qishan Wen goes too far.

It comes as a surprise to Lan Xichen that most of those small sects are more than willing to promise they will join whatever alliance the Great Sects will build. But of course, if for a sect like Gusu Lan it is concerning to see twenty disciples be taken away, for some of those smaller places, that means the entirety of their junior disciples. Some even had to send girls or grown adults to have the right number of hostages to offer.

Besides, it is hardly the first time that Qishan Wen gave them offence. If things have been rough for the Great Sects in recent years, they have been far worse for the smaller ones. Lan Xichen is told about Night Hunts interrupted, preys stolen, territories taken by force, marriages obtained through threat, and worse things still. Qishan Wen, once, offered itself as the greatest authority in the cultivation world and promised to help settle disputes between lesser sects, but in recent times it has started using that vocation to bully others into paying heavy bribes to have their rights respected, or heavy fines if they cannot defend themselves.

And that’s without getting into those times when cultivators have been simply murdered for standing up to high ranking members of Qishan Wen.

When he gets to Baling Ouyang, Lan Xichen hears one such story from its sect leader. His eldest son happened to be Night Hunting with a friend a few years ago when he stumbled upon a party led by Wen Xu that was after the same prey. Sect Leader Ouyang never found out the exact details of it, but both boys died, supposedly after inviting Wen Xu to join their Night Hunt but tragically underestimating the power of the creature they were hunting. Wen Xu, of course, made sure to avenge them and killed the beast himself.

“And now my second son is in their hands,” Sect Leader Ouyang sighed. “I have little hope of seeing him alive again. The Wens are looking for any excuse to slaughter the rest of us.”

“We have to hope they are wiser than that,” Lan Xichen replies, thinking of his brother, of his fiancé. To lose either of them could break him. It would break him, if he could be afforded that luxury, but he is not his father, he will not let grief swallow him. “But if it comes to war…”

“Gusu Lan can count on Baling Ouyang. I will not miss a chance to avenge my son.”

Lan Xichen thanks the other sect leader for this promise, bowing before him a little more deeply than he should when they are, technically, equals. But he feels for this man who lost so much and yet is still ready to take such risks, and it never hurts to show proper respect to an elder.

Lan Xichen is about to take his leave, hoping to maybe reach another sect before the day is over, when the door barges open, letting in a small flow of people. Worried about being seen and recognised even in disguise, Lan Xichen quickly hides behind the sect leader’s throne and turns around, wondering how to leave while the newcomers all start shouting.

"Sect Leader, we're back, we escaped!"

"Sect Leader, they starved us and took our swords!"

"There was a giant turtle with a snake head, it attacked us but the Jiangs helped us get out!”

"Where is A-Hui?" Secter leader Ouyang asks anxiously.

"He's in Lanling with all the wounded," someone answers. "The young masters from Lanling and Qinghe made all the wounded swap clothes with people from allied clans of Lanling Jin to make sure they'd be taken to safety quicker. And then…"

"Nie Huaisang was there?" Lan Xichen gasps, turning around to look at the returning boys. "Was he well?"

The Ouyang disciples are so excited that they don't even care about being addressed so casually by what, to them, must look like nothing more than a visiting merchant.

"Last we saw him, he was heading north with everyone who couldn't get to their sect alone. He's the one who thought to trick the Jins into taking the wounded, and he said his brother would protect them from the Wens. We thought to follow him as well, but we realised we weren't so far from home so we'd be fine."

Lan Xichen grins at the news, relieved that his fiancé is well. His heart swells with pride to hear Nie Huaisang talked about in such a complimentary way. It is odd to think of him leading anyone… and yet not so surprising at the same time. Someone who can get Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian to somewhat get along with Jin Zixuan can make people do anything.

"What about Lan Wangji?" he asks. "Did he go North to Qinghe as well?"

At this question, the boys' enthusiasm suddenly falls.

"There was this monster…"

"Wei Wuxian was staying behind to distract it while we escaped…"

"It was so huge, I think Lan Wangji tried to help and…"

"The passage became blocked, they stayed trapped inside."

Lan Xichen has to put one hand on Sect Leader Ouyang’s throne to support himself.

“Where did this happen?” he asks.

“It’s fine, the Jiangs are going to rescue them!”

“Tell me where this happened,” Lan Xichen insists, barely restraining himself from shouting. His brother, trapped with a monster…

“It was on Dusk Creek Mountain,” one Ouyang disciple quickly explains. “A cave hidden near a banyan tree, but the Wens blocked that exit as well. Sir, do you know Lan Wangji?”

Sensing his hesitation, sect leader Ouyang intervenes.

“This man is from the Gusu area but came here to ask for my opinion on a certain matter,” he tells his disciples. “The matter in question is of a delicate nature. Forget you saw him. Go get your injuries checked if you have any, and I’ll tell the cook to make you something quickly. Out now!”

The boys obey without delay, chatting excitedly about the things they want to eat. Lan Xichen watches them go, feeling numb now that he knows their freedom came at the cost of his brother’s. At least he’s not alone in there, at least he’s with Wei Wuxian who, whatever faults he has, is a brilliant cultivator. If anyone can survive such a situation it is the two of them, and yet…

Lan Xichen wants to break down and cry.

Instead he once more thanks sect leader Ouyang for his promised support, reminds him that his visit and the fate of his father must remain secret, and leaves for the next sect. Whatever happens to Lan Wangji, war is still coming, they still need allies. Lan Xichen cannot be his father, cannot let his emotions stop him from doing what’s needed. He does, however, send an urgent message to his uncle to tell him what he’s learned, every detail of it so that Lan Qiren can organise a rescue mission in case the Jiangs don’t.

The answer finds him a few days later: Lan Wangji was rescued by Jiang Fengmian and has already returned home. In his relief, Lan Xichen allows himself the tears he dared not spill earlier. His brother is safe, he is well, he is home.

Lan Xichen breathes again.

Half a month later, in the middle of a market, Lan Xichen starts hearing rumours. He doesn’t pay attention at first, rumours are rarely worth listening to. But as he pays for his meal at a stall, the next client leans toward the seller with a worried expression that catches his eyes.

“Old man, your daughter married a man from Yunmeng, right?” the client asks, which gets him a nod. “Have you heard what happened there?”

“About the Wens? I don’t know if I believe that.”

“You should. I was there the day it happened. I saw some of it. It’s worse than people say. They burned the bodies in front of the Lotus Piers, saw it myself! When I passed by they’d just found a kid who’d managed to hide, stabbed him and threw him right into the fire with the dead!”

Lan Xichen almost drops his meal.

“Was Yunmeng Jiang really attacked then?” he gasps.

“More than attacked, it was slaughtered,” the man retorts. “Not a single survivor. They made people from the town come look as they burned the sect leader’s body and his wife. There’s no more Yunmeng Jiang. And from what I’ve heard, the Wens are now going to take over all that cultivation business. They want to establish offices in every city, and anyone who needs a cultivator’s help will have to go through them rather than other sects. That’s how the fight with Yunmeng Jiang started, I’ve heard. Wen Chao wanted to use the Lotus Piers as his office in Yunmeng, and you can imagine how much the Jiangs liked that. Well, maybe they should have swallowed their pride…”

The man goes on to describe what was happening to the civilians of Yunmeng, but Lan Xichen doesn't linger to listen. Putting down his untouched meal, he quickly leaves behind first the stall and then the market. As soon as he’s out of that small town he jumps on his sword and heads back for Gusu.

Lan Xichen has spent the last few weeks telling people that Qishan Wen is about to go too far, but even he would never have imagined something of that magnitude. War cannot be avoided anymore, and only time will tell if they prepared enough for it.

#xisang #worst engagement au #this is almost 8K so yeah had to cut it lol #jau writes #a lot of bad stuff in there #but hey it's the Sunshot Campaign so yeah...

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