Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games. Rights to Suzanne Collins.

Aoife Voclain and Dara Berling had been best friends since they were fifteen years old. Things only got better when they both landed jobs at the same fashion magazine, Fine Glamour, as a stylist and photographer, respectively.

It was only granted that their children, Glimmer Voclain and Marvel Berling, would be good friends too.

Aoife had three children and Dara had two. Glimmer and Marvel, the eldest of their kids, spent the most time together. Glimmer liked to sport Marvel's large, stylishly cut coats and silk button-downs. In retaliation, Marvel tangled his fingers in Glimmer's hair to muss it, and tugged lightly at her dangling earrings.

Both blonde and beautiful, they entered the District Academy together.

When they were chosen to be the Volunteers for District One in the 74th Hunger Games, Glimmer and Marvel threw a huge joint celebration party.

Everyone was far too trashed to catch the two sneaking off, hands wandering and faces secretive.

Cashmere took one look at them on the train and said, "This stays private. No one knows. You don't say anything about your relationship, or do anything in public about it."

That was the first lesson of the Games that they learned: don't get caught.

Marvel kissed Glimmer, sweet and firm, when they were alone in her dressing room right before the chariot parade.

Their first night in the Capitol, they put the thick walls and quality bed to good use.

"Glimmer," Marvel said. "I love you." He looked her in the eye while he said it, honest and truthful. And those blue eyes, those blue eyes that reminded her of blue glass and blue silk and the blue sky, were so vulnerable.

So few people looked her in the eye. Glimmer reached up and held him tight.

"I love you too," she told him. Her voice didn't waver. She was sure of this, and she had been sure of her love for him for a long time.

However, this time, the words had an added meaning: I love you even though I know what's about to come.

Marvel and Glimmer forged an alliance with the District Two tributes. Glimmer did as Cashmere told her to, and draped herself over Cato, movements mostly flirtatious, but almost seductive. Marvel smiled like it was all one big joke (and later pressed his face into the juncture between Glimmer's neck and shoulder and said you're mine as she panted her agreement). The girl from Two, Clove, looked cold, calculating, and kind of murderous.

Glimmer and Cato fucked, then slipped away from the empty Capitol room they'd stumbled into. Marvel took one look at Glimmer, and held her until her nails stopped biting into her palms, and the taste of ash faded.

"Did the mentors," he began, then stopped.

"No," Glimmer said. "I wanted to ensure this alliance, like Cashmere said." Marvel had given her blanket permission on the train ride, and Marvel was a good guy. He wouldn't get angry.

Instead, he sighed and kissed her temple in understanding. Glimmer reapplied her lipstick once he let her go, but squeezed his hand.

Days in District One were days of home, vivid fragments of moments and golden days that bled together. Glimmer remembered the clothes she wore to school - silk blouses and cigarette pants and flouncy skirts that swirled around and heels that laced up her toned calves. Marvel remembered the feel of his brush combing through his hair, the blue colour of it, the softness of the carpet on his bare feet, and the coolness of his trophies as he arranged another on an overflowing shelf.

Days in the Capitol were sharp and slow. Marvel counted fractions of seconds as Glimmer took Cato down, and Glimmer could see the slow growing of Marvel's wide smile. Their hands brushed, and the warm drag of skin against skin was vivid.

When their mentors led them away from each other after training, they both knew where they were going.

Glimmer wore a silk robe. Underneath, black lace undergarments. The material should've been itchy. It wasn't.

Marvel went shirtless, in nothing but a pair of low-slung silk pajama pants. White. It made him look tanner. He was sent to the door of a young Capitolite. Violently purple hair. Pale purple eyes. Pale skin exposed in a dress that hid absolutely nothing. Marvel smiled, charming and easy, and made a light joke. It made the woman laugh, even as she dragged him inside and ran her long nails over his abs, stance predatory.

Glimmer met up with a man twice her age with silver hair and eyes. He was tanned, like Marvel, and his skin was too smooth. He didn't look young. He could've been her father. Glimmer pushed away the thoughts, swaying her hips seductively as she was led further into the room. She kept smiling as he undressed her.

"Snow wants you to do something for him," Cashmere told Glimmer. Her face was tight. "I wanted to take the job. He said that the client wanted you."

"And Marvel?" Glimmer asked, even though she knew this territory was dangerous.

Cashmere paused. "Gloss went through the same thing," she finally confessed. "Marvel will be going too. This means more sponsors for the both of you. And a generous gift to your family at your win." Or death hung in the air between them.

"I see that you and Clove are friends now," Marvel whispered to her as they headed apart from the Two tributes. He slid her an amused smile. "Look at you, not being a bitch."

"Bitch," Glimmer said. "I'm the head bitch, okay," and laughed, because that was joke that originated when they were twelve and still in District One.

Marvel tangled his fingers in her hair to mess it up, and Glimmer stole his sweater for the rest of training. It was fun with Clove, and Cato. They all worked well together. Marvel ribbed Cato when he didn't hit the bullseye, and Glimmer and Clove gravitated towards each other.

It was nice, and reminded them both of the golden days in District One, if not quite as lavish.

The night of the interviews, Glimmer was nervous. She was so nervous that people could see that she was nervous.

"It's okay," Marvel told her, voice soothing and light as she straightened his collar. Not many tributes were currently around, so he took the liberty of cupping his hand around Glimmer's ribcage. He could feel all her ribs. She was too thin, as always, but he could also feel the hard, reassuring muscle of her oblique. "You'll do fine. It'll all turn out fine. The audience will love you. They'll love us. You look beautiful." He rubbed soothing circles on her back, and bent his head to catch her eyes. His eyes didn't stray lower. He respected her too much for that.

"You're just saying that because you love my body," Glimmer told him, but she was smiling sincerely when their eyes met.

I love all of you, Marvel mouthed, so that nobody would hear. After all, they weren't supposed to get caught. Glimmer smiled a bit wider, a bit softer, and leaned on him a bit more.

I love you too, she mouthed back, right before Cato and Clove walked up to them, and they slid away from each other.

Glimmer's eyes lit up at their joined hands, and Marvel smiled, easy as you please, at them. Nobody commented, but everyone was aware.

That night before they were sent off into the Games, they spent one last time in bed together. Marvel mapped out her body with his careful hands, that smiling mouth on her collarbone and lips and hips. Glimmer surged up to kiss him, soft and cloying, sweet and desperate, becaue they wouldn't be able to do this after today.

It was their last night together, and they made it count.

Later, Marvel would open his eyes and see the Two tributes, but not his own District partner. He would know she would be dead, and he would mourn her like a friend would instead of a boyfriend.

Later, an arrow would sink into him and he would think home, home, home. Away from the Capitol, away from the Games, and towards Glimmer and another, eternal, luxurious place with golden days.