Erm, yeah, so I have literally no idea where this came from...
He is the one who can always make her laugh. Make her smile.
She is golden- glitter and lipstick and skin that shines, delectable and flawless. Gleaming.
Boys chase her. They eat her with their eyes like a sugar-spun candy. But he is the one who can capture the light in those green, green eyes for real.
She is Glimmer. He is Marvel, and he is the boy who knows her many faces, like a fresh mined diamond.
The only one she will ever trust.
With him she is safe, can drop her guard. Not far, of course. They are careers.
After all.
But far enough that he knows her, and that is precious to Glimmer.
When she goes to the Capitol to sparkle on their well-lit stages, he is with her.
And she is glad, because nobody but him knows her there.
She can pretend that he doesn't matter, and it is oh-so easy.
Marvel is the one who juggles the apples at the breakfast table and shrugs when the mentors rebuke him.
Who shares his chocolates with her- the white ones with the strawberry cream centres, because he knows how much she loves them.
They are his favourites too. But they never talk about that.
Glimmer flirts with Cato, the hulking blonde boy from two.
She hangs from his muscular arms, giggles when he swings that lethal sword, smirks when he talks with relish about killing the other, weaker tributes.
But at the end of the day in their opaque glass suite, where everything is at its most transparent, Marvel is the one who sees the real her.
With her training room persona discarded, her hair loose around her face, and that hard sheen gone from her eyes.
She does not fear him, and so he is the one that she lets in.
He knows that this is only possible because he is not like the Cato's of this world- not to Glimmer, anyway.
In a way, that is what's precious to him. That Glimmer cares too much about him to flirt and giggle and play.
That with him she can be honest, be herself- if only because he is not so disposable in her eyes.
Not enough of a threat to be another target for her practised charms.
He is more than that, and less, and it hurts.
It is a bittersweet balance, and he can't work out whether to love her or hate her.
So far, he'll settle for both.
He watches her interview and sighs. All so predictable- the gossamer frock, the heavy make-up, the shining waterfall of her hair.
And as much exposed skin as possible.
For the first time in his life, he well and truly loathes the Capitol. For turning Glimmer into this…object.
But he knows it's her as well, not a just them.
Capitol Glimmer is everything they want her to be. Gorgeous. Sexy. Fabulous to the Nth degree.
They will never know Marvel's Glimmer- the Glimmer he knows as well as he knows himself.
She is the neighbour girl who babysits his little sister Avery without being asked, because she knows Marvel is too proud to admit that sometimes he needs the help.
She is the trainee excels at any cost, who cannot shoot straight but keeps trying, because she will never ever ever give up.
The girl who trails her fingers through the sparkling fountain in the town square because she loves the feel of the water.
Who used to have crooked teeth, and can't sing a single note in tune. Who is scared of enclosed spaces and thunderstorms, but he'll never say so, same as she'll never tease him about his fear of spiders.
All those things the Capitol will never know, the tiny, important things they don't give a fuck about.
Marvel knows better- his Glimmer is an uncut diamond, and she shines all the more brightly for it.
It's not at all romantic, the way she feels for him. That's why, the night before the games, when his lips get a bit too close to hers for comfort, she stops him with a finger and a gentle shake of the head.
"Why?" he asks, and there is something completely unlike a question in his voice. Accusation.
That stings, because Glimmer relies on him to tether her to earth, and if Marvel's doubting her all of a sudden, then this is not okay anymore.
But she can't bear it, can't bear the thought of giving him up- his stupid jokes, his spears and his smiles, the way he's so much cleverer than they think he is, and so much stupider all at the same time.
"Seriously, Glim?" his voice is bluff and self-deprecating, and Glimmer hates it because he's not being real.
Marvel's always been the one she can rely on for honest, down to earth reality. If she loses that, she just won't know anymore.
She has to be perfect, doesn't he get it? She has to.
It's the only way she knows how to win. And she has to win.
But now Marvel is being…well, maybe, this is their reality now.
If it is, Glimmer doesn't like it much.
"What?" she asks. She uses her faux-innocent voice, the kind she uses when she's in seduction-mode, and his face crumples because she's never sunk that low with him before.
"Am I not good enough for you, Glimmer?" he asks.
"Oh, Marvel…" She'd like to say a whole lot, but what they're talking about isn't even right.
It's the opposite.
"It's not that." She's always been awful at the whole heart-to-heart conversation thing. In some ways, her whole life is a series of calculations. Marvel is an escape from that, or he was, or has been.
Whatever, alright? She can toss her hair and smile her pretty smile and pretend to believe him when he says things like that, even though they both know the truth.
He is too good for her.
Because at the end of the day, Glimmer knows what she is.
A whore.
And Marvel, her sweet sharp cynical Marvel…he deserves so much better than that.
This is what Glimmer believes, and in the end, she dies believing it.
The night before, she sleeps against Cato's chest and hates herself for it. But still, he's there and he's a boy, so she snuggles into his warm bulk and wishes herself home.
She'd never be able to do this with Marvel, because that would be crossing a line and she'd never forgive herself if she did that to him.
He is so, so precious and he doesn't even realise.
And when he runs from the tracker-jackers with the others, she is immeasurably glad.
If she had let him care that way, that much, the way she cares, he'd have been dead on the ground next to her.
She'd never have let that happen.
Never ever ever.
Marvel remembers. Not just Glimmer, but lots of stuff.
Cato and Clove assume- oh, they assume a whole load of things.
In the end, he thinks that will be their end.
He is stupid enough to let that bother him. But smart enough not to make any assumptions.
He whistles for the mockingjays, walks in the woods. Remembers how Glimmer couldn't carry a tune to save her life.
Save her life.
What he should have done.
But that would have been false, because she was so much more than a damsel in distress, and him, well, shining armour wouldn't quite fit right.
Theirs is no fairy-tale.
In this, this wider story, Marvel knows he is the villain.
Might as well act the part.
He traps a little bird, and puts spear through her stomach.
He remembers again. Remembers Rue with her wings, poised to take flight. None of them wanted to have that little one's blood on their hands.
They are careers. But there are still lengths that they will go to, sometimes, to remind themselves that they are human.
So it's convenient, Marvel thinks, when one of Glimmer's silver arrows pierces his throat, that he stopped feeling remotely human when a swarm of golden wasps took away the only thing he ever had the tiniest bit of faith in.
And oh how beautiful they are, all those murderous things that shine.
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