The pink haired woman on the stage pauses for effect; her hand swirls atop the giant glass bowl before plucking a white strip and opening it with a flourish. Her lips peel off in an upward curl to reveal perfect white teeth, shattering the suffocating silence.

"Primrose Everdeen."

My head whips around; I'm not the only one as multitude of heads follow mine as we all zoom in on a girl with hair the colour of wheat. She's a tiny thing, thin with birdlike features; her shirt is bunched at the back to form a little duck's tail. The people around her have already stepped back, leaving her stranded all alone as the implication of what is happening to her draws out in front of the whole of Panem. I see her little fists grip together hard, hard enough to draw blood, just as I am doing with my own two hands. Her face pales alongside mine as her last name echoing off the speaker echoes within my head as well.

Everdeen. Everdeen. Everdeen. The last name of the girl to whom I share an intimate connection with even if she does not acknowledge it. The last name of the girl to whom I gave bread to one dreary day when it seemed like the rain would drown us all in its sorrow. The last name of the girl to whom I have fallen in love with after years of shy glances and averted gazes.

The last name of the girl who now stands tall, her voice booming over the chaotic silence as she struggles with the Peacekeepers around her, trying to pull her younger sister away.

"I volunteer!"

My heart gives way as I lock my knees from plummeting to the ground. I'm near the front of the crowd of potential male tributes and so, I can see the giant screen bearing down on us, showing the siblings' faces in clear contrast with one another. I see her shove a Peacekeeper away as she takes another step forward, her grey eyes unyielding as she enunciates her death sentence louder and clearer so it carries along the crowd in whispers.

"I volunteer as tribute."

My heart starts beating again, crashing around my ears until it drowns out everything, even the hysterical screams coming from the younger girl who is fighting tooth and nail to get to the older. I see Prim's lips spell out Katniss over and over again as she continues to claw her way towards her sister before she is stopped by a strong tan arm that wraps around her waist, lifting her up.

My eyes follow the lean muscular arm up towards its owner who is looking at Katniss with such a tender look of lost love and strong firmness that I almost pull away; I feel like an intruder on this private moment and my insides plunge to the ground as I hear Gale Hawthorne's gravely whisper.

"Up you go, Catnip."

And that one sentence transforms the girl I love into someone more. As if those four words gave her strength, she stands straighter, her face evolving from a bleak expression into an emotionless mask as she walks steadily towards the stage. And I know that I have already lost her even though she is never mine to begin with.

I could have never comfort her in her hour of need. I am not like Gale Hawthorne who is rugged and smooth- who knows what to say and who will do what is necessary for her. His conviction is unlike mine; he does not shy away but looks like he longs to be up on the same stage as Katniss- the same stage where people are sent to their doom with explosions and blood- before he reluctantly steps back, the Peacekeepers forcing him away.

My eyes follow him as I see him make a beeline towards a woman who is standing on the sideline, eyes blank, tears running down her face as she puts out her hands to wrap them around her younger daughter who clings to her like there is no tomorrow. I see Gale's face jaw tighten as Peacekeepers push him away from the grieving family towards the forest of male tributes and I see him close his eyes for one painful second, just as I did when I first heard the words 'I volunteer' that render my world silent. Then, Effie's high pitch voice crashes through my ears to pierce my muted bubble, once again making the world explode loudly around me.

"Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!"

The last word stretches long and thin in my head as Katniss tilts her head ever so slightly downwards, as if mourning the loss of her life already.

Then, there is a movement throughout the people around me as one after another hold up their three middle fingers outwards before bringing it back to kiss it and finally lifting them towards Katniss Everdeen, the one person who will die for love.

Before I know it, my hand is also among the numerous hands raised on the giant screen before it blanks for several seconds and returns with a pan of the people on stage- averting the whole of Panem from watching our message: that we do not condone.

There are several seconds of tense silence before a booming voice is heard and someone trips onto the stage, flinging himself into Katniss who flinches. It is Haymitch, the only living District Twelve winner of the Hunger Games, and judging from his manner of speech, he's drunk. Fury and pity erupts through me as I hear him stumble over his words. "I like her! Lots of… spunk!"

There is a beat of bewilderment from the audience before the man promptly falls off the stage; everyone just stares at the procession of Peacekeepers hauling him away. But my eyes never leave Katniss; I watch as her nose wrinkles slightly as if disgusted by the display of her so called mentor, her eyebrows brunching together to signify her displeasure.

As attention is bought back to Effie who totters over to the giant glass bowl, I see Katniss collect herself, clasping her hands tightly behind her back, her posture stiff. She looks glorious, as if ready to bound herself to wage war against everybody in order to come back home. But I know this is just a façade because before she carefully blanked her face, effectively shutting down her emotions, there had been a precious second where her eyes had glazed over with fear.

Then, there is a collective intake of breath around me as Effie slowly reaches into the bowl to grasp a strip of paper. There is not even a second to think about anything- my safety, Katniss's situation, my love for her that is being overshadowed by the Hunger Games- when my name is pronounced over the speakers.

"Peeta Mellark."

That is me. That is my name. I have been called, been named as the 74th male tribute for District 12. My mind jumbles together, whirling to grey as someone pushes me forward towards the direction of the stage. I walk- I know not how my limbs are working when my mind is fading away- and there is a moment for me to catch a glimpse of my parent's stricken faces when Katniss's looms in my vision. I see her face leap with recognition and somehow turn paler than it already is. Her mouth becomes a thin line before she turns away from me.

At that one gesture, I discover pain. I have never dreamt there is this much pain in the universe. Physical pain, maybe, but nothing has prepared me for this. This one moment where I want to rip open my chest with my bare hands and claw out my heart. Taking my place next to her, I can only see the face of the girl I love beyond love withdraw from me. And as always, the Hunger Games burn in the back of us, rebounding from screen to screen, enlarging our features even as it burns into me- Katniss is everything that has ever been loved by anyone, and I am watching her die. I see her swallow hard, eyes flirting from person to person until she catches eyes with Gale before lowering her gaze towards the floor, steeling herself before holding her head up higher.

And in that moment, I realize that I cannot compete. Not in this game of love where she would willingly sacrifice herself for her sister. Not in this game of love where I can see her eyes glowing when they meet Gale, even if she does not catch the display of how her face lights up before she schools it back into a mask.

And as the Reaping come to a close, all I can do is stand in silence. In mourning. Grieving for the sudden death of an illusion- of a future where we could have been happy together.

'If only, if only…'

But that if only would take me to a place I cannot bear to go. In the end, I can only return to the thought I fear would echo within me for the rest of my life.

Katniss, my love, I'm so sorry.

- Second time writing in first person POV and I still don't like it. But hopefully I managed to curb my distaste on this writing style to produce a hopefully good fic.

- Also second time writing for The Hunger Games fandom and hopefully, I have not butchered up Peeta's character that much since I prefer Gale over him. I tried to portray Peeta as someone who is thrust into the spotlight of having to realize that evidently, the love of his life will die- that eventually he will have to see Katniss kill or be kill.

- Hopefully my story makes sense since I want this to be a companion to 'Of Choice' which is in Gale's POV.

- Feedback?

- Reviews are much appreciated.