They don't like each other at first. She thinks he's too cocky, and he thinks she's too arrogant, so really they each think the same of the other.
:::
Their mutual respect grows eventually. She teaches him how to throw a knife and he teaches her how to balance a sword.
They work well together, they really do.
:::
He thinks she's perfect, and she thinks he's foolish for thinking this. He would disagree.
It's no surprise that he kisses her eventually, hard and fast, a spur-of-the-moment action with a very positive reaction.
:::
It's also no surprise when they are chosen to volunteer for the 74th Hunger Games.
:::
They cut all ties after that. He locks himself away with old Games tapes and she sits alone, taking notes on all of her enemies.
Next to his name, she scribbles a question mark.
:::
He flirts with the blonde from 1, much to her annoyance, and so she flirts with the boy. Call it petty if you'd like to, but rationality has never been their strong suit. Not when it comes to each other.
:::
She tells him that she hates him, and he tells her that the feeling is mutual.
He says that he can't wait to snap her neck, and she says that she can't wait to carve him up.
:::
He doesn't want to kill her. Not really.
She doesn't want to kill him, either.
:::
They forgive each other with their bodies, hot and heavy and oh god what are we doing.
:::
He's never wanted to kill somebody more than he does the boy from 12, with his starry eyes and his bleeding heart.
She's never hated anybody more than she does the girl from 12, who doesn't even love the boy but will leech off of his confession anyway.
The star-crossed lovers of District 12 are everything they could have, and everything they do not.
:::
He kisses her again that night, tries to ease her out of the dress with rough, calloused hands on her arms and warm, soft lips on her neck.
She pushes him away and says that it's not even worth it. They need to rest up for tomorrow, anyway.
:::
They're cold and vicious and bloody and beautiful together, soaring through the bloodbath with practiced ease and all the grace in the world. She kills three tributes, and he kills four, and the pair from District 1 shift anxiously when they shoot each other bloody, bloody grins.
:::
He thinks he's killed a fifth, but the cannon never fires and Lover Boy has to go and finish the job.
He's angry and embarrassed, and she lets the back of her hand brush against his, a silent promise.
:::
The tracker jackers nearly kill them both, but it's her hand in his that helps him push through, and it's the rise and fall of his chest that helps her stay sane.
:::
What's this? They can both win?
But no, it's too good to be true. Isn't it?
Neither can bring themselves to care.
:::
A feast, too. The Gamemakers are generous this year.
She wants to go. He does not.
She goes, anyway.
:::
Her scream splits the sky in two, the desperate cry of his name on her lips, and he runs as fast as he can, but he can do nothing to stop her body from hitting the grass as 11 and 12 make their escape.
He cries when he reaches her, pulls her body to his and buries his face in her neck and begs her to stay with me, just hold on, we're supposed to win, damn it!
Glassy hazel eyes stare blankly up at him, and he knows that she can't hear his pain.
:::
He loves her, he really, really loves her, but love won't bring her back.
:::
He thinks the next best thing must be vengeance, but even after he has killed the boy from 11, snapped his wrists and cut him up and smashed his face with a rock, his heart still feels hollow.
He wonders if he'll ever feel full again.
:::
He doesn't want to win anymore.
:::
Oh, how badly he wants to bring Lover Boy down with him. He doesn't want to win anymore, no, but he doesn't want them to win either. He wants the Girl on Fire to feel what he feels—horrible, empty loss at the sudden absence of love.
He's too distracted, or maybe too heartbroken, to notice the arrow that's aimed for his hand.
:::
Everything hurts but he doesn't even care anymore, because he is empty. The mutts can dig and claw and bite at him all they want, but he knows that once they break through his flesh and gouge open his stomach, they will find absolutely nothing, because he is hollow and empty and he will never be full again.
What does it matter, anyway?
:::
He welcomes the second arrow with a breath of relief.