Her name is called first. She walks up to the stage, her pearly white smile across her face. She's practically glowing with excitement.
She's beautiful, he thinks. He's seen her at the training center before, skillfully wielding a bow and arrow. She could win, he thinks. I'll enjoy cheering for her.
Then he hears this name. His mind goes blank. The boy next to him elbows him in the side, and he smiles, and walks towards the platform.
Onstage, he can see his parents, beaming with pride. His younger sister waves, her grin showing her missing front tooth. She'll be 7 soon.
The neon-pink-haired escort has the two of them shake hands.
"I present to you," He says, "The tributes of District 1, Glimmer Fable and Marvel Carvey!"
The audience erupts into applause, and they are led into the building.
They talk every now and then. They each have their own mentor, they train separately. They converse at meals, exchange glances in the hallways.
Glimmer thinks he's cute. His charming smile, his brown eyes. But no. She can't think like that, she tells herself. At some point his blood will splatter, his heart cease beating. She might do it herself.
Glimmer loves sparkles. But even more, she loves the attention of the entirety of Panem, oohing and ahhing at the light reflecting off her sequined dress. She looks right to Marvel. He smiles. He reaches for her hand. She takes his.
The crowd gasps. Up onscreen, Glimmer and Marvel see the volunteer girl and the blond boy from Twelve, flames emanating from their sleek black attire. The crowd can't take their eyes off them.
Glimmer keeps her smile, but inside, she is enraged. This is supposed to be her moment, to make the capitol want her to be the one to win. To cheer for her and applaud for her, for small children of the Capitol to be talking during recess about Glimmer, the girl from One that sparkled so brightly.
Not Katniss, the girl on fire. She would kill her, she thought. This will not be the game of the girl on fire. Glimmer will win. The girl who sparkles.
Marvel loves the training center. He loves watching the spears digging, inches deep, into the dummy target several meters away. He aims spears at the heard, the heart, the stomach. They hit the bullseye each time. He sees the Twelve tributes across the room, talking at the camouflage station. They're weak, He thinks. Picking up another spear, he imagines the target as the Twelve boy, defenseless, begging for mercy. He throws the spear. It goes straight through her heart. He smiles.
Glimmer lives the bow and arrow. The Capitol's boy is so perfect, sleek and smooth. She loves the twang of the string next to her ear when she releases an arrow. When the arrow is released, she feels a rush exit her body, into the arrow as it flies across the room, hitting its target. It vibrates before settling, deep into the head of the target. Glimmer smiles. Dead, she thinks. She loves it. She loves it. She can't wait for the arena.
She looks to the station next to her, where Marvel is throwing spears. They exchange a simile before returning to training. They love it. They love having the power to kill.
She's nervous for the interview. She pretends to be confident, excited. But her stomach is twisted into a pretzel.
She loves the crowd. She loves the lights, the entire world watching her, only her. But that's what so scary. She could so easily screw this up.
"Live in 10 seconds!" The backstage manager says. Marvel squeezes her hand.
"Good luck."
The night before the games, Glimmer and Marvel find themselves in their first real conversation. They are in Marvel's room, side by side, admiring the view of the city.
They talk about District 12's recently revealed romance, what the gamefield might be like, their alliance with the smug District 2 careers, Cato and Clove. It's the calmest they've been since they arrived, a feeling they're not accustomed to.
Then he kisses her. He's not sure why. Maybe it's because they might die tomorrow, that he might never have the chance to ever again.
And she kisses him back. It's soft, gentle unlike their normal demeanors. It's strange, for both of them. But it's wonderful. So, so, wonderful.
"No," she says, breaking the kiss. "I can't do this." She gets up, hastily leaving to her own run, trying to ignore the blush that is growing on her face.
The game starts tomorrow.
Marvel can hear her screams as he runs, swatting at the wasps. His heart's yearns to return to her, rescue her from her horrible fate. He pushes the feeling away. He knows she was going to die at some point. It was inevitable, necessary if he was to win. He knows that kiss could've never gone anywhere. Only one of them can live.
Careers don't love.
They win.