disclaimer: I own nothing.
A Certain Kind of Sadness
It starts when their eyes meet.
Of course, they've seen each other before, on TV and even from distance, during the parade. It's predictable they'll catch each other's attention. They're strong. They're good-looking. They're allies. In other circumstances, they'd be perfect to each other.
They try not to, but they grow close. They end up training in the same stations. Sitting next to each other. Battling each other. It's like Clove and Marvel know and just want to make things more difficult. There's a possibility this is the plain truth.
It gets worse when they're in the arena. Hunting together shouldn't be that exciting. Watching the other kill shouldn't make them feel that things. Besides, there's no future to it. In the end, only one of them can survive. It's useless. A waste of time. Unnecessary.
But while they're walking, their hands will brush each other. Their eyes will meet and hold. Their steps will draw close, until their bodies are inches apart. They hear the same things, see the same things. Against their best judgment, they're in this together.
It ends right after it finally changes. After nights sleeping that close, it just felt too easy for her to lay her head on his shoulder. Just as easy as it was for him to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her close, like it's nothing. Like nothing's happening.
Then it falls down on them. Through the screaming and hurry and desperation, they lose hold of each other. He only realizes she's not following when she screams his name. She screams his name over and over again, but he keeps running, keeps hurting from the bites and keeps seeing things that don't exist. He finally finds the river and jumps, and the water keeps the trackers away, but it doesn't stop the sound of the cannon from resonating on his ears, the last page, the last breath, the end.
It's over.
I don't actually ship them, but this was fun to write. The title's from Somebody That I Used To Know, Goyte.
