Eyyy first of my characters' intros. I decided to do just two because pairing characters thematically had too many options dhgskf

Also yeah, these chapters are gonna be song titles. This one is taken from the Florence + the Machine song of the same name. Lemme know what you think of these three, and we'll be back in however long with the other three!


01 - Cosmic Love


Idris Eiluned - 17 - District 1

Night before reapings

"We should be friends with volunteers more often."

"You're a mooch."

"I know, right? Totally shameless of me."

This wasn't an unusual sight. In fact, it was a welcomed one. Whenever all four of them gathered together to celebrate something, be it Titan's progress in his clothing line or Dior's latest victory at a singing contest, they could drop all pretenses and truly, earnestly relax. They were all gathered at the small table, the large house vacated to celebrate their friend's eventual farewell and efforts so far. Each one had a specially made dessert in front of them, and beyond those culinary artworks was the centrepiece towering above them: The croquembouche.

Pink-dyed profiteroles, strawberry-flavoured macarons, teardrop meringues. The large cone dessert was Idris's best work yet, and despite the crass way Laurent had expressed it, they knew he was proud of their efforts tonight.

"How long did this take you?" Titan asked. He was glancing between his apple galette and the croquembouche eagerly. Both he and Dior were lost on where to start digging in. "I know for a fact some of this stuff had to be started this morning."

Idris grinned at him. They picked a random flan on their plate and began digging in. "Then you know it took me at least all day," they said.

There was a sound of approval from across the table. Idris leaned around the croquembouche to see Laurent clutching his chest and looking on the verge of tears. "You made the grasshopper tart," he whimpered. The pastel green tart in front of him would be gone in minutes, Idris thought, and that was exactly the reaction they were hoping for.

Rather than spend their final night at home in the Academy among their fellow competitors, as well as the other soon-to-be tribute One had chosen this year, Idris had elected for a smaller, more personal affair. It was a big moment—maybe a bit bigger than a birthday, but big nonetheless—and none of their friends were enrolled in the Academy to begin with. They all had their own aspirations, but they were also the most supportive of Idris when compared to even their classmates at the Academy. Where others would compete and compare, resorting to the most juvenile of insults that long since had no effect on Idris, their friends would encourage and cheer for them. So it was only natural that Idris wanted to spend their last night with people they enjoyed being around.

The trio would've crashed the Academy's party anyway, if Idris had been forced to stay with their partner. That was oddly reassuring despite the consequences that would follow.

Titan hummed at Idris to get their attention. His mouth was full of both croquembouche and apple galette. As soon as he could speak, he asked, "Have you seen the new poster Open Arms made?"

"Oh! They used your designs for this one, right?" Dior beamed at Titan. He nodded back at her, puffing out his chest proudly.

"The internship program really paid off," he said. "I even got to make an outfit for Lapin—"

Laurent choked on his grasshopper tart. "You made an outfit for Lapin Lucius!?"

"He's a very nice person."

"Titan!" Laurent jumped from his seat and lunged across the table. He gripped the taller boy by the shoulders, shaking him lightly. Dior and Idris could only laugh at the display, but Titan was more than a little distressed by the burst of energy. "You made an outfit for the face of District One! The one voted 'Most Popular Escort', like, his whole career!"

"He sure did," Idris chuckled. They continued digging into their flan while the show went on.

Titan shoved Laurent off of him, one hand forcing back Laurent by the chin. "Oh my God, step off!"

"He's congratulating you," Dior said helpfully.

"He's getting his booze breath in my face, is what he's doing!"

Dior shrugged at him. She turned to Idris and said, "So have you seen the poster?"

First of their half-dozen flans finished, Idris nodded. "It's not our best poster, but that's just because the slogan was cheesy. Titan's design made it pop."

Laurent was finally shoved off of Titan in full. He crashed back into his seat, still yelling about Lapin's achievements. Titan stuffed a profiterole into the smaller boy's mouth to shut him up.

With Laurent distracted, Titan rose to his feet and posed dramatically. "'Idris Eiluned'," he recited, quoting the poster verbatim. "'From self-perceived zero to Academy-adored hero. Watch the face of Open Arms compete in this year's Hunger Games!'"

Idris added in a whisper, "'All donations to Open Arms during the Games will go to supporting our volunteer in the arena.'"

"Pure gouda," Dior said. Titan and Idris could only agree. "And did they just ignore the part where, like, the kids who caused you to seek out Open Arms are competing against you? I get it if they're making a dig at how they treated you, but that'd be a bit petty for a non-profit organisation…"

"They aren't exactly a celebrity on the level of Victors yet." Laurent had chewed through the profiterole in record time. If he attacked that croquembouche, it'd be gone in half the time it'd take the other three to eat it. "Plus, I like the pettiness. Tell me your dad insisted on keeping that one."

Maddox Eiluned had most certainly pushed for the pettiness to remain. There wasn't much of a point in Idris confirming what Laurent already knew.

Instead, they shrugged and said, "The rest of the Academy is nice. The kids from middle school are just a fraction of the people I met there. Gil was fun to train with last year."

The mere mention of the young Victor set off all three of their friends. Laurent made a comment about "climbing Gil like a tree", Dior gushed over the idea that Idris might've known who Gil's widely speculated significant other was, and Titan declared Gil to be a decent asshole. Idris wasn't sure which one to address first, but they certainly weren't going to have any answers for Dior. Gil kept his lips sealed even in the Academy—not even Capable, his mentor at the time, knew the name of his partner. Idris was far from a gossip, but it made sense that they didn't know if Capable didn't either.

Conversation, at the very least, didn't taper off into gossip about Gilgamesh Aksoy. Despite his comment, Laurent was very eager to keep the focus on Idris for tonight.

"In all seriousness," Laurent said, pointing his fork at Idris, "I'm proud of you. You've come a long way from the state you were in when I first met you."

In all fairness, so had Laurent. Both of them had been hospitalised—for different reasons—and both had been at their lowest points at the time. Idris was proud of their progress, but more than that they were proud of the fact that Laurent had been there with them every step of the way.

"Right back at you," they said. The amount of affection in their tone made Laurent grin—not cheekily or slyly, but in a way that showed his heart was genuinely touched. He never spoke about his own problems much, too proud to call them problems in the first place, but even the smallest of acknowledgement of his efforts was enough to make Laurent happy. That, Idris thought, and a grasshopper tart.

"You two are saps," Dior interrupted. She hadn't meant it in a rude way, the smile on her face devoid of any teasing. "We're proud of you both, too. Our little gang wouldn't be the same without either of you."

The sentimental expression on Laurent's face dropped. "Sorry, what was that? Pure gouda, you say?"

"God, you emotionally constipated drunk." Dior leaned over and swiped some of Laurent's grasshopper tart. "You're lucky we love you for it."

"I've been thinking about that, actually."

For a fleeting moment it looked like panic crossed Laurent's features. The first thing Titan said during this particular exchange, and it was him thinking on something related to their pride? Idris could see why the distress had shown itself, even if for just a second. They glanced at Titan, eager to hear what he had to say.

He looked at everyone around the croquembouche before clearing his throat. From where Idris was sitting, they could see just the barest hints of pink at the tips of his ears.

"So, uh…" Titan stumbled over his words. "We're all on the same page about, like… Being down to date each other if we ever got curious, right?"

Oh. Idris felt a weight lift off of their chest, only to be replaced with a new one. This weight was lighter, at least, and it hadn't been all that long since they'd all discussed the idea of dating each other.

"Yeah?" Laurent prompted him. He'd pushed aside his grasshopper tart—as good a sign as any that Titan had his full attention, and that Laurent was going to be taking this as seriously as possible.

"When Idris comes back, is it okay if we try something? Together?"

"Try dating?" Dior shrugged. "I guess. We do double dates and all that? Who'd go with who?"

Titan cleared his throat again. He bowed his head and mumbled, "All of us. At once. Together."

The trio stared at him in silence. The longer it dragged on, the more anxious Titan appeared. Idris knew what he was proposing, but they just couldn't find the words to tell him they were on board. How could they change the affection they felt for their friends, after all? It would be unfair to love one more than the others. And their dads would be supportive of the relationship—they already thought Idris was in a relationship with at least one of them, anyway.

Laurent shrugged, and his grin returned. "Alright. I'm down. The more, the merrier, right?"

"Yeah," Dior agreed. "And we'd all still get to be together. Just lovey-dovey about it."

Three pairs of eyes landed on Idris then. They couldn't stop their smile even if they tried, the words tumbling out of their mouth like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Coming home to that would be a blessing."


Pyrrha Akhilleus - 18 - District 2

One month before the reapings

"You're a curse on this Academy!"

The hand struck her cheek long before Pyrrha knew it was coming. Her hands went slack, the lunch tray with her curry tumbling to the floor and making a mess at her feet. Everyone in the cafeteria—everyone—paused at the sound of drama coming to a boil.

This wasn't something new for her.

The younger Academy student was screeching at the top of her lungs. Pyrrha tuned the screams out, keeping her composure just like she had every other time; there was shuffling around her, Anemone already jumping to her defense, but it was unnecessary. As Pyrrha righted her head, facing the student again, another slap landed on her cheek.

She knew the name of this student. Hector Gibbs' sister, Laodice—younger sister, Pyrrha thought idly. One of many, though definitely not one that was enrolled in the Academy. This still wasn't new, though. Over the last few years, scorn from the families of tributes was something Pyrrha would experience when the Games crept closer and closer.

Some classmates were already pulling Laodice away from Pyrrha. She screeched and thrashed about, and Pyrrha didn't tune back into the scuffle until the clattering of metal against the floor echoed through the room.

"You should've died instead of them!" Laodice was screaming. Spit was flying across the distance, landing just shy of Pyrrha's feet. Between them was a knife—not from the cafeteria, but from someone's home. Large and smooth, the handle faded from constant use. Pyrrha's stomach fell when she looked back up at Laodice. There was a small cut on her hand from the knife, probably thanks to everyone dogpiling her and forcing her to drop it. "If you won't die in the arena instead of them, you can die by my hand!"

Anemone stepped past Pyrrha. Pyrrha reached for her, voice caught in her throat, but she wasn't fast enough. Anemone clenched her fist and hit Laodice square in the face with it; Laodice's head rocked back, and then it dropped forward limply. Her nose was bleeding heavily as the students carried the unconscious Laodice to the nearest teacher.

"Ballsy, I'll give her that much," Anemone grunted. She sneered down at the knife on the ground. "Still an embarrassment though."

"You didn't need to hit her," Pyrrha said. Ever so slowly the cafeteria returned to normal, acting as though Laodice hadn't even attempted to stab Pyrrha just now. It was just another day for Two's Academy.

Anemone shrugged. She pulled napkins from her pocket and handed a few to Pyrrha. "I kinda did, yeah. Self-defense is the first thing we learned, remember?"

"She was detained."

"By the kid who jarred his wrist not even three weeks ago and the junior who still flinches when someone throws a punch at her." Anemone clicked her tongue. She stepped over the mess of curry on the floor and sat down at the bench Pyrrha had been aiming to sit at. "Just because she's frantic doesn't mean she wouldn't have broken free. Now if I was the one holding her back…"

Pyrrha wiped what little curry had landed on her with a frown. There was no need for Anemone to act so cocky about this. True, Laodice had a fair chance to break free based on who was holding her back, but gloating when Pyrrha could've been stabbed was in poor taste, even for Anemone. Not that Pyrrha could ever convince her of that fact. Anemone was as proud as any other Academy student.

She stared on at the door Laodice was dragged through. Now the trainers were involved, not just regular staff, and Pyrrha was far from mistaken when she saw the wary glances thrown back her way.

Top of the Academy for four years—not just her class, the whole Academy—and everyone was slowly turning against her for declining to volunteer. She always gave away the spots to the girl who was top of the seniors, and now she was being blamed for their deaths.

Pyrrha sat down next to Anemone and softly planted her face on the table. Sure, they all died in the bloodbath every year since she rose to the top, but it wasn't like Pyrrha personally killed them! All this superstition was driving her up the wall, both at home and at the Academy; was it too much to ask for just one day without tension in the air? Everyone was so desperate to pin the blame on something—on someone—that the person they'd lauded became the subject of so much discourse. So much exhaustion.

"Hey, come on." Anemone nudged her playfully. "You're not seriously stressed over a scrub like her, are you? She's just jealous her stupid brother wasn't up to your level."

And then there was the praise, just as toxic as the scorn. If people weren't tearing Pyrrha down from the pedestal they'd placed her upon, they were dragging her back up with chains embedded deep in her skin. It was always the same—Pyrrha was too great to be stressed over normal citizens! Pyrrha was just better than all their dead family members, guys! It wasn't Pyrrha's fault they all let themselves disgrace District Two by dying in the bloodbath all the time!

She ground her teeth together and folded her arms over her head. Her hair was getting too long; she'd have to get Anemone's mother to trim it by the time the reapings began.

"Anemone," she sighed. The girl in question groaned. Of course she would groan. Whenever Pyrrha tried to explain this stuff in simple terms, Anemone would act like she was paying her "haters" too much mind. Never mind the fact that these haters had lost precious siblings and children and needed something to explain it. "I'm not comfortable comparing past tributes to me."

"Comparing them to you would be a generosity," Anemone grumbled. Pyrrha's fingers tugged at her hair. Anemone didn't know better, she told herself. Anemone was raised on the same ideals as every other Academy student. She didn't know better.

"An—"

"God, do you need to stress-fight? I'm telling you now, you're gonna mop the floor with me anyway. Go teach Hector's sister a lesson if you need to vent it."

"I don't need to vent—"

"Then why the sulking?" Anemone shifted, probably looking over her shoulder. "Oh! You sad about the curry?"

She lied through her teeth, "Yeah. I was hanging out for it today."

Anemone gave her shoulder a firm smack—a friendly gesture in her eyes, but Pyrrha had a very low tolerance for being hit over the course of a few minutes. "Tell you what," Anemone said, "I'll grab you a new serving and bring it to you after the teacher's done."

Pyrrha's head shot up. She was about to ask Anemone to repeat herself, but the voice of an Academy trainer broke through their conversation. He was behind Pyrrha, and his tone was less than friendly. Anemone fled quicker than Pyrrha had ever seen her. For all the haughtiness she showed against her peers, Anemone's spine turned to slush when it came to their teachers.

Though she'd never admit it aloud, the teacher just gave her a much needed break from Anemone's misguided views.

Pyrrha rose from her seat and greeted the trainer. He taught co-ed classes, but he'd only just started teaching this year. Even before he'd met Pyrrha he'd had high expectations of her—probably thanks to the girls' teachers bragging about having a prodigy in their classes. He would be the one to take over teaching leading up to the Games, making sure everyone was aware of each others' weaknesses more than their own strengths.

The teacher—she was sure his name was Saturn, or something else astrology-based—waited until Anemone was out of an earshot. He wasn't fussed about the other students, and they didn't seem fussed about him. Much like a family member attacking Pyrrha around this time of year, teachers would also flock to her in attempts to convince her to volunteer.

This was nothing new.

Saturn gestured for Pyrrha to sit back down. He joined her at the table, deftly avoiding the curry behind their bench.

"The Gibbs family will be notified of Laodice's actions," he started. Pyrrha nodded. "I assume you're well aware what caused her to act this way."

"Hector," Pyrrha said. Saturn seemed to pause. The way his face changed—the furrowed brows, the confused look—made it very clear he expected a different answer from her.

"Partly." Saturn folded his hands on top of each other. Pyrrha stared at him blankly. She tried not to let her dismay seep into her expression, but even she had her limits. Saturn seemed to be realising this as well, the man unfolding his hands and clearing his throat at her tired gaze. "I know you're not… fond of your position, Pyrrha."

She hoped her face wasn't telling him that. The last thing she needed was a teacher mistaking her exhaustion and stress for laziness.

"But with the skills you've honed and your rank among the whole Academy," he went on, choosing his words as carefully as possible, "you have to understand that a responsibility—an expectation—is put upon you in exchange for them."

"Yes, sir," she mumbled.

He paused. Pyrrha watched him glance around the room, his eyes landing on Anemone as she finally reached the line for the curry. Saturn sucked in a deep breath.

"Are you afraid, Pyrrha?"

The question caught her off guard. It was always something else—are you unmotivated, are you ignoring your talent, are you doing this to spite us. She was far from scared, but how many times had someone even thought to ask her that? To ask without the intent of mocking her?

Pyrrha shook her head. "I'm not, sir," she said. Saturn waited for her to continue. No one else ever waited for her to explain herself, either. "I just… How do I know I'm ready? What if I'm not good enough yet?"

She could see the words slowly sinking in. Saturn stared at her, his expression softening, until finally he seemed to understand what the issue was. Pyrrha wouldn't admit out loud that she was surprised at how quickly he'd changed his tune from stern teacher to supportive confidant. He was new—he had every other teacher and rumours about Pyrrha painting a picture for him.

Saturn smiled at her. She could see the sympathy in his expression, but just beneath the surface there was something else… Mischief? A scheme?

"We have a month to make sure, right?" he said. Pyrrha glanced over at Anemone again. She was already walking back with more curry, her nose pinched like it was the foulest thing to assault her senses. "How about I give you a proper panel to determine how ready you are this year?"

Pyrrha blinked at him. A proper panel? What more could be provide aside from the judgements her teachers had already made?

Saturn rose from the bench. He gave Pyrrha a wink as Anemone finally ventured close enough for the stern facade to sneak back into his posture.

"Five AM. Training Room Twelve. I expect you to be punctual, Akhilleus."


Shuu Desrosiers - 18 - District 7

One year before the reapings

It was just shy of five in the morning when he heard shuffling outside his door. Shuu froze on the spot, his shadow no doubt cast through the crack in the door by his lamp, but part of him still held on to hope that the illusion of being asleep would remain.

Himawari practically slammed Shuu's door open. There were heavy bags under her eyes, her hair no longer in a neat bun but tied loosely around her head.

Himawari Desrosiers was not happy to see her little brother awake.

"Tell me you slept," was the first thing out of her mouth. Shuu instantly felt his cheeks burn. His sister's gaze moved from him to his bed. From there, where all manner of clothes were on display, she looked to his open drawers and closet door. "Shuu…"

"I—I was too nervous!" he insisted. Himawari threw her hands up and turned on her heel in an instant.

"You'd better not take a nap in the middle of work, young man!" she called back to him. Himawari stormed back in the direction of her room. Unlike Shuu, she actually did need to be awake at this hour—for work, at least.

Shuu grabbed clothes from his bed at random and clambered after her. "While you're awake!" he shouted. One of the pairs of underwear fell from his grip. Shuu slipped on it without fail, a rain of fabric descending upon him as he crashed into the hallway. "Help me pick something!"

He could see her pause. Himawari planted her hands on her hips. "I don't have time for this," she grumbled. Shuu picked up the clothes one by one as she looked over her shoulder at him. "Does it matter what you wear? How do you even know he'll see you from on top of that stage?"

"He will! We came up with a way for him to know it's me—he'll see me, Himawari."

"What, that heavy block of gold he calls an earring?" Himawari turned around to face him fully.

"No, I just have to—"

He couldn't tell if it was exhaustion that caused her to snap, or if he truly was going overboard with his panic over the situation, but Himawari reached her tipping point earlier than usual. It stung more than usual, too, Shuu's heart sinking at the mere possibility of her even saying such a thing to his face. "Then why don't you just go and ask Dad for help!? He's all about making a good impression and being perfect!"

It hurt. It well and truly hurt. Himawari must've seen in it Shuu's eyes, in the way his arms went limp and his clothes dropped to the floor again. She backtracked, stammered as she approached again. Shuu just rose to his feet and sped back into his room, locking his door behind him.

It was just shy of ten when someone knocked on his door. He knew it wasn't Himawari—she was expected at work before six—but he still couldn't bring himself to answer. As exciting as today was, as much as he'd looked forward to it ever since he was told there would be a visit, the frustrated jab had soured the excitement considerably.

Shuu's refusal to answer didn't deter his visitor, though. It never did, when it came to Quill. Quill couldn't walk away from an issue without some kind of resolution being found, even if it killed him.

Another knock. This time Quill called out to Shuu through the door. "If it helps any, the lightning bolt briefs won't do you any favours if you two get some alone time."

Shuu buried his face in his hands. Not that it did much, already being under his blankets and all. "I didn't ask!" he called back.

Quill snorted. "A very unsunny sunflower said you did."

Shuu didn't answer. He knew Himawari didn't mean what she'd said—but they were as stubborn as each other, and he wouldn't budge his sulking until she budged through her guilt.

Yet another knock. This time Quill waited before he spoke. "C'mon, kiddo. Come out and I'll see what we can make for brunch. We want this rich bitch to know he got lucky landing you."

Shuu snorted back at him. He did smile, though; if anyone had a way with words in this damn household, it was Quill Ashford. They may not have been the most eloquent of words, granted, but they did the job. Maybe with a little less padding.

He rolled off the bed, taking his blankets with him. He unlocked his door, and Quill was kind enough to wait for him to step back before letting himself in.

"Don't tell Himawari," he said, "but I pulled an all-nighter worrying about my hair for our first date, too."

Quill carried the pile of clothes back into Shuu's room. As he dumped them on the bed, Shuu dryly told him, "Unlike you, I didn't seriously consider a pompadour."

"A pompadour your sister was foolish enough to get engaged to. Now walk me through this. We got, like, two hours before we have to start moving for the Square."

It was just shy of eleven by the time they settled on something acceptable. Shuu checked his reflection for what must've been the sixth time since Quill left the room to get food. He pushed down any stray hairs, flicked fluff off of his cardigan, felt his ear for the brick of an earring he'd been sent in the mail months ago. He had to make sure it was there, on display for his boyfriend to see. It was his gift to Shuu, a momento to hold onto until they could meet in person.

Shuu's heart was leaping all over the place. Any faster, any harder, and it'd burst out of his chest and ricochet off the walls. He hadn't thought it possible when they'd started a relationship—long-distance, especially between Districts, was practically unheard of—but the random letter addressed to his family in the mail, written in what was obviously an elementary schooler's handwriting, was proof enough that this was really happening. And when they'd stayed in that relationship for a year, Shuu hadn't even considered the possibility of them meeting in real life.

Yet here he was, dressed up in his Sunday best as the minutes ticked by. How long until he arrived in Seven, he wondered? We he nervous too? Was he worried about impressing Shuu too? Shuu snorted, dismissing the thought in an instant. Of course not, he was far too self-assured and confident to worry about letting down Shuu. Not that Shuu could ever be let down by him to begin with.

He pushed his hair behind his ear, displaying the earring proper now. This felt more comfortable, matched the short ponytail Quill had helped him tie his hair into. The bangs on one side of his head still framed his face, still looked fashionable, and the earring was out in the open for his one and only to see, even from afar. Now he just needed something to hold the hair in place…

Quill called him to the kitchen. Shuu clicked his tongue, resorting to licking his hand and smoothing the hair back by force. It'd last an hour, wouldn't it? He wouldn't be moving around too much for the hair to come loose.

It wasn't until after brunch, when they were leaving the house to meet with Himawari in the Square, that his sister's earlier remark spawned a new panic in Shuu. All of Seven would be in the Square at twelve. All of Seven. That included the last people he wanted to see.

Quill fixed Shuu's collar as people around them began heading in the direction of the Square. Shuu knew it wasn't likely that his parents would show up so soon, so close to them, but he still watched the crowd like a hawk for any signs of them. If they so much as saw him, he had to run as fast as he could.

A calloused hand patted his shoulder softly. Shuu looked away from the crowd, his gaze meeting Quill's above him. All he could see was warmth, a declaration that no harm would come to him today.

"Fuck 'em," Quill told him. "Himawari's probably already alerted the Peacekeepers about if they come near you."

"What if we're not near any Peacekeepers?"

Quill grinned. It was the stupid kind of grin. "Then no one can stop me from breaking Mr. Desrosiers' nose, can they?"

As much as he didn't want things to come to that, Shuu still cracked a smile. Every time they went out Quill and Himawari made that same promise—and every time they ever came across their parents, a Peacekeeper was always in the vicinity to stop things from getting nasty. Quill was rich, sure—inherited the house the trio lived in and everything, even personally knew some of the families who drifted towards Peacekeeping—but Himawari had a few friends too. Her shift built the houses those Peacekeepers lived in with their families, tended to the breakages and upgrades and expansions like clockwork.

Shuu's parents scared Shuu. But Himawari and Quill knew people who scared Shuu's parents more.

With that reassurance out of the way, Quill made quick work of guiding Shuu through the crowd safely. Every time he glanced behind them, if only to cover all their bases, Shuu would see a Peacekeeper among the crowd. Not assembling like the residents were, but overseeing the crowd and making sure no accidents happened on their watch.

His parents wouldn't dare approach them, he thought gleefully.

Finally they made it to the Square, twelve on the dot and with Himawari waiting towards the back of the crowd. She was still in her work gear, gloves shoved in her tool belt and her hair still tucked under her cap. Himawari wasted no time joining the duo once she saw them, and Shuu could barely get a word in before she pulled him into a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry," she said into his cardigan. "I didn't mean it. Should never have said it."

Shuu chewed his lip. Was it because of what today meant to him that she apologised so quick?

"I know," he said.

She pulled back and smoothed out his cardigan, ignoring the fact that Quill had already done so when they'd left. "This bastard better notice you today," she growled. "You never dress this nice when we have guests."

"Our guests are lumberjacks who show up half-naked most of the time so they can wrestle in the backyard and compare chest hair."

"I'll tell Matilda you said that."

Shuu looked down at her smugly. "Bold of you to assume I haven't said that to Matilda's face already."

"He called her bigfoot and she took it as a compliment," Quill supplied helpfully.

Himawari gave them both an indignant grunt. She turned on her heel and gestured to the crowd, already so congested that Shuu couldn't even see the stage they were gathered in front of. "Shall we, then?"

They were well into the crowd, out of their parents' sights, when the screens above the stage flickered on. On both displays were this year's tributes, both of whom had taken out the District Two tributes in the bloodbath. They'd made strides for the potential of Seven, but neither of them had won.

Good, Shuu thought. Otherwise his heart couldn't have handled the alternative.

Lapin Lucius, donned in his bunny garb and standing out compared to his sister whenever she graced the stage, walked up to the microphone and read out the usual spiel escorts did following the conclusions of a Hunger Games.

And then Lapin said the words Shuu was dying to hear, ever since he saw the finale on TV: "I present the Victor of the Ninety-Fourth Hunger Games—Gilgamesh Aksoy."

"He won't see him," Himawari stressed to Quill. Shuu was caught between them in an instant, Quill crouching down while Himawari shoved Shuu behind him. It'd been years since the last time someone had held him up on their shoulders—(that was a lie, Matilda had done it just as Shuu called her bigfoot two weeks ago, but he had a good reason to call her that compared to Quill)—and to say he panicked as he ascended was an understatement.

Shuu clung to Quill's curls painfully, heart pounding in his chest as the half-hearted clapping died down. Gil's voice, the speech he had prepared, blared through the speakers.

Despite the crowd between them, the sheer distance that kept Shuu from his immediate notice, he'd never felt closer to Gil before now. The letters, the photos Gil would send, the live feed of the Games—none of it compared to now, seeing the tawny hair in real life and hearing the husk in his voice up close. Others were doing the same as Shuu, getting up on the shoulders of their friends and parents to get a better look, but it didn't bother him.

"How's he gonna know which one is Shuu?" Quill asked Himawari. Shuu could see her shrug from the corner of his eye, but for once today he didn't care. He just didn't want to worry about it—couldn't. The fact that Gil was here, that Shuu could finally say they'd met in person in some shape or form, made all the stress worth it.

Gil glanced out into the crowd every so often. His eyes passed Shuu a few times, addressing everyone watching him as best he could. It wasn't until the third time their eyes met that Shuu knew, that he could die of happiness right on the spot.

Gaze locked on Shuu, Gil pushed his hair behind his ear—the ear that had his other earring clasped in it, taken into the Games has his token and his own reminder of Shuu.

"He knows," Shuu whispered. Quill patted his knee, almost as though proud of Shuu. He couldn't figure out why. It wasn't like Shuu had just walked onstage just now and introduced himself. "He saw me."