Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor the characters, they belong to Himaruya Hidekaz-sensei. Hunger Games series belongs to Suzanne Collins.

A/N: Beta'd version provided by wonderful Allers3. Thank you very much for going out of your way and editing this for me, dear :)

Chapter 2: Tributes

When I was younger, still only beginning my hunting life, I fell out of a tree while waiting for a deer to come to a better view. I was twelve, I think, and the pain I felt back then was the greatest I have ever experienced. Not as great as losing my father, but it was pretty awful as well. The tree was about ten feet tall and when I hit the ground, the impact was too great. All the air I had in my lungs left me and I couldn't breathe for few minutes. I just laid there, motionless and surrounded with pain, trying my best to inhale and exhale, to live.

This experience from four years ago is what I feel now. I'm not sure if I'm breathing. Am I? I try to speak, I open my mouth, but no words come out. My vision gets blurry and I think I stumbled pathetically, because a bastard from the Seam caught me just now. He looks at me worriedly, and I'm not sure why. What happened? What is going on? There's ringing in my head, some furious voice but I'm not sure what it's trying to tell me.

Then my eyes focus on one point, Feliks, and I remember. Feli. It's impossible, I think. Absolutely impossible, surreal, stupid! Feliciano had one entry. One, no more. His name was there once, one of the thousands. I've done everything I could for him. I took tesserae, I said he couldn't take any. He shouldn't be chosen. There was no way he would be. The odds were in his favor like no one else's. He's twelve. It doesn't really matter though, does it?

People murmur to each other, glancing with irritation at Feliks. They always do it when a twelve year old, be it from our district or some other, is chosen. I squint my eyes, and I can see him. His face, his beautiful, innocent, young face is paper white, his always smiling lips pressed into a thin line. I can see his fists clenched as he avoids Ludwig's gaze. Gilbert's little brother, that little annoying bastard, tried to stop him, he's shouting something. But Feli just shakes his head and walks stiffly. I can see his shirt sticking out, forming a duck tail. It's the thing that makes me realize that my baby brother was chosen for Hunger Games. My precious, innocent little brother. Cute Feli in the Hunger Games. It's that thought that brings me back to senses.

"Feli!" I scream, my voice surely so unlike me, so full of emotions that I try so hard to hide. "Feliciano!" I yell again. I'm running now. I don't have to struggle through the crowd; the other kids are making way for me. I think that maybe I should thank them for that later, but right now there's only Feli. I approach him right before he can begin to climb the steps to the podium, to Feliks. He's staring at me, eyes filled with horror, face drained from blood. Without hesitation I shove him behind my back with one fast movement. He's trembling.

"I volunteer!" I scream again, looking into Feliks' surprised, green eyes. "I volunteer as a tribute," I repeat, more calmly. My heart is beating like crazy but it doesn't matter. I've volunteered. Feliciano is safe now. He'll be alright.

The Mayor and that dumb Feliks are clearly confused by my action. I don't think District 12 has ever had a volunteer, and if we had it was probably a long time ago. The protocol about volunteering has probably became very rusty and really not worth an opinion. Generally, in 12 anyone from twelve to eighteen can volunteer as long as the name has been read and the chosen tribute hasn't climbed the steps to the podium. Of course in other districts, like 1, 2 and 4 taking part in the Games is an honor and a lot of people want to participate. Volunteering is more complicated there, I think. I'm not really sure and I can't say I care. I always thought that whoever went to the Games just because they wanted to was either mad or stupid. Dying for the sake of glory? That's dumb. But lives in, say, 2 are much better than here. They don't suffer from starvation, I heard. However in 12, people who are willing to risk their lives are rare. Nonexistent. Extinct.

"Lovely!" Feliks' high pitched voice is a proof that the commotion is dying down a little. Great. I forgot that I'll have to be with this stuck up guy for the whole ride to Capitol. "But… I think there were some protocols that we, like, um… had to make a reaping winner, like, introduce himself and then ask for volunteers…?" The way he ended his speech sounded like he isn't too sure himself. Fan-fucking-tastic, really. He's an idiot, I think.

"Does this really matter?" Mayor William's voice is full of agony. He's looking at me with pained expression. We don't really know each other, but I think he knows. He knows that I'm the weird boy that sells him strawberries. The hunting kid that sometimes speaks to his son, to half-invisible Matthew. Does he realize that now he can only count on Gilbert to bring him his favorite little fruits? He must. Why would he look so sad otherwise? Is he pitying me? I hate it, when someone pities me. It makes me feel weak. Or maybe… does he remember when I was hugging tightly my mother and Feli on that day, when dad was killed in mine explosion? Or when he awarded me with a medal of valor, given to the oldest child? Does he remember that?

"Does it matter?" he repeats gloomily. His eyes lock with mine for a second and a new flash of pain crosses his blue eyes. "Let him come forward."

I try to move, but Feliciano is holding me with surprising strength, his skinny arms wrapped around my middle tightly. He's screaming and crying, I can tell from his voice. "No! No, fratello, no! No, you can't! You can't go!" He's pulling me and it's upsetting.

"Let go, Feli!" I say, maybe a bit too harshly because his sobbing gets worse. But because he's clinging to me like that, I'm scared and feel like crying. And if I cried it would be fucking terrible. Other tributes who are going to watch the replay of the reaping will surely take notice of my tears. Crying means that you're weak. It makes you an easy target. I won't let these idiots have this satisfaction. I won't look like a weakling from twelve. There's no fucking way I will. "I said let go!"

Slowly Feliciano's pulling weakens. Someone pulled him off. I turn around slightly and notice my little brother thrashing in Gilbert's strong arms. There he goes again, helping me. Our eyes lock and I find it harder to resist crying than a few moments ago. His crimson eyes are dead serious and filled with pain. I can see unshed tears and it hurts. Much more than it should, really.

"Up you go, Domino" his voice, a mere whisper, makes me feel awful. As if someone stabbed my heart over and over again. I nod, pressing my lips tightly in a thin line. He cracks something akin to a smile and carries Feli off, perhaps to my mother. I watch them for a while before I start climbing the steps.

"Oh my, oh my! Like, congratulations, sweetie~!" Feliks sickeningly sweet voice doesn't even make me mad anymore. It's easy to tell that he's pleased to get a district where some action is finally going on. Can't blame him for that, I guess. He's a retard, sí, but he's just doing his fucking job. "What's your name, skarbie?" the last word sounds like some stupid pet name and I wonder if it's normal for Capitol people.

"Lovino Vargas," I say, looking at my folded hands. Feliks whistles. I wonder if he's surprised. Volunteering for siblings or other family isn't really a common action. During the reaping family ties aren't so important. On this day, you just think of yourself. Not others. Your life is the most important. Sure, it's a shame if someone from your dearest is chosen, but it can't be helped. They had bad luck. You were lucky. It's that simple.

"I can bet my fabulous pony that he was your little brother," Feliks says, but I'm so down that I can't even think about how fucking ridiculous having a pony is. "Don't want him to steal all your glory, huh?" I glare at him but he isn't looking at me anymore. Instead he is grinning in ecstasy, his eyes scanning the people standing before us. "Okay, everybody! Let's give a big, big, big round of applause to our cute newest tribute!" Screw him. Screw him and the whole Capitol and whoever the fuck is in control. Me being called cute will most definitely do me no good.

I'm proud of this district. Of the people living here. We might not be the richest or the bravest, but the people standing in front of me are protesting, right here and right now. Not a single person is clapping or cheering, not even the most uncaring assholes. It might be because these 'assholes' know me from the Hob or know that I'm the little brat that always tagged along after the great Romulus Vargas. Maybe it's because they remember that I'm Feli's older brother. Everyone loves Feliciano so they ought to remember someone who protected him for all these years. Or maybe not, who knows. The important thing is they aren't clapping. They're just standing there in silence, looking at me with grief. Funny. Those are the same people that either joked around with me, bought stuff from me or simply ridiculed me. Well I guess that what Gilbert said was indeed the truth. They're more sympathetic today. I'm a little moved. They aren't applauding like Feliks asked them to. It shows that we disagree with Capitol's policy. It shows we can think for ourselves, it shows that we aren't their chess pieces.

I think that these stupid people are stirring some weird emotion in me. But when they do the next thing, I think I'm about to cry. At first one person, then the other, then the next one and soon the whole crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to me. It's an old gesture here, in District 12. We make it when we're saying 'farewell' to our loved ones. It's sometimes used in the funerals, but personally I haven't witnessed one, not on such a big scale. It means 'thank you', it means that someone adores you, it means goodbye to someone you love. Farewell. They're saying goodbye to me.

I'm ready to cry right now, and it's pathetic and it'll make me look weak, but it's all these stupid people's fault. I can feel tears gathering in my eyes, but thankfully Carlos comes to my rescue. Or, well, staggers across the stage to congratulate me. Soon his arm – unexpectedly muscular for a drunkard like him – is wrapped around my shoulder. I have to fight off the urge to punch that bastard straight in the face.

"Look at that kid. Look at that crazy boy!" Now I'm seriously considering punching him. No one calls Lovino Vargas a kid, unless his name's Romulus Vargas. Plus his breath reeks of alcohol. "I like him!" I could care-fucking-less even if you didn't like me, you fucktard, I think. His eyes look straight into mine and I shiver unpleasantly.

"He's got… lotsa…" he looks lost and I think that maybe he forgot how to speak, because his mouth hangs open stupidly "Spunk! Yeah, spunk, that kid" well, at least he knows what he's talking about. Though I'm not sure I've got 'spunk' or whatever. It was for Feli's sake only. "More than you!" he shouts near my ear and it hurts. He's pointing at a camera.

"More than you!" Who is he talking to? The Capitol? Other tributes? Both of them? I don't know. I don't know and I probably never will, because he's taking a few more steps and he trips on nothing, falling off from the stage. Great. Twelve must be a laughing stock of all of Panem again.

But strangely, I don't mind. I don't even feel like crying anymore. Carlos is disgusting and annoying as hell, but I'm grateful for what he did. It was pointless, really, but it was nice to hear that. I don't smile, but I feel much better right now. I put my hands behind me back and stare off into the distance. There are the hills that Gil and I have climbed on this morning. The woods, where the two of us have discussed running away from here. If we had, I wonder how it would be? Would we manage to live there? Me, Gil, our siblings and mothers? Would Gilbert and I become something like a married couple? Would we have children? Would we find someplace safe? The woods, they seem so distant right now. I regret not looking at them more carefully this morning. This was my last time seeing them after all. My nearly carefree life… it was good, I think.

I can see some men taking Carlos away on a stretcher, and then Feliks Łukasiewicz trying to get the ball rolling again.

"It's, like, such an exciting day!" he chirps, smiling. It's so fake, seriously. Can't that pink bastard do better? "But, skarbeczki, it's only half of the fun! We still have to, like, chose the second tribute! Lovino, dear, the same or the other jar?" he asks me, grinning madly. It's sickening.

I focus on the question though. I could always just say that I don't care, that we should get it over with. But it's not that easy. In the other jar, there are forty-two slips of paper with 'Gilbert Beilschmidt' written on them. There's a great chance that my friend would be chosen and that would be a disaster. He has to feed our families, he has to! But then, in the same jar, Feliciano's name is back to the pool. Feliks might pull it out again. And who'll volunteer for him then? I take a deep breath.

"The other jar" I say and I regret it momentarily. There are forty-two Gilbert Beilschmidt's in this ball. He's going to be chosen. I know he is. What have I done?

"Great!" Feliks' smile widens as he crosses the podium to the ball. His hand dives in, and before I can wish my best friend luck for the last time, his squeaky voice announces "Antonio Fernández Carriedo!"

Antonio Fernández Carriedo!

The Tomato Bastard!

Oh no, no, no! Anyone but him, please! Anyone will do, I think. I don't know him personally, but I know that name all too well. Antonio Fernández Carriedo, that stupid, pitiful tomato bread bastard!

Who thought of a stupid catch phrase like 'And may the odds be ever in your favor?" They are not in my favor today at all. I watch as he climbs the steps slowly. He's handsome, I can't deny him that, but his looks make him look like a Seam kid. Tall and quite well-built. Tanned skin. Curly chocolate brown hair that look as if he haven't combed them in ages. His eyes, a piercing and intense green, hold alarm in them. But they're merchant, these eyes. They are. He's like a half between a Seam and a merchant. He's what I was supposed to look like, I guess. I'm glad I took after my father though. At least I got used to living in danger. He… he looks like shocked. I can see that he's trying to pretend to remain emotionless, not scared, but it's not working very well. Still, he's climbing these steps and soon he's standing next to Feliks. The Capitol man then asks for volunteers, but there is no one willing to take Fernández's place. He has an older brother and a sister, if I remember correctly. One of them is too old already, the brother, I think, and the sister simply won't volunteer. Why would she sacrifice her life for a child like Antonio? I think it's her last reaping this year.

Mayor Williams goes to the podium and reads the long and boring Treaty of Treason as he does every year at this point. I think it's mandatory, but I'm not listening to it. I know it anyway. I can't help wondering why him, why the boy with tomato bread? I try to convince myself that it doesn't matter. Maybe it really doesn't. We aren't friends, Antonio Fernández Carriedo and I. No, that's too stupid to even consider. He's not my neighbor, being from the merchant part of the district. We aren't even acquaintances. I haven't talked with him in the past, not even once. The only real interaction that's happened between us was years ago and I really doubt he remembers that. Who would? But I haven't and I won't. I just know this memory will follow me till my death, which seems quite near right now, actually.

I met Antonio during the worst time in my life. It'd happened three months after my father's death in a mine explosion, three months after the bitterest, bloodiest and painful January of my life. For the first two weeks after his death I was completely numb and didn't respond to anything mine related. I didn't hear, didn't feel. After three months, the biggest numbness left me, but the tears wouldn't. I'd have times when I'd just stop suddenly, fall on my knees and start crying, calling out my father's name in my mind. 'Where are you?' 'Why did you have to go?' I would ask, waiting for his answer. It never came, but I kept asking, kept crying, kept wishing. I was completely worthless at that time. And hungry.

We have received a small amount of money from the district. It was enough to cover one month of grieving. A whole month. In that period of time, my mother was expected to snap out of pain and find a job to provide herself, me and my brother with food. But she didn't. She didn't get a job and she didn't snap out of her trance. Mostly she'd just lay down and cover herself with blankets, not responding to anything me or Feli would say. Sometimes she'd just sit in a chair all day long, staring at the wall. She wasn't even crying. Just staring. There were times when she's stir and even get up, ready to go somewhere, before collapsing back into her own tiny world. Feliciano, who was only seven back then, pleaded and pleaded her to come back. To talk. To respond. To feed us. She didn't. And I can never forgive her for that.

At that time I was completely and utterly terrified. Even though I can understand now that my mother was consumed by sadness and grief, that she'd locked herself off in her own little world to escape the pain and reality – my eleven year old self didn't know that. I just knew that I lost my father in a mine explosion, and for some reason my mother too. Because she wouldn't respond neither to me nor to Feli anymore and we had to force her to eat, because otherwise she would starve to death. My mother, who was like a lifeless puppet five years ago, was as good as dead to me back then. I was scared, very scared. Because I knew that the burdens were all on my shoulders from that day. I had become the head of the family and I had to take care of all the living needs that we had. Feliciano and I needed to look presentable, because were there something else and someone would find out that our mother doesn't care about us anymore, we'd be taken to Community House for sure. I've seen children from there. They attended my school and, to tell the truth, seeing them wasn't pleasant at all. Their eyes were dull and full of sadness. They reminded me of my mother's and it made me want to scream. They had marks of angry hands on their thin faces, and I'm not sure if they were beaten, if they did that to themselves or fought with each other. And their postures. The hopelessness curled their shoulders forward. It looked like they were trying to make a shell with their shoulders, trying to hide from the world. The Community House that seemed like a place full of depression, desperateness, resignation, pain and anger… there's no way I could let my little brother go to the place like that. To cute little Feli, who cried when I cried. Stupid idiot didn't even know why I'm crying and he didn't hesitate at all to cry with me. The little idiot that combed mother's hair every day before we left for school, the little idiot that cleaned father's shaving mirror from coal dust every evening, because he couldn't stand it being so dusty. Little Feliciano that hugged me tightly, refusing to let go. My baby brother that would kiss my cheek goodnight and ask me to sing him lullabies sometimes, because he had problems with sleeping. Sweet, innocent Feliciano, who cared for others much more than for himself. Going to the Community House would crush him completely, there wouldn't be even a trace left of my fratellino. So I kept our predicament a secret. I went out to buy us food with the money we had and I made sure to keep my mouth shut, with answers prepared beforehand in case someone asked about mother.

But soon the money ran out and we were starving to death. I kept thinking to myself that there are only few weeks left before May 8th. May 8th, the day I would turn twelve. The day I could sign up for tesserae and get precious grain and oil to keep our family alive. But there were still a few weeks and we were already having problems with our hunger. The possibility that we'd be still alive by then were thin. Not non-existent, but definitely very thin.

If we ended up starving to death, we'd be just three of many. Starvation is common in District Twelve. There are so many victims. People that are too old to work, with little money of them. Children from big families, where there are simply too many to feed. The ones injured in the mines. The pregnant women who lost their husbands, and can't work themselves due to pregnancy. You see a lot of these people, straggling through the streets. Sometimes they just sit, motionless, against a wall. Some of them have their eyes open. Others lay in the Meadow, thin and dirty. Some die at their houses. I can hear them wailing from my home sometimes. They scream for a few minutes before it's completely silent. Then the Peacekeepers come to collect the body. They never say that starvation is the cause though. No, that would make Panem look bad. It's the flu, or exposure, or pneumonia. Never starvation. But that fools no one. We all know.

When I met Antonio Fernández Carriedo there was a heavy downpour. The rain felt incredibly cold and sharp. I could almost feel pain when a single raindrop hit my skin. The rain was almost like million knives, cutting my skin, leaving me surrounded by danger with no way of escaping. Just like hunger that I felt, the pain that I could almost feel was there as well, real and frightening. I had been in town, trying to sell some of Feliciano's baby clothes. He grew out of them and since he was the youngest, we had no use for them. I've heard of families where some of the children wear their grandparents clothing, but I doubted we'd have similar worries. Besides back then the only thing that mattered was that we were starving. Future and children didn't matter. The only future these clothes – old, dirty – could face was selling. I was slightly frightened, since the Hob seemed very frightening to my eleven year old self. I was there only with my father a few times, but never alone. Since I was a brat, people ignored me. No one wanted Feli's baby clothes. I stayed there shivering, in the rain, my father's jacked completely soaked, waiting helplessly. I felt like crying. I was cold. We hadn't had anything to eat for three days, living on boiled water with old and dried mint leaves only. I found them in the back of a cupboard, some of them completely crushed. The hunger left me weak and my shaking got so bad, I dropped the clothes in the mud puddle. I didn't pick them up, too afraid that if I would, I'd just keel over. Fall on my knees and not be able to stand up. And it's not like anyone wanted the clothes. I hadn't sold them. I failed. I couldn't get money, couldn't get food. I couldn't go home. Because mother was there, waiting for something with her dead eyes. Feliciano would greet me with a smile, but seeing his hollow cheeks and cracked lips would just hurt more. And the room. I couldn't walk in there. It was smoky from the dried branches I've gathered near the woods. It was suffocating.

I started stumbling behind the shops that serve the wealthiest of Twelve's people. The merchants live in the same place where they do their business. They live above, one floor higher. My home had only one floor, so it always made me wonder how living in a two-floor house was like. Snobbish, I suppose. I remember seeing garden beds, not yet planted for the spring. There were some goats here and there, a dog tied to a pole in some of them. So easy to steal, I thought.

Stealing in District 12 is completely forbidden. There's a death sentence waiting for you for stealing the littlest of things. Then I noticed a trash bin and a small flame of hope lit inside me. Taking leftovers from the trash bins was not considered stealing, it was fair game. There was no one desperate enough to take these, no one but my family. Maybe a bone with some meat left at the butcher's or some rotten vegetables at grocer's. Those would be nice. Unfortunately, the bins had just been emptied the day before. And with that, my last hope was burnt down.

When I passed the baker's, the overwhelming smell of fresh and delicious bread hit my nose with an amazing force. The ovens were in the back, I think. I could see a golden glow of light coming from the bakery's open doors. I stopped walking and stood there, gaping at the heat and aromatic smell for a while, letting myself fly away, before rain's icy fingers running down my back brought me back to reality. I shook my head and walked shakily towards the bakery's trash bin. When I lifted the lid, I could feel my heart sinking. It was completely, heartlessly bare. There was nothing.

Suddenly a high-pitched voice was yelling at me and I looked up to notice baker's wife. She was a pretty woman with sharp features. Her blonde hair was tied into a tight bun, making her look rather scary. Her piercing green eyes were glaring at me as she kept on screaming insults, shouting that if I didn't leave she'll call the Peacekeepers and that she was tired of the Seam brats trying to snatch something from her trash. She kept on calling the Seam kids disgusting and I had no response. I only blinked and hurriedly put the lid back, backing away. And then I noticed him, a boy with chocolate brown hair. He was standing by his mother, his eyes were identical to hers, just a little bit warmer and more alluring. I'd seen him at school. He was one year older than me, but I didn't have the slightest idea what his name might be. He was merchant so he hung out with the city boys. Seam was, after all, no good for rich brats. So how was I supposed to know his name? It wasn't even important anyway. His mother went back inside, but I could feel his gaze on me as I made my way to an old apple tree. I inhaled deeply and sunk, sitting on the muddy ground as realization struck me. I had nothing to take back home. No food for Feli, no food for me, no food for mother, nothing. Even if I went home, Feliciano would just smile but his eyes would be screaming at me to get him something to eat. Or maybe it was my imagination. I don't know. I just wished that baker's wife would actually call the Peacekeepers and they'd take me and Feli to community home and we'd get food. Or better yet, maybe I'd be lucky enough to die there.

I just wanted to close my eyes, but the clatter inside the bakery prevented me from doing so. I heard that witch, yelling something and then some more noise. I vaguely wondered what was going on before I heard feet splashing on the mud and my heartbeat quickened. It's her, I thought, she's coming to chase me away with a stick or a broom. But it wasn't her. It was her son. I could see two big loaves of bread in his arms. Their crusts were scorched black. They must have fallen into the oven or something like that.

I could hear the witch yelling at him, screaming that he might as well feed the bread to the pigs, because no one in their right minds would buy something so disgusting. How stupid, I thought. I would take it with a smile.

I watched as the boy made his way to the pig. He didn't even glance at me, but I kept on watching him. He looked well fed. Maybe not all that strong, but definitely healthier than me. That bastard might grow into a handsome man, I thought. It was unfair that half of us get to live while the other half has to die from starvation. I glanced at his face and furrowed my eyebrows. There was a red welt that stood out on his cheekbones. His mother must've hit him with something. Something big.

My parents had never hit me or Feliciano. I couldn't imagine father that loved us both so dearly or mother, who used to be so very kind and cheerful to hit us. They didn't even yell at us, rather they tried to explain to us that we've done wrong. I wonder how a mother could hit her own son with such strength.

The boy begat to tear of small chunks of burnt bread and throw them to the pig. I watched hungrily as every piece landed in a muddy ground. How unfair that even a pig gets to eat better than I. Better than Feliciano, who is thousands of times more precious than I am. The bell to the bakery rang and baker's wife disappeared inside the house. Her son quickly glanced at the door, as if checking if she really did go away and then turned to me. His gaze was so intense. I was too mesmerized by it to notice him throwing the first loaf of bread right away. When I did, the second one was already lying next to it. My eyes stopped on the bread before I glanced at the boy suspiciously. He grinned widely, waved at me and run back inside the bakery, closing the door tightly behind him and leaving me completely dumbfounded.

I stared at the loaves in disbelief. Both of them looked perfectly and absolutely fine, expect for the burnt areas, that didn't really look too bad themselves. Did that bastard mean for me to have them? He must have, right? I stopped thinking about it and got up quickly, snatching the amazing breads under my shirt. I wrapped my father's hunting jacket tightly around myself and started running, trying not to think of the food that burnt my skin. I clung to the loaves as if my life depended on them. And perhaps it did, now that I think about it.

By the time I managed to reach my home, the bread had cooled down on the outside, but the insides were still very warm. And it still had this amazing smell around it. When I crossed our door and carefully placed both of the loaves on the table, Feliciano's hands reached to grab it, his brown eyes wide with surprise, happiness and hunger. I slapped his hand lightly and sending him a weak smile. He grinned back and nodded, going to bring our mother. Soon he returned, holding her hand. She looked as lifeless as ever, just like a puppet. I made both of them sit down and scrubbed off the burnt parts of the bread. I poured in some tea for all of us before slicing our precious meal carefully. We ate an entire loaf, slice by slice. It was amazing, that bread. I could taste delicious raisins and something I recognized as tomatoes. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever eaten.

I put the clothes to dry at the fire and crawled in the bed with Feli. He was already sleeping with a blissful expression. I felt warm, seeing my brother like that. I don't know why, but I thought that we were definitely going to be fine. The bread gave me hope and I knew instantly that we're going to be fine. I saw a dandelion, the first one this year. Looking at it, then at my father's photo and his jacket helped me, I guess. The woods. This is how we survived up until dad's death. We hunted in the woods. And he might be gone, but I was still there. I would hunt our food and I'd keep Feli and mother alive. I kissed Feli's forehead and fell asleep. The night was dreamless. It's been a long time.

When I woke up the next morning it occurred to me. That the boy might have burnt the bread on purpose. He wanted me to have it, he wanted to help me. He knew he'd be punished but he still did that. The second he left the bakery he knew he'd throw these loaves to me. Actually I think it's impossible. He didn't even know me. He had no reasons to do something like that. But he had done it, an annoying voice in my head would whisper. It was kind of him; he's done something no one would dare to do. Surely he knew that if his mother found out about him giving me these breads he'd be hit. I can't explain his actions.

For breakfast we ate slices of bread and then Feli and I headed off to school. I could feel spring in the air. It was so warm and the clouds seemed to be fluffy. The sun was shining brightly and the birds were chirping. It was like a whole new world compared to the day before, I thought. At school, I passed the boy from the bakery. He didn't even acknowledge me and I deemed him a worthless bastard instantly. Annoying, rich prick. I noticed that his cheek swelled up and his eye blackened though. As I collected Feli and got ready to head home, I caught him staring at me with his intense eyes. He turned away quickly. With annoyance I found myself blushing, so I gazed at the floor instead. What the heck?, I thought. How dare he make me blush? I risked a last glance and blushed deeper, noticing him staring at me with a smile. Fucking bastard. What was his deal anyway?

To this day I can never shake the connection between this boy, Antonio Fernández Carriedo, the most delicious bread that filled me with hope and the first dandelion of the year. And worse even, I often caught him staring at me at school, only to have him turn away quickly. Sometimes I still blushed, and it pisses me off. I feel like I owe him and there's nothing I hate more than owing something to someone. Well, with exception of Hunger Games and Capitol, of course. I think that if I thanked him at some point, maybe I wouldn't be so concerned about it. But there was never a chance to do that, because that moronic merchant bastard was always together with his jerky friends. And now? Now I'll never get to thank him. It would be pretty stupid. Saying 'thanks for that one time you saved my life, and now I'm going to kill you'. Yeah, pretty fucking peachy. I just love thanking people while I slit their throats.

Mayor Williams finally finishes that boring Treaty of Treason and motions for Antonio and me to shake hands. We turn to each other and he extends his hand. I catch it into mine. His hold is strong and warm, just like the bread his hands make. He gives me a reassuring squeeze, but maybe it's just my imagination that it was reassuring. Maybe that bastard was having a panic attack or something. It's a pity that I'll have to kill a person who can bake something as godly as the bread from over five years ago, I think as I stare into his eyes. They're dangerous, I decide. Because I like staring into them. That's dangerous.

Our hands separate and we turn to face the crowd. The anthem of Panem begins to play.

'Oh, well' I think, looking emotionlessly at the people in front of me. 'There are going to be twenty-four of us there. The odds are, some other bastard is probably going to slice him in two'.

Of course the odds haven't been very dependable as of late.

Antonio Fernández Carriedo (Spain) as Peeta Mellark

João Fernández Carriedo (OC Portugal) as Peeta's oldest brother

Isabella Fernández Carriedo (OC Ibiza) as Peeta's older brother

Sierra Carriedo Martinez (OC purposely for this fic) as Mrs. Mellark

A/N: You guys are so amazing! I'm really moved. Thank you for reading and reviewing, it makes me very happy ^^. I'll try to update every weekend. Thank you for being so wonderful and supporting. Take care.