Hungary smiled at the music.

It wasn't an unusual sound in the smaller town square. Since he was a child, Austria had been fiddling around with the ancient piano, trying to make it give off a sound at least somewhat recognizable as music. He really had come a long way, she thought appreciatively, as she leaned casually against the butchery, just out of Austria's eyesight. On the rare occasions she had some free time, sometimes she'd come and listen to him like this. It gave off the perfect illusion of peace, but even moreso, she loved how much he loved his music. Actually, she just loved him in general, but his calm facial expression when he played the old piano, as though he was completely separated from the rest of the world, might have been the start of her crush.

They had been dating steadily for almost three years now, but she always hesitated to disturb him when he got like this. It felt almost cruel to do so.

She really did trust him, but there was almost this barrier that made her hesitate about asking for his help with her problems. Austria was so fragile, so, well, weak, even though he tried so hard to hide it, that she wanted to protect him from anyone that would hurt him or leave him so he could no longer play music everyday care-freely. She couldn't bring herself to drag him into her messes. He was there to be the protected, not the protector. It's not like she never asked for his help with dilemmas, but she had a bad habit of understating them when discussing with him.

Thus, Austria had little understanding of her Romania related problems. He knew about the Moldova mess of course, and he had helped her carry Bulgaria to the Everdeen household, but she never told him the full extent of Romania's following depression, or the circumstances of his departure a year earlier.

Today the music was more morose then usual. It was because it was the day of the Reapings. Hungary wasn't too worried for Austria's sake, he was very well off, especially for District Twelve, but she had her name in the bowl about thirty times. Still, it was a very low chance that she'd be picked.

Eventually, she gave in and walked over to him. "Feeling alright?" She asked. "You're sounding a bit sad today."

"I'm fine." Austria continued to play, quicker and quicker, like he was worried his piano would be pulled away from him.

She didn't reply in the negative, but she understood him enough to read between the lines. "Have you eaten yet?"

Austria shook his head. "I won't this morning." He didn't want to take even a second away from his music, on the small chance he'd never play again. Hungary understood this, so she continued to stand beside him, quietly, and for a second she wondered if this was it. What if she never stood in the square again, listening to the beaten piano and the boy who was always at it? What if she never tasted this dust again, never smelt the cooking bread from the bakery, never listened to the early morning stirrings of the place she grew up in?

"Let's meet here tomorrow. Tomorrow and the next day and the day after that too. I want to hear you play again. I want to hear your own composition." She said, in the early morning sunrise. Austria had always spoken of wanting to write his own music, not just play old scraps of pieces he searched hours and hours for.

He agreed with a curt nod. "It won't be ready tomorrow."

Hungary laughed affectionately. "I'm willing to wait."

That morning, as they filed into the larger district square, in front of the old wooden stage, Hungary remembered their promise with a smile out of place at the reapings. She wanted to show it to Romania, so he'd know there were still good things in the world. She knew it wouldn't reach him though. Nothing could then, and now he was gone somewhere she couldn't follow, not while people like Austria remained behind.

"This year we're having a surprise special event!" The woman onstage announced. "We won't divide the tributes by gender! We could end up with two female or two male tributes! I can't wait to see the results of this once only brand new twist!"

She stuck her hand into the large globe. "Give your hands up for..." Hungary froze.

Why was her name being called? This couldn't happen. This wasn't... no, denial wasn't going to change anything. She walked to the stage with her head held high.

She wouldn't let herself show, or even feel, fear until she was all alone. That's what it meant to be strong.

"The second tribute-"

Austria fell to his knees. Hungary had avoided looking at him until then, she couldn't face him, but when his name was called she spun towards him, eyes open wide, shaking. Advertising her fear to the world. She realized that Austria wasn't standing. She didn't think he could.

"Let me down to him," she begged. "Please." But the Peacekeepers held her back, forming a wall in front of her with their bodies.

One of the Peacekeepers had walked down and grabbed Austria by his arm and dragged him, still shell shocked, to the stage.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, your tributes for District Twelve!" Austria leaned against Hungary, and she held him there, held his limp body in place. She tried to keep her face blank, but her mind was going a mile a minute.

What was she supposed to do, protect Austria or herself? Was it even a choice she was able to make?