10. Sawamura, Daichi

"I figured you would be here."

Without looking up, Daichi knows immediately that Sugawara has come to accompany him even though he insisted that he'd be fine celebrating the upcoming New Year on his own. Still, Daichi has brought an extra blanket (the only extra he has) because he knows that despite everything— Sugawara would probably join him

anyway and Suga—being Suga— would most likely be cold.

Sugawara was always cold, and somehow, the image of it—the image of him curling up into the blue scarf that Daichi had given him, brows furrowed inward in cold discomfort made Daichi smile warmly.

"I didn't even bother stopping at your house," Sugawara continues, blowing warm breaths into his own palms.

He has some gloves on, ones that he's already outgrown.

They can't afford a new pair, so Sugawara has cut off the tips to allow for space.
Of course it wasn't much, but it couldn't be helped.

Things like buying a new pair of gloves—or trading for a used one that fit better—was a luxury they couldn't afford.

There were other things they needed to take care of.
Other things to trade and buy.
Necessities.

.

..

...

Daichi wishes it wasn't that way.

Daichi scoots over slightly, making enough space for the other. "Hm?" Daichi instantly adopts a more playful tone in his voice. "…I thought we agreed that you wouldn't accompany me today…?"

"We didn't agree on anything." Sugawara declares, taking a seat aside him with a mock chiding expression on his face. "…It's New Year's Eve. You should spend it with someone."

"What about your dad?"

"Already asleep."

As Sugawara plops down, he winces at the cold sensation he feels upon making contact with the ground. The blanket they were sitting on didn't help much in shielding the cold, but it was enough of a barrier to make a slight difference in comfort.

Again, little things like that made the world they lived in bearable.
It made things seem like it was all… enough.

"He insisted I'd be there for you, of course. After all, you always are for us." Grinning, he nudges Daichi, then continues to rub his own hands together as he habitually did during the colder months. He runs his hands over his soft silver hair before adding teasingly, with lips curled upward: "…Are you saying that we were wrong?"

Immediately, Daichi lets out a laugh.

"No no, not at all." Daichi's half-smile doesn't falter during the entire exchange, but he still isn't looking at the other. He is instead gazing out at the open fields, outer lands and forests they had gotten to know so well on its surfaces.

There was never a time they were actually able to explore as much as they wanted.
Time constraints, other responsibilities—sometimes just plain fear—stopped them from doing so.

Instead, they'd settle for crossing the border fences just to look out at this view.

If either Daichi or Sugawara were searching for the other, this was the place they would most likely be, other than in their respective homes.

"…Are you cold?" The answer is obvious, but Daichi wants to break the comfortable silence.

"When am I not in this weather?"

Daichi finally looks over at Suga, smiling fully now. He reaches a hand out, tugging gently on Sugawara's blue scarf. He'd been wearing it all the time now, even during the chillier nights in summer. And while it made Daichi happy that it was useful in helping the other combat the cold, unforgiving air, he couldn't quite quell the churn in his stomach.

It wasn't enough.

Sugawara probably—definitely—deserved better.

.

..

...

"…I'm sorry all I could get you was this scarf."

"What are you talking about?" Sugawara whispers against the freezing wind, waving a hand. "I've never been able to give you anything in return. Don't apologize for something like that." Gently, he nudges Daichi again, this time leaning in, closing up the distance between them.

Daichi doesn't budge. Sugawara moves his head, resting it on Daichi's shoulder. There is an ambient warmth there, radiating from their bodies.

It's enough to put Daichi's mind at ease.

"Mm, sorry." Daichi replies offhandedly, conveniently disregarding the other's affectionate actions. His eyes return to the open fields, his mind once again clouded with thoughts. "…Maybe it's because it's the start of the New Year. Makes a guy sentimental, you know." Daichi rustles in his rucksack with a free hand, then hands Sugawara the extra blanket he brought with him. "Here."

"Ah, you brought an extra blanket?" Sugawara perks up immediately, huddling into it, attempting to spread it wide enough for both of them. Daichi hears a muffled, "why did you make me wait?" as Sugawara unravels it, covering himself completely.

Chuckling, Daichi shuts his eyes. "…Something told me you'd come out here anyway."

This time, Sugawara laughs.

"Thanks, Daichi."

Daichi just shrugs, softly, so as not to shove Sugawara's head off his shoulders. They knew each other too well.

Despite everything, he often thinks they should just run. He's sure they would make it, because both Sugawara and he are experienced enough to survive through most, if any conditions.

It doesn't matter what they've seen in the past.
He knows they'd make it.

"You thinking about us?"

That catches Daichi off guard.

"What?"

"You're thinking we could run again, don't you?" Daichi feels the other pull his head away.

"...Yeah," he says, because he's never been able to lie to Sugawara with success. "We'd make it."

"They'll find us," Sugawara breathes out, and he has reiterated this before. "And if they find us, they'll torture us, or kill us." Daichi looks up to respond, but Sugawara has already looked away—forward, towards the endless trees and the white sheet of clouds, inhaling deeply, then exhaling shakily. He was probably thinking about all the things they had seen up until then.

.

..

…

The infinite tortures the Capitol would inflict on runaways.

The man with black hair parted on his left.

Sugawara shuts his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chest, as if suddenly remembering how cold it was.

Daichi clenches his jaw, physically steeling himself not to go on some endless tirade of how much he despised the Capitol. He persists in the idea of running, because for some reason, today, the thought does not leave his mind easily.

He lets his voice simmer down, taking on a calmer, less serious tone. "We'd probably be able to hide…" Daichi points towards a heavier area of forestry, "there."

"Where?" Sugawara opens his eyes, relaxing at the shift of Daichi's voice, squinting at the aforementioned location. Gently, Daichi reaches a hand out, clasping onto Sugawara's wrist, before pointing it to the direction.

"…There."

Sugawara's eyes narrow, examining the location as best he could, now fully aware of where Daichi is pointing. "Wouldn't that be the first place logically to look for runaways? There's some pretty thick foliage."

Daichi scoffs. "No, the people in the Capitol aren't smart enough to figure something like that out. Besides, there'd be plenty of hideouts there. Natural hideouts—like caves and what not. And if they

did pursue us in there, they'd probably trip, break a nail, and then run home crying."

Sugawara lets out a faint laugh at Daichi's not so subtle insult to the Capitol citizens.

"I guess so."

And then for an instant, it's silent again.

Daichi continues to feel the warmth of Sugawara's body radiating off his own while he cranes his head up to looks at the sky, now completely white, stretched out across for miles. He feels the other flinch beside him—and that's when Daichi realizes it's snowing.

"It's snowing!" Sugawara is lifting his head excitedly, reaching out with semi-gloved hands to catch some flakes. Even though he becomes cold easily, and even though the snow usually brings more work upon them in the winter, he always loved the snow.

A flake lands on his nose and he flinches again, smiling.

.

..

...

Soon there is a flurry of snow, falling in more copious amounts, quickly blanketing the ground in white.

Sugawara suddenly pauses, almost as if jostled out of his previous mindset, thinking of something else to say. "…Let's head back. The snow will melt into the blanket. It'll be wet and heavy."

Daichi is surprised by his friend's urgency as he pushes himself off the ground, folding up the blanket. It wasn't that big of a deal, but if they stayed out here for any longer with a wet and heavy blanket, he, or Sugawara would probably get sick.

He reaches out to help with the sheet, stuffing it back into his bag before the two make their way back to town.

"…Did you want to stay there until midnight? We could have celebrated the New Year from there."

Sugawara's voice is soft against the cold, small puffs of air leaving his lips as they continued to walk, each step making a soft crunching sound in the ground as they moved.

"Nah."

Daichi smiles at the sentiment. Suga was always one for sentiments, celebrations—no matter what the situation they were in.

It really didn't take long for Daichi to agree it was probably best to go back.

There were better things to do after all—than stare at a representation of your possible but likely impossible freedom. He'd rather 'celebrate' by just doing something simple. Something he genuinely enjoyed.

Like spending time with someone he cared about.

As they get closer to Daichi's home, the roads and surroundings have already succumb to darkness. As if responding, the snow immediately comes down heavier, while people hurriedly retreat into their houses searching for warm comfort and refuge. Daichi's house already has a thin layer of white on it, lights off inside. It wasn't the warmest looking house, but for them, it was a welcoming home.

Daichi had made no comment when they passed Sugawara's house.

Sugawara must intend on spending the night with Daichi today—or at least stay with him for a little while—as he so often did several times a week since Sugawara's father was rarely home. It felt nearly automatic for Daichi to hold open the door and let the other enter (so much so that sometimes even on his own, he would open it out of habit before realizing that Sugawara wasn't there with him).

The wind picks up and Sugawara hops up to the front door, trying to tame his scarf as it bustled and lifted in tandem with the wind. He puts his hands on the knob, teeth chattering in signal for Daichi to hurry up, open it and let him in. Daichi smirks—gets his key out, unlocks the door and opens it.

He pauses when he feels Sugawara's hand wrap around his and squeeze briefly.

He turns his head to the other before the lights in his home unexpectedly turn on.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Different colors flutter all around Daichi as he stares in disbelief.

Asahi, Nishinoya, Hinata, Kageyama—even Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are standing there.

Asahi is hunched over rubbing his hand on the back of his head smiling sheepishly—almost embarrassed at how loudly his voice projected and boomed across the house when he greeted Daichi. Nishinoya is standing straight, proudly grinning and nudging Asahi for the feat.

Hinata is now arguing with Kageyama because he had jumped up spontaneously at the moment Daichi had come in— accidentally knocking Kageyama upside the head. He was already beginning to defend himself in response to Kageyama's angry frown.

"I was excited!"

"Dumbass! Watch where you're jumping!"

Tsukishima is grumbling at Hinata and Kageyama's immediate bickering, already turned away rolling his eyes. Yamaguchi smiles fondly, as if knowing a secret that no one else was privy to but him. When it came to Tsukishima, that was probably true.

The taller blond never let anyone close enough to understand him.

Except Yamaguchi.

It takes Daichi a minute to process what was occurring before stuttering a thank you. He feels himself awkwardly shuffle back in his feet, his mind still keen on Sugawara's hand around his before he felt the other slowly unlace his fingers and pull away.

Everyone laughs.

Apparently they had all been planning this for over a month; and of course, Sugawara was in on it.

Daichi didn't expect a thing.

His previous birthdays before were much quieter—calmer. His friends greeted him—but he had never had anything close to a party, let alone a cake.

The cake, Daichi discovers, is a gift from his distant friend, Ikejiri, who lives in the more fortunate, prosperous part of town. It's a very simple cake, with white icing and a round shape with lemon in the middle. It's settled on the wooden table with a small candle resting right on top, with a tiny flame that made the table seem much more radiant than it truly was.

Hinata shuffles towards the light switches, turning them all off— and soon—all Daichi can see are the illuminated faces of his friends, eyes flickering.

"I…" Daichi inhales, "... you didn't have to do all this."

All eyes are on him and they can feel the heaviness in his voice.
This is the most that's ever happened on his birthday for a very, very long time.

"We want to celebrate your last year of reaping eligibility." Noya says, raising a small cup, grinning widely. Daichi wanted to refute, but he couldn't. He looks around at the rest of his friends, some of them still three years away from this "milestone".

Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi stood there, celebrating with him though they still had more Reapings to endure. He couldn't help but feel grateful, not only for their companionship, but also for the fact that none of them have been reaped.

"Thank you." He can feel his chest rise as he attempts to steel himself to keep his emotions under control. His eyes are turning red, but thankfully, under the blanket of darkness—with only a candle to light their expressions— he is able to hide it.

"Don't forget to make a wish." Sugawara grins, teeth baring slightly.

Daichi nods, then blows out his candle.

The room is pitch black and everything is silent.
Snow continues to fall outside.

It's around eleven at night when the snow storm slows down enough for people to begin heading home.

The last one standing is Sugawara.

.

..

…

"I'm staying."

Daichi grins fondly, not taking a moment to argue. "Are you hungry? Nishinoya and Asahi basically gave me a whole deer for a present."

Sugawara groans, patting his stomach, "No way, I'm so full, Daichi! What a way to start the year, huh?" He helps clean up as he talks, rustling about the small living room and kitchen area. Once they're done, they slump down tiredly on the couch, instantly cold.

Daichi decides to try and start a fire.

He is struggling, attempting to ignite a fire with the wood. He clamps his lips impatiently, the tip of his tongue later sticking out from his mouth in concentration. "There aren't any more matches…"

They had used the last match to light his birthday candle.

When Daichi makes a grunt of disapproval at the time that's passed (and the lack of flame), Sugawara is making a movement to stifle the laugh escaping from his lips.

"Give me that." Sugawara grins teasingly at Daichi. "I wanted to see how long it would take before you got too annoyed and impatient to do it."

Daichi lets out a heavy sigh when he sees a spark of flame flicker to life, a small fire burning in its wake. He thought maybe he could start a fire just this once, but even now, after so many years, he still didn't have the patience or the proper technique to do it.

Daichi thought maybe his birthday would go by unnoticed this year.
Truthfully, it pretty much went unnoticed by him too.

Daichi was never the celebratory type.
Birthdays, more so his own, never really mattered to him.

Sugawara reaches over, pouring them both a cup of boiling water.

As a present, Natsu had given them milk from her cow.

Daichi wants to offer some to Suga, to have some milk instead of boiled water, but knows he'll refuse.
He probably would want to save it.

Sugawara lifts his own cup of water, gingerly, carefully, so as not to burn himself. He shuts his eyes dramatically, raising it up to the air in a toasting motion.

When Daichi does nothing, Sugawara opens an eye, peeking at Daichi, encouraging him to do the same, with lips puckered slightly, motioning towards the table.

Daichi raises an eye and mirrors him, lifting his own cup into the air. "Koushi…"

"Shh, Shh!" Sugawara clears his throat dramatically. "Looking forward to a good year!"

Daichi mutters inaudibly, feeling his insides chuckle with amusement.

"And…" Sugawara's voice dies down to barely that of a whisper. His eyes are half lidded, with almost a melancholic look to them. "…Again, to your last year of eligibility for the Reaping." He looks up at Daichi, grinning, retaining that soft whisper. "…Here's to hoping you'll never be picked."

Before Daichi can react, Sugawara gently clinks their cups together (as best he can, with them being made of wood), before taking a slow sip.

"Come on!" Sugawara says quickly, after transferring some of the still lit wood into a portable receptacle. He reaches down and lifts it with his free hand, involuntarily shuddering at the frosty air. "Let's go sit on the bed, it's freezing in here!"

.

..

…

Slowly, Daichi's face softens. He feels happy, watching the other stumble carefully through the dark and into the next room.

…And Daichi continues to watch Sugawara, soft brown eyes and a handsome smirk, alone in his thoughts before finally following after him, whispering under his breath.

There were too many times within his eighteen birthdays that he did not expect much— or anything at all. His naivety as a child wore off and reality quickly settled in. Truthfully, it was sometimes hard to look optimistically into a whole new year. When he and his friends turned old enough to be reaped, it became worse.

Not even the seemingly indomitable Nishinoya was immune to the world they lived in. They all have admitted to sleepless nights, shaky hands and the heavy feeling of dread washing over them on Reaping mornings.

Every day they are exhausted by their lives, but they learn to cope and to make the best of what they have, to do what they can—what they must. They try to be optimistic—especially Sugawara, who makes it a point to rejoice in their small victories, like being able to gather more wood than usual, and having leftovers of a meal.

It helps push Daichi forward, reminds him why he wants to continue surviving.
What he has to live for.

And so he swallows, pulling his feet to follow after the other, ignoring the pangs of emotion welling up within his chest.

He tightens his grip around the wooden cup, mouth opened just enough to whisper.

"… Yeah, Koushi." He says, feeling another small tug in his chest. "…Here's to hoping we never will be reaped."

.

..

...

"HINATA!"

He couldn't believe it.

Hinata had run straight for a backpack—blatantly and perilously disregarding their previous plans. Barely a minute in, no, seconds in, Daichi is craning his head in a wild, rushed panic, only to be met with a clear view of Hinata on the other side of the arena already covered in blood and grappling desperately to kick and push himself up and off the grassy fields.

Two knives are hurtling towards him, whistling as they pierce mercilessly through the wind, glistening and nearly blinding Daichi as the blades reflected off the sun.

Daichi growls, determinedly running towards the Cornucopia, his feet already struggling to keep up the pace he set for himself— stumbling in the wake of large bumps on the uneven grassy floor. He has never felt slower—never felt so disoriented and confused— but he wasn't going to leave Hinata out in the open even if Ukai had warned them time and time and time again to avoid the Cornucopia—and to just turn around and run.

As he propels himself towards the other side of the Cornucopia, Daichi scans the area hurriedly— eyes flitting rapidly from side to side— noticing that most of the tributes that hadn't chosen to run were already participating in heated combat. He can hear the sharp clang of the swords and blades as they clashed together—the sound of arrows piercing through the air—the squish upon contact with human flesh as it dug through skin to bone.

There is definite grunting from each blow—pained high-pitched gasps and the slip of boots in the muddied ground.

.

..

…

Surprisingly, the screams permeating the air feel disembodied. Daichi cannot be sure where they are coming from because they are coming from every single angle imaginable, circling his body, making it impossible to pinpoint their exact origins.

His body is reacting on instinct, listening and watching for anything around him.

Hinata.
He has to get to Hinata.

The fireworks continue to burst and crack, sending embers showering across the field—ruthlessly scalding unaware tributes down through their clothes, seeping into their skin making harsh sizzling sounds as they sear through the skin.

The smell of burning skin, like rotting flesh is indescribable.

He sees the pair from District Fukurodani dash straight into the Cornucopia itself, he can see the flashes of gold and black blurring past— but he cannot be too sure—as the savage drive to get to Hinata impairs his ability to focus on anything for much more than a second.

Hinata.

Because of all the chaos occurring within the first few minutes of the canon going off, Daichi is hardly within the other tributes' focus. Their minds are concentrating specifically on their own battles, the wounds inflicted and their tributes falling all around them.

Swiftly, Daichi lifts the first thing he can get his hands on: an arrow—one that a tribute had inadvertently dropped from their quiver during the heat of battle.

"Ngh!" Hastily, Daichi aims the arrow towards Terushima, eyes visibly focusing on their target, arching his arm back to throw, planting his feet as deeply as he can into the soil. The light weight of the arrow would make it more difficult to gauge and predict it's direction against the wind, but he couldn't— he wouldn't falter.

He had enough power and confidence in his accuracy to believe that he would actually hit the Career tribute.

.

..

...

But suddenly, he is halted halfway during the movement when he sees Hinata break out of his stupor, jumping high into the air, spinning, dodging one of two knives with miraculous speed. Hinata is running with an incredible speed now, racing into the forest—zig-zagging—with one knife lodged deeply into the posterior side of his backpack.

Daichi hesitates at this—only for a second—catching his breath.

He watches on until he sees that bright orange hair disappear into the trees, swallowed within the confines of what seems to be an infinite expanse of forest. The Career tribute grunts at his escape, but to Daichi's surprise— he does nothing else— only smirks at the fleeting figure, eyes narrowing, twirling the knife in his hand and seemingly pleased and delighted with the turn of events.

"Looks like little Karasuno really is gonna make this fun."

A flash of silver metal appears when he grins brilliantly at his partner, tongue peeking out in amusement.

Terushima's words rung true.
He really did look like he was having fun—in a clumsy, true Jouzenji— disorganized-but-organized way.

Terushima turns, running a hand through his sleek blond hair, targeting another tribute on the arena while his partner quickly comes behind him to back him up. They are standing there, backs against each other, readying knives and arrows to target any tribute in their way, that "fun" smile never leaving their faces.

Daichi takes a step back.

Best to avoid the tributes now that Hinata was safe.

It isn't too late to revert back to the original plan.
His priority now was to run to safety—not to engage in battle.

Seconds later, that familiar whirring sound pierces through the wind again and this time—they make their target, crunching as they hit dead center on the forehead.

Thick blood immediately seeps out of the wound, like a pipe of water that had been left on, streaming beneath the razor-sharp blade. The image sears itself directly into Daichi's mind.

Daichi freezes, automatically focusing only on the target's eyes—wide with shock as he fell hard onto the cold, solid ground.

Daichi is panting now from the sudden amount of adrenaline that had just coursed through him, that abrupt, animal-like need to save Hinata— to unexpectedly deflating upon seeing him escape into the woods. Daichi's gaze darts around in uncertainty, as if trying to remind himself of what he needs to do.

He spots a satchel.

Hurriedly, he grabs the small satchel; one much smaller than the backpack Hinata had been able to get away with, shoving the arrow he acquired deep within a side pocket of the bag.

He grits his teeth, then turns away to flee.

He continues to see fuzzy figures in his peripheral vision, fighting, running, falling, but he doesn't slow his pace to see what they're doing, because he knows he must not stop.

Another pained scream resounds in his ears and this time, he is fully aware of it because it is nearly deafening.

The booming, earsplitting voice encompasses the entire confines of the Cornucopia.

"AKAASHI!"

Daichi trips in his footing, thrown off by the guttural, deep-seeded cry.
Akaashi.
The dark haired tribute from Fukurodani?
What—
But he cannot waver.

He can't look back.

He ignores that small part of him that wants to stop.
He ignores the mental images flashing through his mind—the training sessions with Fukurodani—the—

He needs to find shelter.
He needs to find water.

He needs to find Hinata.

He needs to get out of here.

Each step he takes is amplified to him—

Left foot—

Right foot—

Left—

He reaches the edge of the forest, bounding in with urgency and shutting his eyes for a split second as the wind pushes against his face.

That's when he slams hard into another tribute—who quite literally—knocks the air completely out of him. Immediately Daichi loses his footing, staggering back before using his weight to regain balance from what he ran into—what seemed to be an iron wall.

His eyes rise up to meet with the steely gaze of the tribute in front of him, facing him directly, legs situated in a way where it would be nearly impossible to take him down.

Tall and fierce—with bright icy white hair.

Who—

.

..

...

They stand there, winded, locked in an intimidating stare for what seems like forever— hands moving hesitantly at their sides, fists opening and closing, both standing on edge and oblivious to their surroundings.

Daichi had no idea what could or would happen.
Neither have a weapon in their hands, but Daichi can reach one, the arrow in his bag pocket if he moves fast enough.

But the tribute in front of him looks as if he can literally snap Daichi's neck in a second if he dared to look away for a second, no weapon needed.

Daichi bites his bottom lip, hesitating as maniacal laughter and screams wailed endlessly in the background.

His eyes fall to the uniform the tribute is wearing.

Black with dark green outlined with white.
An emblem, a number imprinted on his shoulder.
District 10—Datekyougou.

Daichi's eyes flit back up to those intense, penetrating eyes.

"Aone! Let's get the hell out of here!"

Then—at the same time—Daichi and the tribute take a step back.

What?

It is at this point when the other tribute, Aone, hurriedly turns away, stepping back awkwardly and almost clumsily due to his large stature, fleeing in a direction opposite from Daichi, back towards the voice calling out to him.

It seems Daichi and Hinata weren't the only ones who wanted to simply run without killing anyone.

At least… not yet.

He would have to see how those morals would last as the Game went on.

Desperate tributes would call for desperate actions.
Their values and beliefs may not be the same in a few hours, let alone tomorrow.

Hurriedly, he pushes forward into the thick forest, shoving away thick branches of foliage prodding and scraping at him during the way.

.

..

…

As he continues to flee into the forest, Daichi does his best to keep his mind sharp and his eyes open as he takes note of everything around him, twisting his head from one area to the next for any hints of rustling or hints of danger. His entire body feels hyperaware of his surroundings. He can hear his own quick breaths, every hair standing on end. He is constantly in a focused state of mind, making sure there is nothing attacking—or waiting to attack—him from behind or his sides.

His running slows not too long after escaping the arena.
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes at most.

Halfway amidst all his panting, he takes in a gulp of air, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees, then wiping the sweat off his tanned face. He decides ultimately to preserve his strength—not to use it all running frantically into the forest.

He wants to conserve as much of his energy as he possibly can.

He has the mental fortitude to know he needs to stop and think.

What about the plan?

As he finally catches his breath, Daichi takes the time to reevaluate his surroundings. He can't hear anything around him except for the tree branches swaying high above him and the birds chirping in the distance while bits of sun peeked through the spaces between the trees, hitting him in the face and shoulders.

The air surrounding him blows into his face and hair, bangs lifted ever so slightly with it, both gently caressing his features and giving him chills from head to toe.

.

..

…

It's quiet.

It takes much longer for him to determine that there is no one around—no threat—in his immediate surroundings. He sighs unsteadily, body jumping at the slightest sounds—a leaf shifting in the air—before deciding to find water.

The plan was for Hinata and him to eventually meet—and he supposes there is no harm in having water for them both to use.

Hinata.

How far did he run?
Is he still running?
How is he doing?

Daichi felt surprisingly exhausted from the short run, finding himself somewhat light-headed from both the physical and mental exertion—from all the rushing thoughts and incidents.

He can feel every breath he takes as he attempts to rest his body while searching.

How tired is Hinata?
Is he wounded?
Is he alive?

Daichi struggles to keep his mind in place, fleeting to thoughts of blood staining Hinata's face, upper shoulders and hands. The blood must have been transferred— maybe Hinata reached his hands up to his face in shock, wondering what the sudden thick liquid was all over him.

It couldn't have been Hinata's own injury, could it?
He looked horrified, eyes wide and stark with fear—even with the distance between him and Daichi.

But if it was from his own wound, he'd be dead now.

In the beginning, when Daichi was first lifted into the arena through that tiny capsule, Daichi hadn't immediately found Hinata—he wasn't able to see how exactly Hinata ended up with so much blood on him.

Daichi holds back any feeling of worry, steeling his mind to think rationally... and optimistically.

If it was Hinata's own wound, it wouldn't have splattered in that way. Even if they were full of adrenaline, Daichi thinks, Hinata would've shown some sign of pain or handicap running back into the forest.

Wouldn't he?

And he hadn't—so Daichi assumes that logically, Hinata must've been all right.
He wasn't a medical expert by any means and maybe he was wrong, because he had heard of situations where the body was so high off adrenaline that the body ignores physical impairment—no

There is a nagging feeling in the back of his mind constantly floating with questions of "what-ifs". But he would not allow his emotions to overtake him, not when he had no evidence of the smaller tribute's demise.

He has to be all right.

Hinata has to be all right.

.

..

…

"Relax, Daichi. Take a deep breath." Chuckling, Sugawara runs a hand absently through his own silver toned bangs.

"But—"

"What's the use of getting upset or worrying about it? You'll find out when you find out." His grin takes on a more playful countenance, widening from ear to ear. He points at Daichi, index finger playfully circling in front of Daichi's face. "In the meantime, I think you owe me! It's your turn to clean my house!"

Daichi sighs, unable to stifle the laugh escaping from his mouth. Sugawara always cleaned Daichi's house when he was over, just out of habit, just out of something to do. One day, he playfully teased Daichi saying one of these days, he would have Daichi do the same in his own.

At the time, Daichi inherently knew what Sugawara's real intentions were.
He wanted to distract Daichi, make light of their situations so they could keep going.

Sugawara always knew how to make things easier to bear, easier to face.

So they could all continue with every sunrise.

So they could face it all again the next day.

Daichi's hands open and close aside him before finally releasing their tension, causing the pressure-induced small red spots on his hands to revert back to white.

"…Relax." Daichi voices to himself (and it's really someone else's voice that he hears).

.

..

…

And surprisingly, for now, despite these surroundings, it was successful.

.

..

…

For a long while, Daichi hikes through the forest, keeping himself on constant guard. After fully coming down from his adrenaline rush, he finds himself feeling "okay". He is more alert and much more in tune with his surroundings.

He has a clear head.

And really at this point, that's more than he could ever ask for.

Sighing, Daichi leans against a tree, digging his hand into his satchel pocket to take out the arrow he retrieved earlier. He was sure he was at minimum— one, maybe two miles in. By this point, Daichi can feel how flushed his face is, can feel the beads of sweat forming on the edges of his face as he fingers the blade of the arrow, assessing its overall quality. He smiles when he sees it is indeed incredibly sharp, barely even touching it and already having a superficial cut on his finger.

He glances at the bead of blood slowly escaping the cut.

He points the arrow down, then stomps hard on the metal point, effectively separating the blade from its thin wooden shaft. He makes sure to keep at least two inches of its wooden shaft connected to use as a handle, leaning down to pick up a flat stone to sand down the wood until it no longer had splinters or sharp ends to injure himself with. He does the same with the broken shaft, placing it into his rucksack, figuring it would have to somehow be useful later.

Daichi is now inspecting the rest of his bag—which, to his relief, has a full bottle of water, twine and a small pack of beef jerky. He uses the twine to quickly attach the arrowhead to a longer, thicker piece of wood, thus creating a makeshift spear.

Daichi continues to wipe his forehead, attempting to clear it of any dampness that had accumulated there. He is already feeling the pangs of thirst but adamantly refuses to take a sip out of his water until he absolutely needs to. He is surprised the game makers even provided water in his small rucksack—and he figures it must've been the only bag in the arena containing it—leaving the rest of the water situated in the epicenter of the Cornucopia.

Daichi clicks his tongue. He got lucky.

The Careers must have taken over the Cornucopia, harvesting any and all materials to use for their own benefit.

If they teamed up.

Daichi wouldn't be surprised if they all murdered each other already in greed. There was so much happening as he fled the open field surrounding the Cornucopia.

He stares at his makeshift spear in thought, his mind replaying the image of embers falling from the sky, people running, others attacking— when that tribute, probably from district three judging by the colors on his uniform, received the dagger to his forehead.

He remembers the sickening crunch the knife made upon contact with the tribute's forehead.

Those were people Hinata and he had trained with.

People who just hours ago were alive and well.

He is shaken from his thoughts when he hears the canon go off, again, and again, and again.

There are a total of eight shots into the air. This means that there are eight dead and sixteen tributes still standing. The game maker must have waited a certain period of time before sounding the canon because of all the initial deaths. Daichi is surprised.

He thought he had seen many more bodies fall as he ran through the main field.

He exhales, trying to expel his previous thoughts about all the dead tributes. He knows that if he continues to think about it, he would just become angry.

Angry and distracted.

He didn't have the time to allow for either of those.

He didn't have the luxury to allow himself to slip up and make even the tiniest of mistakes.
He needed to move forward.

He begins to stride across the forest, thinking about what he needed to do to get through the day. He is debating internally, wondering if he should stop to set some traps for wild game or keep walking.

Is it too early to stop and get something to eat?

Daichi doesn't plan to use the beef jerky in his satchel, not until he is at the brink of starvation.

Might as well prepare for later, even if he wasn't hungry right now.

Daichi shrugs his shoulders, stretching them as he raises his head up to deduce the time from the height of the sun. After a few minutes, he figures that yes, he should probably set some traps. He had a few hours until sunset and figured now was as good a time as any to catch some food.

.

..

…

"Where did you learn to hunt like that?" Sugawara asks, looking and examining Daichi's crafted trap closely. He is crouching down at the ground, tilting his head in interest. Nishinoya and Asahi had come hunting with them this time, if only just to increase their chances of success. The two approach after a squirrel gets caught in Daichi's trap.

"My dad taught me before he passed away." Daichi kneels down to Sugawara's current height, turning the trap to show it to them. "It's not nearly as good as his—or Kageyama's—but I find it's effective in making the animal suffer least."

"…I think it's great." Asahi's voice was soft and barely above that of a whisper.

Sugawara smiles.

"I think so too." Pale fingers reach out to untie the squirrel from the trap, carefully setting it into their bag. "…You know, the Capitol doesn't even think about our suffering and yet…we're here making sure a squirrel won't." His voice takes on a solemn tone, brown eyes lifting to gaze at Daichi, Asahi and Nishinoya somberly. "Almost funny, isn't it?"

.

..

…

About an hour in, he catches a rabbit.

Before he does anything, he disposes of any evidence of his traps to avoid being traced.

He is sitting on a stone, about to start gutting and cleaning out the rabbit with the arrowhead he had managed to snatch earlier. Daichi wanted to prepare it for eating as quickly as he possibly could.

Suddenly, there is rustling behind him.

Voices follow.

Hastily, he jolts up, running back towards a giant hollowed out tree he had found earlier. It was big enough inside to fit at least four people, lying horizontally from each other. He can feel his breaths begin to increase in anxiety, but he shuts his eyes, pushing back into edge of one side the trunk, using the shadows to hide and calm himself. There is a small opening in the back of the tree, nothing more than a slit, but enough for Daichi to look through.

"Over here!" A voice calls from afar.

Daichi's entire body is planted against the tree, hands helping to steady himself as he peers through the slit cautiously.

It's almost an entire minute before he actually sees a couple of people in the distance. He glances around to make sure he didn't leave any obvious signs of his presence. He thinks he is safe—and if he did miss something, it was too late to hide it. The two tributes walk closer, one cutting through low branches and bush with a machete. Their black jackets lined with a sleek teal color with the number four labeled upon their backs.

Daichi recognizes them.

Aoba Johsai.

One is tall with dark, short, tousled hair; the other is shorter, a little younger and sleepier looking, with dark hair split in the middle. Both of them look much cleaner compared to how Daichi felt for being in the Games for a good amount of time.

Neither Daichi nor Hinata spent much time with them during training, or anywhere else—especially since they saw themselves as the successors to a Hunger Games victor—the victor most loved by the Capitol—one whose popularity has never ceased to do anything but grow years after his win.

Oikawa Tooru.

"Kunimi." The two of them stop a few meters away from Daichi's tree.

They observe their surroundings and Daichi notices that they're not looking down at the ground. They are staring forward, eyes focused, listening—as if feeling for an attack.

Can they sense him here?

One turns their head towards Daichi's direction.
Daichi pushes hard against the tree, attempting to make himself as flat as possible.

He understood they couldn't see him through the tree, but he couldn't help but think—with the way they were standing and sounding—that they could see right past it.

'Stay still'. Daichi's mind screams. 'Keep calm.'

.

..

…

"I guess that means we're even less than animals in the Capitol's eyes."

With that, Sugawara rises, before reaching out a hand to help Daichi to his feet. He was right. As always, Suga was right.

…

..

.

"…I thought I heard something, sorry." The taller one purses his lips, annoyed. He doesn't appear or sound afraid.

He must have been anticipating something exciting, something to prove his worth—to show and prove to the Capitol and everyone back at home that he and his teammate were worthy of sharing the same district as Oikawa.

"Let's head back, Matsukawa." Kunimi says, turning away slightly. There is a slight urgency in his voice.

Did they hear a tribute elsewhere?
Or did they feel threatened by Daichi's presence?

It isn't until they were out of sight and sound that he realizes how tight he had been gripping his spear. His fingers blanched and stiff when he released it from his hold.

.

..

…

He decides to take shelter within that large hollow tree trunk. He is able to cut some shrubbery to cover up the opening a little, then digs a little spot deep enough so that if anyone peers in, he will not be easily seen.

By night time, the inside of the tree trunk is pitch black. Once he lays down to rest, he finds himself much more exhausted than he knew. His legs almost immediately lost all energy, knees weakening and legs clunking hard onto the ground. There is a soreness that radiates throughout his knees and upper thighs. His eyes are ready to betray him, about to fall into deep sleep when a bright light shines through the sky.

Daichi sits up with urgency until he hears music play—the Capitol's self-important theme.

He reaches out a hand, pushing the makeshift-curtain away from the opening of the tree, peering outside and towards the sky, letting the brightness of the moon hit his face. There is a big enough opening in the branches above for him to see the Capitol's emblem projected onto the arena's ceiling, then the faces of the tributes that had been killed.

Murdered.

He almost didn't want to watch, but he had to make sure Hinata wasn't one of them.

All eight were shone, and as if too conveniently, all of the tributes from Districts 3, 8 and 9 were dead, as well as one from District 6, and one from District 7. That left the three most terrifying districts—of course they weren't dead yet—Shiratorizawa, Jouzenji and Aoba Johsai (whom Daichi wasn't completely sure about, but wasn't willing to find out on his own).

No other faces lit up the sky and it left Daichi relieved. Hinata wasn't up there.

Neither were the pairs from Datekou, Nekoma and Fukurodani.

Did that mean that Daichi heard wrong earlier? He could've sworn he heard a strangled cry for Akaashi.
Did both tributes make it out alive?
Was one gravely injured?

Daichi shut his eyes tightly, trying to get his buzzing mind to sleep, and strangely enough it was working.

At least Hinata is alive.

His shoulders relax at the realization. Those incredible legs of his probably shot Hinata far away from any tribute he encountered. Albeit his exhaustion, Daichi ends up smiling proudly at himself, pleased with the smaller boy's feat.

'Good, Hinata.' His mind states in a proud voice. 'I knew you could do it.'

At the thought, Daichi can feel his body immediately unwind, slumping down in relief. His head hits the trunk, and he crosses his arms tightly around his chest, makeshift spear resting on his thighs.

He could finally truly rest.

But before his eyes drift off into slumber, his lips open to mumble silently the three things he needs to accomplish throughout the next few days.

1. Wake up before it gets too bright.

2. Find Hinata.

3. Avoid other tributes.

When Daichi wakes up the next day, he is dismayed to find that it is much later in the morning than he had hoped.

Part one of his plan was already a failure.

He assumed he'd wake up out of habit and anticipation—but the sun was too high. Despite his disappointment, he sits up, running a hand through his hair calmly.

He recites the other two parts of his plan in his head.

Today he would do everything in his power to find Hinata.
Today he would do his best to avoid all other tributes.

Water continues to be a priority, but since he has some in his rucksack, its fallen further down the list.

The truth is water or not, Hinata is still the first priority.

His mind flashes to the train he and Hinata were on not too long ago.

"…We'll… be okay, right?" Hinata was peering upward, turning his face towards Daichi. Daichi could feel the moon beams illuminating the sides of his face, his eyes comfortably relaxing at the sight, half lidded and almost content.

Daichi glances over at Hinata as reassuringly as possible. He grins, then ruffles Hinata's messied hair.

"…We'll try our best."

He gets up, creating a makeshift strap with the twine for his spear, then heads out. Barely fifteen minutes into his hike, he reaches a small cliff not too far off from where he had slept. It has small ledges down the sides and odd roots sticking out here and there. The terrain is bumpy, with some areas stronger than others. Daichi's boots would provide some traction, hopefully enough if he needed to scale down.

.

..

…

It isn't long as he walks along it until he hears indiscernible voices again.

He grunts, annoyed, looking around him for a place to hide. He decides to slide down the cliff as far as he can to avoid being seen. Daichi's feet are resting on a root protrusion from the slope, saving him from tumbling down into what looked like hundreds of thorny (hopefully not poisonous) bushes. He braces himself against the cliff, arms outstretched aside him, bracing hard against the cliff side, holding his breath and keeping absolutely still.

His grip begins to shake—he has never been this high before.

His legs are strong—but he isn't sure how long they will last against the slope.

.

..

…

"Are you sure there are safe places to hide over here?" The voice is energetic and unwavering. Daichi can hear swishing sounds from branches being cut aside before recognizing the voice as Bokuto, from District Five: Fukurodani.

'So they did make it out alive.' He tells himself.
Even with the projections in the sky, that scream he heard at the start of the Games made him doubt it.
There was no way his mind could erase that sound and no way an individual could scream like that—not unless something terrible was happening.

"Heh," He hears a familiar lazy, feline drawl follow. He can almost picture the tribute crossing his arms and smirking. "The deeper we get into the forest, the heavier and denser the trees become. Hence, more hiding spots. Or did you not notice that?"

Daichi can hear the 'ha', in the comment.

Kuroo doesn't sound kind, but Daichi can't sense any malicious intent. In fact, he can actually sense a smile forming on the Nekoma tribute's face. There's still that playfulness in Kuroo's voice that he had heard Kuroo use with Kenma, Hinata, and with Daichi himself.

It sounded like two old friends bantering with each other.

The scathing sarcasm was really only directed to Saeko, the Careers, and any Capitol citizen.
Even so, the two (Bokuto and Kuroo) seemed to bond closer than most—like Hinata and Kenma, but in a completely different way.

There was more prodding, more teasing, more playful gags.
Just two boys constantly poking fun.

Bokuto half-pouts, but ends up chuckling at Kuroo's humor. "Wasn't exactly paying attention to that." From the energetic sound of his voice, Daichi imagines the silver-haired tribute must be wildly gesticulating to match the energy in his voice. Daichi cranes his head to get a better look, but can see only a slight image of them from his angle against the cliff. "You know, especially after seeing that bloodbath at the Cornucopia."

Kuroo's voice instantly becomes serious.

"You ran as quick as we did, didn't you?"

"Akaashi and I stayed a few moments longer to salvage what we could. Like I told you earlier…We headed straight for the Cornucopia." He exhales heavily—his sigh coming out with a light shake. There is obvious discomfort there and soon there is a heavy silence. Daichi doesn't hear anything but light shuffling until Bokuto's district partner speaks.

The voice is quiet and assured, although obviously fatigued and slightly winded.

"…I'm fine. I said don't worry about it. It was the plan to begin with."

So Akaashi really is injured, Daichi thinks.

"It's a good thing Kenma was able to help you. It could've just as easily bled out." Kuroo says, his footing makes scratching noises as he nudges Kenma gently with a grin. "He's always been a quick thinker. Reliable." Daichi doesn't need to see him to know what he's doing. Kuroo has turned to the smaller, knocking his head gently in an affectionate, uncannily catlike manner.

Daichi is sure the Capitol citizens must be melting in their seats.
He almost rolls his eyes at the squeals resounding in his mind.

Of course, there is no reply from the small pudding-headed tribute. Only a small nuzzling back at the contact of their faces, then a slight flush and a downward gaze.

From where he is, he cannot see what the Fukurodani tributes are doing.

"Yes, thank you." Akaashi has most likely turned his head to eye the smaller tribute because of the projection of his voice, with his voice actually taking on a kinder tone (instead of its usual monotone).

There is another pause before Bokuto speaks up again. "…Who survived again?" His voice is low and somber, falling into one that sounds full of uncertainty. There seems to be a bit of melancholy in it as well, because the natural energy in his voice depletes. "I…sort of looked away when they projected the pictures last night. Didn't want to see someone I talked to personally while training."

"All the Careers survived." Akaashi responds quickly, though his voice is back to sounding completely deadpan. His face must match his tone. Kuroo scoffs, laughing humorlessly. He's muttering under his breath. Something to the effect of: Of course. They started the bloodbath to begin with.

Akaashi continues. "I think both the tributes from three died… six also. But I'm not sure."

It was as if Akaashi also didn't want to remember any faces he saw last night.

"You'd think Wakutani South would do better, being a wealthier district, but..."

There is a smaller voice now, one that is just barely above a whisper.

"…Shouyou is alright. I saw him run into the forest not long before we did."

Daichi bristles.

Were they going to find Hinata?
Was Daichi wrong about Kenma?

—Did Kenma say Hinata was alright?

While he trained with Bokuto and Akaashi, Daichi didn't spend nearly as much time with them. He was exposed to Kuroo more often, especially since Hinata and Kenma were drawn to each other like months to a flame. What was Kenma doing mentioning Hinata? What if Fukurodani the type to betray?

They didn't appear to be during training and because Kuroo seemed especially close with Bokuto but—

Daichi didn't know, and that uncertainty made him uncomfortable.
He bites his lip, tightening his hold against the rocks.

The arena can change people.

But even with that vein of thought, somehow, when it came to Kenma possibly betraying Hinata, it surprised him. He couldn't see it happening, even in the direst of circumstances.

Bokuto purses his lips, head cocked slightly to the left, as if trying to match the name with a face. They are walking slower, much to Daichi's chagrin. "Shouyou—ah," Bokuto's voice takes on a happy sound of pleased recognition, "—Oooh! Hinata!" He shouts raspily. "I'm glad that kid's safe!" He lifts his hand up to his silvery-black streaked hair, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

By this time, Daichi has shifted to where he can see more of them now.

They look a little dirty and tired, and one of them—Akaashi—has a tight wrap around his right shoulder. Daichi squints, trying to gauge just how bad the injury may be, but the wrap looks clean. It must have been recently changed. His jacket is stuffed into a backpack that Bokuto has slung around him. Luckily, one of them was able to find, or at least create a wrapping for that wound.

Kuroo is carrying what looked like a sleeping bag. It was huge, although Kuroo didn't appear to have any trouble carrying it. He may have hidden supplies inside it.

…No, with how cunning Kuroo is, he has to be hiding supplies.

Soon, the rubble and dirt under Daichi's feet begins to loosen.

Daichi's fingers grip the rocky surface once again, steadying his feet.

He can't hold on for much longer.
Sooner or later, he would slip—
—or a pebble would fall and immediately give away his location.

Bokuto turns his head to face the smaller, pudding-headed male in question, wondering if he knew more about Hinata's predicament. His wide golden eyes are staring directly at Kenma, still held slightly cocked sideways in question. Kenma hunches over immediately— uncomfortably shy when Bokuto addresses him directly. Kenma turns, shuffling away from the silver-haired tribute to place himself on Kuroo's other side (the side opposite where Bokuto was standing and incidentally the one closer to where Daichi was hiding). Kuroo chuckles, ruffling Kenma's hair affectionately.

Kuroo answers for Kenma. "Don't know much about what happened to the little guy."

"He must be fine." Bokuto says ardently, putting his finger up to his chin in thought. "His jump during the interviews was insane. I got to see it more during training, but… every time, it would surprise me." He grins, putting his hands on his hips. "But he still wasn't any match against any of my hits!" He turns to his wounded partner, both hesitantly and imploringly. "Right, Akaashi?!"

Daichi would have smiled at that, if not for the obvious crack in Bokuto's voice.
Bokuto had actually helped Hinata train and even gave him pointers on how to survive during their short time in the Capitol. Hinata was awestruck by Bokuto's power and Bokuto, being strangely open and extremely friendly, was all too happy to help.

Akaashi nods in agreement, both to placate his partner ("Yes, Bokuto, he wasn't any match at all compared to you"), and also as a clever way to segue into the next topic. "Don't forget both he and the other tribute—"

"Sawamura Daichi," Kuroo states impassively, looking up at the sky, stretching his limbs languidly. He makes a low, purring sound as he stretches, eyes averting from forward to sideways—past Kenma.

Right in Daichi's direction.

Daichi thinks he saw Kuroo look over in his direction, eyes almost but maybe not meeting— and he nearly loses his footing completely at the sudden chill and nervousness that shook and overthrew his body.

…!

He swallows deeply, leaning himself more into the edge of the cliff.

'Did I imagine that? Did he see me?'

.

..

…

His heart is unrelenting, beating at unimaginable speeds.
Kuroo shifts his feet.

Daichi swallows, his fingers digging deep into against the cliff side.

"Yes," Akaashi responds quietly, "he received an eleven and his partner received a ten when it came to showing their skill set."

"Huh! That's right!" Bokuto is intrigued. He remembers seeing their scores on the big screen, not surprised by Hinata's score, but more so Daichi's. "That Sawamura," he rests his hand on his hip, attempting to emphasize his point. "He didn't do anything during training that stood out, did he? I mean, he learned quickly, but an eleven?"

Bokuto glances over at Kuroo to find him grinning.

"I think Sawamura has a little something-something up his sleeve." Kuroo says, shrugging, turning his head away from the cliff side to face Bokuto.

'What?'

Daichi isn't sure whether that meant they saw him as a threat or not—but thankfully, it seems Kuroo didn't see him hiding. As per usual, he couldn't read Kuroo. Either way, he doesn't sense anything to be alarmed by—other than the potential possibility that he could be seen.

Bokuto then looks back at Akaashi and his injury.

"…We'll have to avoid them, then."

They weren't going to search for him and Hinata?

So far, the similarities between him and them were unnerving.

"What if they find us?" Akaashi prompts, looking up at Bokuto curiously. It was clear he was wondering what Bokuto had in mind. His hand gingerly touches his own shoulder, wincing. It must be much worse than it looks. There is a flash of concern on Bokuto's face at this and he turns to his partner. Akaashi shakes his head, bowing slightly to signal that there was nothing to worry about. Bokuto purses his lips, frowning at the other. "Akaashi…"

Daichi's attention shifts.
He thinks he saw Kenma flinch.

"They're like us." Kuroo interrupts, running a hand through his long, unruly hair. Whether or not he was purposely tempering the storm of emotions brewing in Bokuto was unknown.

Like Hinata? Like Daichi?
How are they like him and Hinata?
There was the obvious but—
What exactly is Kuroo talking about?

Bokuto, mood instantly shifted, hums for a moment, then shrugs, crossing his arms determinedly before nodding his head. His eyes take on a look of concentration, narrowed to slits framed by his thick brows. "We'll figure it out as soon as it happens then. For now," he whispers, eyes making a sideward glance at his partner, "…let's just find someplace safe."

And with that, they are gone.

Daichi balances himself as well as he can on the root he is situated on, deciding to go the opposite direction of them. The fact that he wasn't overall too concerned with both Fukurodani and Nekoma worried him. Maybe he had become too close with them during training, or maybe their exchange at the cliff got the better of him. Was he getting too complacent? Either way, Daichi does not want to let his guard down.

He isn't going to chance a meeting with all four of them against him alone. It would probably be too fortuitous an event to pass up. Even for them.

Things change in the arena.

.

..

…

Another long hot day passes and Hinata still isn't anywhere in view. Daichi cannot find any trace of him, but he is certain that no cannons have gone off since yesterday night. Daichi hasn't been lucky enough to find a source of water either. He wonders absently if Hinata has.

If he hadn't…well, Daichi didn't want to think about that. He makes sure to stop every now and then to rest and wipe the perspiration from his face. His feet had already begun to feel heavy in the dirt and leaves beneath them, but he doesn't want to sip his water yet. He feels like he can still go on.

Deep breaths, Sawamura.

.

..

…

He hears something crack not too far behind him.
Every hair on his body stands on end, and his eyes frantically darting around for shelter.

Ironically—he realizes he is in the same area he was in the day before, with the same hollowed out tree in front of him. Quickly, he hides within it once again.

"Stopping to eat, eh? Pretty stupid idea if you ask me." The voice is threatening and laughing. Daichi suspects they've found someone close by.

"P-Please—" There is another voice, more panicked and desperate, obviously from their new victim.. "I can help you! Just don't—"

The events are followed by the sound of a blade being unsheathed. Daichi clenches his fists, knowing what is coming next. He moves, careful not to make any sounds, looking out the small slither of an opening inside the tree.

"Don't what? Kill you?" Another voice mocks, laughing hysterically. "There isn't anything you could possibly do that could help us."

Another tribute chuckles.

"Other than dying that is."

There is a light, thumping sound as the sword is tapped against a log menacingly, clunkclunkclunk. It makes the time seem to go by slower, as if it's there to "build excitement". He can hear the thrill in the tribute's voice. It isn't long after that someone yells tantalizingly. "Do it!"—causing the dull clunking sound to immediately stop— causing it to be replaced by a quick swinging, whooshing sound and finally a squish. There is a sharp intake of air before a spine-chilling thud.

Daichi winces, fingers digging into the bark he was holding onto.

Now only wails of laugher fill the air, soon followed by the sound of a canon. The sound made when a tribute dies.

The tribute chuckles, his sword clanging while he wipes it clean against his leg.

"Let's get going. There should be more hiding deeper in the forest."

Daichi clenches his fists tightly, waiting until the sounds of footsteps are completely gone. About ten minutes elapse before he finally decides to emerge from his hiding spot. Judging from the trail, he guesses that the group probably has around four people in it.

An alliance.

And judging from the voices, he could tell Terushima and Bobata from District 2 was among them.

The voices between these two groups didn't sound like old friends. It wasn't like Kuroo and Bokuto.

They were intimidating and dangerous.

He is looking around, alert, sneaking over to where he had heard the murder take place. He wonders if he will ever get used to these kinds of encounters while in the Games, or if hiding from others and hoping they do not kill you if they find you would become more commonplace. It kept his heart racing in the worst possible way. It physically hurt.

Ukai mentioned something about a hovercraft coming in to take the bodies after their deaths, but he hadn't heard anything come for the body yet. He assumed it was probably because of the density of the forests. Most likely, it made it more difficult to come in.

In any case, Daichi figures that maybe he can find something he can use on the dead tribute's person. It sounded terrible, essentially looting a body—taking something from someone who was just killed, but in the Games, one person had to do everything they must to stay alive.

This is what Daichi has to keep telling himself to stop the churning in his stomach. He feels sick having to do this, as if he's succumbing to the Capitol's obvious entertainment.

Daichi thinks this over and over, trying to brace and prepare himself.

.

..

…

When he finds the tribute, only a few hundred feet away from where he was, he can feel more intense stirring in his stomach and his heart suddenly drops. The tribute is laying face up, eyes wide and void of life, with dirt in the shape of a boot print plastered on his cheek.

There is a gaping wound in his chest, skin broken and jagged (was that on purpose?) while blood stained his shirt with a dirty, dark maroon color.

Daichi swallows as he approaches, hands fidgeting, shaking and trying hard to keep still— kneeling over the tribute, looking through his pockets.

He is so concentrated on his task that he does not take the time to look at the tribute's face— afraid that it will trigger something in him. He finds a collapsible water bottle inside the tribute's pocket, along with a sizable, but also collapsible plastic bag. Hastily, he shoves the objects into his satchel. He is patting around the jacket when he reaches the top chest pockets—and immediately he is startled by the sudden splash of blue around the tribute's neck.

When he cranes his head to see what it is, he notices the tribute is wearing a blue scarf, the edges stained with crimson.

It's remarkably similar to the only blue scarf he ever remembers seeing.

The edges are even jagged, obviously homemade.

Daichi falters, hand freezing in its tracks right at the dead tribute's too blue scarf.

For a second, everything floods back to him—as a sense of panic overwhelms him. Instantly, he turns his head up to look at the tributes face.

Everything stops.

The tribute looked to be around Daichi's age. He had a lighter shade of hair—somewhere between a platinum blonde and bordering uncomfortably close towards a light silver grey. Daichi's mind raced as he tried to put a name and district to this body that wasn't, couldn't be someone else's back at home—even if his mind desperately worried that it was.

Within the flurry in his head, he can only remember the district from the uniform worn by the decreased tribute.

"D-District 7, Ubugawa." He told himself shakily out loud, as if trying to keep out everything else. His hands are moving frantically to distract his mind.

Daichi is rushing now to search every crevice of the tribute's jacket, finally finding a few crackers before hurriedly stepping back and away. He wants to get away from this tribute, to distance himself as much as possible. He cannot allow his mind to turn this situation into something else. He couldn't be distracted.

He does not want to think about Sugawara left in this kind of condition.

It's the reason he volunteered in the first place.

Daichi is hastily walking away—almost stomping, clutching at his satchel, staring holes into the ground, hoping to distance himself both physically and mentally from the tribute.

.

..

...

It isn't Sugawara that's laying there, eyes wide and bleeding out.
It isn't Sugawara who'd just been impaled mercilessly from navel to chest, while Daichi himself did absolutely nothing and kept hidden away in safety.

It isn't Sugawara who's laying there with his blue scarf, the one Daichi had made him, the one they both cherished—that Daichi had secretly made out of his mother's winter dress— stained through with Sugawara's own blood.

It isn't Koushi.
It isn't Koushi.
It isn't Koushi

It isn't—

He stops in stride.

Daichi shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth when a familiar rush of blue clearly invades his thoughts again. He swallows, looking back before taking a hesitant breath.

As if running out of air, he begins to take deep, less shallow breaths, attempting to calm himself.

Cautiously, Daichi surveys the area around him for any signs of imminent danger.
Then he decides to make his way back.

It was a stupid and dangerous decision, to return to that place where others could walk in at any time.
It was stupid being in an open area, not hidden and out of sight.
But he couldn't help it.

He had to go back.

He kneels down in front of the fallen body, reaching up to the tribute's eyes, trembling hands gently letting them close and crossing the tribute's arms across his chest.

Daichi figures he probably could use the scarf for something, but he couldn't, wouldn't allow himself to take it. It probably meant something to this person, for him to be wearing it into the Games. One way or another, the tribute deserved some dignity and respect in his death.

…Whether he looked like Suga or not, he is a victim in this sick Game too.

Daichi stands up slowly, gazing down at the fallen tribute one last time. He then turns around and walks away, trying to ignore the heaviness in his heart and shakiness in his knees.

.

..

…

Daichi is walking back to his camp, towards the hollowed tree he previously took shelter in. He collects a few pieces of wood and kindling on the way, hoping to start a small fire to cook his meat. He plans on eating as little as he can, saving the rest in the plastic bag he took from the dead tribute. He figures he'll make the fire inside the hollowed tree to contain the smoke as much as he can to avoid attention from other tributes. The air will be hot and thick, but it's only for a short while. A small coughing fit and a grimy face wouldn't be too much trouble.

The Careers must have been far away by now.
At least he hoped they were, because he didn't have the mental capacity to deal with them right now.

He takes refuge inside the tree, taking a seat on the hard ground which almost feels moist as he sits. Gently, he picks up the wood he collected before noticing a few stains of fresh blood on the tips of his fingers.

It must've come from searching the fallen tribute's body.

A jolt of panic rushes through his body when his mind mistakenly pictures the dead tribute as Sugawara.
The image flashes in his head, too clearly—too vividly.

Daichi curses under his breath, hurriedly running his fingers down the sides of the fabric of his pants, removing as much of the tribute's blood as he could. There were still little dry bits that would probably come off with water, but he didn't want to waste any. Taking a breath, he exhales unsteadily, positioning the wood and kindling to begin making a fire. He can feel the stream of moisture forming on the sides of his face as he angles the wood between his hands.

He wants to make the fire before the sun begins to set.
At most, he only has an hour and a half left.

He spins the stick rapidly between his rough palms. Making a fire reminded him of his eighteenth birthday, and the single candle on top of his round, white cake.

.

..

…

"…Again, to your last year of eligibility for the Reaping." Suga looks up at Daichi, grinning, retaining that soft whisper. "…Here's to hoping you'll never be picked."

Flashes of the dead tribute invade Daichi's thoughts and he panics, shaking his head and blinking, attempting to think of something else.

His mind immediately shifts to Hinata. He was there his eighteenth birthday as well. Daichi can remember how excited Hinata was, how his lips curled upward in a smile as—

Hinata.

Just where the hell was he? Was he deeper within the forest? Somehow on the other side of the clearing?

As he spins the stick between his hands, his mind begins to wander. He questions Hinata's whereabouts.

What if he was in the direction the tributes earlier were headed?
Just how far could he have run?

Daichi didn't always watch the Games, so he isn't sure how big the arena could be. Not seeing a single trace of the boy for over a day, the arena must have been huge.

Daichi has only heard a single cannon shot that day and it was for the murdered tribute from District 7. It meant that Hinata is still alive or surviving at least. He was much too agile to be caught so quickly.

He persists.

Did Hinata have water?

They weren't in optimal conditions and Daichi knew that realistically— a tribute wouldn't be able to go without water for two, maybe three days if they were lucky. Daichi had been sweating from his non-stop run, his body feeling exhausted from both the mental and physical exertion—and he hadn't even been confronted face to face yet.

Hinata had to have been the same.
There was just too much panic—too much physical activity and water loss to last much longer without external hydration on hand.

.

..

…

After nearly forty minutes and no fire to show for it, he clenches his teeth. Despite all the practice in the training room, he still couldn't make a decent fire. His palms are beginning to feel uncomfortably humid. He is sure the splinters from the wood are embedding themselves into his hands, now feeling a stinging burn. It's at that instant that the wood instantly snaps—and Daichi feels one wood splint cut him particularly deep, making him hiss impatiently.

Hinata.

Flashes of blue invade his mind again, this time, with Sugawara.

"Ngh—" Daichi grunts—and when his hand slips again, the wood splits completely, making a loud cracking noise and cutting him so deeply that the wood is actually imbedded into his palm. He shouts out in frustration and kicks the wood in front of him, angrily throwing the split wood in his hand aside.

He now has barely thirty minutes before sunset and he hasn't been able to even form smoke, let alone any embers. He looks at his shaking palm, a trail of warm blood dripping down from where the wood had shoved itself into. He takes his opposite hand—yanks out the piece of wood before he can react to the pain and throws it aside. He picks out, as best as he can— whatever splinters remain on his bloodied hand. He pulls his satchel up, rips its cover unevenly with the arrowhead, then wraps it around his palm. He makes a tight fist, trying to stop the bleeding, gritting his teeth at the throbbing, stinging sensation. Slowly, he pulls his knees up to his chest, leaning his head into his knees. He can feel his body again begin to shake as he takes a few deep breaths to calm himself.

He could feel his palm pulsing under the wrap, as if his heartbeat was right there.
He shuts his eyes.

It was only a few days into the Games, and his mind was already playing merciless games on him.

With a small grunt, he lifts his head up, reaching over to pick up larger pieces of the broken wood. It was warm. Hurriedly, he leans down, continuing to spin the wood between his hands. He ignores the sharp, shooting pain in his hand and the throbbing headache forming at his temples. He is focused on making this fire.

Daichi can feel more sweat streaming around his forehead, but he refuses to stop. After ten minutes, the blood in his hand is seeping through the fabric of the rucksack cloth, but he still continues. He is starting to get angrier, he can feel his brows furrow and his teeth clench, but he persists.

It isn't Sugawara.

It can't be Sugawara.

Hinata is fine.
Hinata can't be dead.

He—

.

..

…

When there is finally smoke, he gulps, leaning down to blow at the small embers, encouraging them to grow. A small fire finally starts from the smoke. Daichi then clumsily pulls out the pieces of rabbit meat that he butchered prior, staking them through with a few pieces of wood, struggling to cook them as thoroughly and as quickly as he can.

As soon as the rabbit is cooked, he eats small pieces, making sure to savor each bite and swallows slowly. He takes a small sip out of his water bottle before packing everything and putting them back into his satchel. He makes sure he's covered up his fire before sitting back to rest.

Completely exhausted, he leans his head back on insides of the tree trunk, shutting his eyes. He extends his legs, crossing his arms on his chest, staring forward listlessly. His eyes are blank, mouth slightly open.

The sun is beginning to set.

He should start moving.

.

..

...

…Despite that, still, he sits there, staring forward, wasting precious minutes before finally hoisting himself up and trudging back into the forest. He wants to rest on high ground, away from everything and up in a tree—and not on ground level.

.

..

…

"…We'll be okay, right..?"

The forest around Daichi has grown considerably darker, to the point where he sometimes needed to squint to see ahead of him. Ever since his ordeal with the tribute with the blue scarf, his constant concern for Hinata's safety, his difficulty with making a fire and his cut hand, his mind has become blearier, taking more effort for him to resist drinking any more water, to sit down and sleep.

.

..

…

Everything has been eerily quiet, no screams, no cannons, and thankfully, no other run ins with other tributes.

After trudging around, following only his instincts, he finds a wide, tall tree to rest in. On his walk, he had been collecting sturdy yet flexible overgrown vines, coiling them like a rope. They weren't nearly as strong as rope itself, but he figured it would be enough to stabilize himself on a branch.

The moment he finds a suitable tree, one wide and jagged enough for him to climb without too much effort, he is grateful that he has just enough to strength left to climb it. Daichi had never been much of a climber—but he figured he was finally getting just a bit of luck today because his feet are sticking perfectly into niches in the trunk, helping him gain leverage. Even with one shaking hand, he has enough upper body strength to hoist his heavier, stockier body up the trunk. He lifts himself up high enough to be hidden by the branches of the neighboring trees.

He grimaces at the wound on his hand, his climbing having done nothing but aggravate it. The cloth is more saturated with blood now. He frowns, deciding to use his thigh to add pressure onto it for a few minutes. Daichi reaches behind him, takes the vines he gathered, then wraps them around himself until they are thick enough to support him. Staring up at the sky expectantly, he waits for the faces of the fallen to be projected onto the night sky.

The blood in his hand dampens through the cloth on his thigh only slightly. He figures it must've coagulated.

Daichi resists the inclination to roll his eyes when the melodramatic music comes on. He was too exhausted. Weary eyes gaze up at the sky. The Capitol is corny and bizarre, especially inside the arena and the hazed condition of his mind.

It's out of place.
Blatantly disregarding and disrespectful of those who had just lost their lives.

Lower than animals.

No projection from one, two or four. Surprise. The only face that appears is the one of the murdered tribute from District 7, the one with the damned blue scarf. Daichi's eyes look elsewhere for a little bit, down to his bandaged and bloody hand, and soon enough the projection fades away.

He can feel his head bob slightly in exhaustion as he gazes upward once more just to check, his attention beginning to wane. When the music stops, he finds himself smiling lightly in relief.

Hinata really is safe.

His lips curl upwards slightly, his voice quiet.

"I knew it." He told himself, eyes fully closed and head bobbing lightly forward. "…He's…safe."

.

..

…

By the fourth evening, Daichi still has not seen Hinata at all. They both must have been moving quickly, in opposite directions, at the same time. The third day had gone by so quietly that Daichi was left suspicious, as he was hanging, waiting for more. He hated it. He wasn't able to sleep well that night, fearing that the Capitol would unleash something on him. His mind morphed an image of rabid animals that the Capitol engineered—ghost-like creatures staggering to disorient and traumatize tributes or at the very least, help point the Careers in his direction— but nothing had happened.

No canons had gone off either.

Daichi knew there was big handful of them left— which included all the Careers—so no matter how silent it was, it was a matter of concern and he had to keep on his toes.

Daichi was lucky enough not to run into any aggressive tributes for the rest of the day, spending most of his time exploring the areas, looking for plausible hideouts and hunting for food. Most of his traps had failed to catch anything, but in the end, he caught another small rabbit. He grimaced. He hadn't started a fire since the second day, doing well to save bits of the first rabbit he had caught. After the ordeal a few days ago, he really wasn't looking forward to starting another.

He watches the sky slowly change colors as the sun begins to set.

He sighs, hoping to at least find another suitable tree to take shelter in. He didn't do a good job of keeping track of the time today. More importantly, he wasn't stupid enough to start a fire when darkness came.

.

..

…

He would go without eating tonight. Fires in the dark were just a green light to encourage others to come find you and kill you. He remembers Ukai's strict advice about that— and Daichi wasn't one to flag down all the damn Careers in the middle of the night, with barely any strength on his side.

Careers trained until the very day they volunteered to be a part of this dressed up murder scene.
They jumped into the Hunger Games overzealous and thirsty for the blood of others to stain their hands for the glory and pride of their district.

It was all they knew.

It had to be, because how could people with any real idea of friendship, families, the intrinsic value of human beings believe that the Games were something to look forward to? Something that was meant to happen?

How does the Capitol continue to shape otherwise normal children into murderers?

They were manipulated by the Capitol to kill under the guise of bringing pride to their districts. They probably didn't even know it. They probably think they're heroes. Still, he couldn't forgive the reckless killing. Especially the actions of those that actually enjoyed it.

Daichi pauses in front of another large tree, looking up at it in curiosity before shrugging and deeming it good enough for shelter that night. This part of the forest seems to be especially dark and particularly dense. After wandering for practically two days straight with barely any conflict, Daichi almost feels like he knew the trees well, but is sure he hasn't covered the entirety of the arena. Daichi could barely see in front of him and the sun continued to be in the process of setting.

He sets his spear aside, down onto the ground a few feet away from him. He is examining the bark in front of him for any cracks he can use to aid him while climbing. His wound from the other day was still throbbing painfully and he wanted to use it as little as possible— so that it'd be healed when and if he needed it.

.

..

...

When he leans forward to lay his hands on the trunk, head almost leaning tiredly against it, he is immediately stopped dead by a voice.

"Hey." He hears footsteps come up behind him, leaves shoved aside as the voice came closer, cold steel pressed against his back. "Resting for the night?"

Daichi freezes, eyes zipping to his spear. He can't believe he set it on the ground in a moment of vulnerability. He growls, tensing up, before turning his head to look at the tribute, his eyes cold and now void of emotion.

This is it.
He would die here, because of his own stupidity. His spear is inches away, too far to grab it without being killed first.

A sword is already against his back.

Somehow, he imagined he'd be panicking more the moment he was confronted.

But he isn't panicking.
If anything, Daichi just feels annoyed.
Annoyed that he's in this situation, annoyed that he let his guard down.

He turns his head, slightly, but not enough to see the tribute behind him under the blanket of darkness.
He frowns deeply, more to himself than anything else.

His instincts proved wrong.

And now it was going to cost him his life.

.

..

…

"…Tch," Daichi replies, gritting his teeth. "If you're going to do it, then just do it fast."

[Author K]: [Author K]: Um, *waves nervously and smiles* hello there! Remember me? I just wanted to apologize for the ridiculously long time it took to update this. Life got the better of us the past couple of months and one way or another, we've constantly found ourselves busy or aha, unbelievably stressed. This chapter was extremely difficult to write because we had to chart out what we had planned for each day of the Hunger Games to make sure things make sense with other characters as well. This chapter needed help and a good amount of editing. I know it doesn't seem like much is happening for now with Daichi, but we'll see what happens, right? :3 I hope his emotion came through properly. He was never intended to go to the Hunger Games. It was his last year of eligibility.

And just because Daichi hasn't had many things happen to him yet, doesn't mean Hinata and the rest of the tributes are having such a great time…
We hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

Also: Thank you guys SO much for all the feedback in the last chapter! Despite how busy we've been, they've literally brought us over the moon! We got more comments than we ever got for a chapter, as well as more kudos. I know I've said it every time, but I can't describe how much it means. We edit these chapters several times and put a lot of thought into them, so it's always wonderful to have that kind of response. Thank you all so much for hanging in there with us.

Thank you also to those of you who recommending this fic! That's one of the best compliments you guys could ever give us. 3

Please do continue to comment and review. ;A; Please don't forsake us, we need sustenance! LOL
You guys are what keeps us going and thank you again for all your support!

Next chapter, expect to see what's going on with our lovely cats and owls! Perhaps they aren't faring as well as they seem…

[Author M]: Hello again, it's been a good 10 years! We didn't mean to write a cliffhanger and then have you wait half a year for this, that wasn't our intention. The last half of 2015 was tough on the both of us, mostly on Author K, and this chapter didn't start out too well, so it needed a lot of fixing. We did what we could, and are putting this out so we can finally get working on the next few chapters. To the person I told that we would get this out by the end of last October—well, that was the original plan. My apologies! Anyway, this chapter has a lot of downtime, but the next few chapters should be a little more exciting. Thanks for your patience and understanding!