The storm abated the next morning. Shion and Nezumi moved swiftly through the underbrush, careful not to let the splintered logs and broken branches trip them up. Their pant legs grew sodden and heavy from tramping through puddles, but they ran on without a word. There were worse things on the horizon if they didn't reach District 13 before the hovercraft made its second sweep.
The slightest groan from the trees or crackle underfoot sent their hearts skittering. But the skies remained clear, and birdsong flowed through the forest, unalarmed. After the first hour without incident, the anxiety buzzing in Nezumi's chest began to fade. Still, he kept his ears strained and his eyes lifted frequently to scour the sky. He knew Shion was doing the same.
Nezumi also knew that Shion's gaze was just as often directed at him. He felt it prickling at the back of his neck, and it sent his stomach into nervous spasms. He pretended ignorance for the moment. Nezumi didn't want to have a discussion about last night until he had his thoughts sorted, and fortunately Shion wouldn't be able to bring the topic up until they stopped.
Eventually though, they did have to stop. They wandered until they found a thin river wedged between a row of trees and decided to take a moment's respite to hydrate. Nezumi looked about them, trying to approximate how far they were into District 12, and how far they had to go to breach 13.
"I think we're close," Nezumi said, mostly to himself. He had very little idea, though, if it were true, since Panem topography wasn't a skill offered at the Training Center. Forest navigation, though, he was well versed in, and he at least knew they were headed in the right direction.
Shion nodded at his words without a trace of worry, which reassured him. Shion had proved unexpectedly resourceful since they'd set out. He had memorized the sewer tunnels in the Capitol; Nezumi wouldn't be surprised if he had a map of Panem stored in his head as well.
Nezumi dropped the pack from his shoulder and took out the water. He took two pulls from the canteen and handed it to Shion. Shion waited as long as it took for Nezumi to settle against the tree trunk beside him before pulling out his notepad. It took him a few tries to get the pen to work on the roughened pages.
Can we talk about last night?
Nezumi glanced at the words. "The hovercraft?" He took the canteen from Shion and shoved it back into the bag. "It's a bad sign. I don't think it's a long shot to say the Capitol suspects we hitched a ride on that train. Which means they'll be combing the area."
Shion shifted. Not that. The kiss.
"Oh. That."
Shion's face pinched at his careless tone. Nezumi's chest tightened in shame, but he kept his face neutral. I'm a bastard, Shion. Didn't you realize? But it didn't seem that Shion did, because he looked sad and uncomfortable.
Nezumi felt a niggling sense of annoyance vying to overtake the shame in his chest. He hated the feeling and wanted to blame Shion for it, but he knew it wasn't Shion's fault.
Nezumi turned his face aside and studied a mockingjay that had just perched on a nearby tree. It cocked its head at him, as if turning an ear toward their conversation. Nezumi felt paranoia scratch at his brain. The Capitol had stopped using muttations to eavesdrop decades ago, but knowing mockingjays had the ability to parrot everything he said never sat easy with him. It was hard enough to talk about feelings; he didn't need the damned things broadcasting his fumbling to the world.
"I don't regret it," Nezumi finally managed, still in a cool, unhurried tone.
He didn't know what Shion's response was. He had averted his face explicitly to avoid it. Shion was no doubt relieved—possibly ecstatic—at his admission, and that worried Nezumi.
"But I don't know if it was the right thing to do," he added, knowing this would temper Shion's hope enough to make it easier to face him. Nezumi drew in a breath and turned back.
Shion's eyes were narrowed and searching. His mouth puckered and pulled down at the corners. Shion did not look ecstatic—he looked irritated. His dark eyes bored into Nezumi's until Nezumi felt a gulp building at the back of his throat.
You're afraid, Shion wrote.
The words burned. Nezumi flinched when he read them. The heat in Shion's expression cooled when he saw Nezumi's shock, but his frown grew deeper.
Shion sighed. I won't pretend to know exactly what you're feeling, but you don't have to punish yourself, Nezumi.
Nezumi swallowed. I should have known. When he thought about it, it didn't come as a surprise. Shion had been beside him these last few weeks and always, inexplicably, realized when he was putting up a front.
Shion barely knew him, and yet he understood much more about Nezumi than anyone had reason to. Why should it come as a shock that Shion saw the fears that weighed on his mind?
He was terrified of being responsible for another person. He always had been, but in the last year the dread had pressed an ever-present bruise onto his conscience. Rico and Kal were testaments to how incapable he was of protecting those close to him. He had already gotten Shion hurt once, and that was when Shion was a virtual stranger. Nezumi didn't want to find out how badly he would screw up if he and Shion attempted a relationship.
Shion took up his pen with a second flash of annoyance. You have nothing to blame yourself for, regarding me or anything else. I told you that what happened to me wasn't your fault, and I don't regret saying what I did.
Nezumi felt a scowl threatening as he read the words. He tried to interject, but Shion made an indignant noise and pulled the notepad away from his prying eyes. He flipped the page and scribbled angrily: Don't interrupt me! Writing is hard enough!
An edge of bitterness crept into Shion's forehead as he withdrew the notepad and continued to write. Nezumi bit his lip and held his tongue. Shion was usually so even-tempered and transparent that Nezumi forgot that the self-expression he took for granted was for Shion a race to get a word in edgewise.
Not to mention it must be hell on his hand to try to write so much so quickly. But even aggravated and stressed, Shion would not sacrifice accuracy of emotion for shorter or ungrammatical sentences. Nezumi had no choice but sit in uneasy silence or risk disrespecting him again.
Shion huffed when he finished slashing his words onto the pad.
If you're afraid of hurting me, don't be. I don't need to be protected. I think I've proven I'm stronger than I look. And I don't regret kissing you either. It felt right to me.
He had traced over the "I" and "me" with such intensity that the pen punched a hole through the paper.
Nezumi felt something inside him recoil at the bald admission. He tried to escape the panic by dropping Shion's gaze and shaking his head. "Look, the truth is, I kissed you because I felt like it. I wasn't really thinking about the reason behind it."
Think about it now, Shion wrote fiercely.
A smile fought its way onto Nezumi's face. Shion pursed his lips, ruffled more still at Nezumi's apparent flippancy. But Nezumi didn't treat the matter lightly. He considered their situation with the utmost seriousness, and he felt real fear at the prospect of them becoming closer. But Shion's bluntness was refreshing, and Nezumi couldn't help but find his petulance charming.
Oh god. Nezumi smothered the smile with his hand. His heart beat double time—whether from nerves, or excitement, or fear, he couldn't decide. He only knew that it was uncomfortable.
Nezumi coughed and dropped his hand from his mouth. He begged his emotions to coalesce into something he could act on, but they swirled about in his chest with no discernable direction.
Shion raised his eyebrows. He gnawed his lip and dropped his head to write. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. It's just... I was really happy when you kissed me. Yesterday was the first time I felt alive in a long time.
Shion took a moment to shake out his hand. He stared at Nezumi, watching how he absorbed the words. Nezumi knew he probably looked exactly as he felt: utterly out of his depth. He should be sorting his own feelings and responding in kind, for the sake of ending this thing as soon as possible, at the very least. But he couldn't think—not when this was the topic, not with Shion's eyes demanding a sincere answer.
Nezumi didn't have a chance to spy this time; Shion kept the notepad closely guarded when he lifted it to continue. The soft, thoughtful look on Shion's face, though, had Nezumi's head pounding. He knew what the next words would be. He wanted to run, but his body felt heavy. He was a man poised on the edge of cliff, knowing he was dangerously close to the endless plunge, but mesmerized by the silken possibility of it.
I like you, Nezumi. I like being with you, and I thought maybe you felt the same way…
Nezumi squeezed his eyes shut, but the words burned beneath his eyelids. He opened them again to find Shion still staring at him—scorchingly, heartbreakingly—unashamed.
If last night was just— Shion paused and crossed the line out. If you don't feel the same way, then we can just leave it here. I don't want to force you to say or do anything you don't feel.
Shion laid a hand over his. A sign of mercy that made Nezumi feel small and deficient.
"I hate you."
Shion had just enough time to look taken aback before Nezumi kissed him full on the mouth. A startled noise escaped Shion's throat, which was victory enough for Nezumi to feel master of his emotions again.
Nezumi drew back. "I don't hate you," he said gruffly. He felt stupid that after minutes of being tongued tied something so childish slipped out, and stupider still that pride necessitated he retract it. "I can't be—you, okay? It might be easy for you to say things like that, but I can't. I can't explain my reasons right now. But I can promise that you aren't forcing me to do anything I don't already want to do."
Shion nodded, more than satisfied with that answer for the present.
Nezumi stared into the woods. After traveling a few more hours, he and Shion had found a small cave and decided to make camp there for the night. The sun had not yet set. Its rays haloed the trees and cast a hazy glow over the dirt. Dusk was Nezumi's favorite time of day, but he barely noticed the beauty or quietude of it now.
Shion was fast asleep a hand span away. He'd kept up well on their trek. He never once complained or asked to take a break, but he was no district kid. Even as an Avox, Shion had led a relatively inactive life in the Capitol. He wasn't used to hunger and thirst or strenuous activity, and that became evident whenever they ended their day of running and Shion inhaled his small ration and immediately passed out.
Nezumi envied him. Tonight he even resented Shion for his untroubled sleep. How could he sleep so soundly when Nezumi still had not recovered from their earlier conversation? Nezumi hugged his knees and rested his head atop them.
I like you, Nezumi. He turned the words over in his head. How had they arrived here?
He peered at Shion. His hair glittered in the fading light, silvery and insubstantial as dandelion fluff. He looked young and unburdened, his head propped up on the crook of his bent arm.
I like being with you, and I thought maybe you felt the same way.
Nezumi sat up and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was pointless to try to play the ignorant victim. He knew how they'd gotten here.
The night they'd spoken at the banquet the threads of connection had begun to tighten around them. He left Shion feeling that even though the Capitol on the whole was full of heartless parasites, that there might be a few good people within its walls. He had thought on that conversation many times, remembering the fire in Shion's eyes, ears ringing with the passionate desperation of his words. Even if Shion was naïve and privileged, Nezumi felt a grudging respect for his boldness.
Then Shion was just curiosity. The one halfway decent memory he had from his hellish tour in the Hunger Games. He never expected to see Shion again, and he would have been okay with that. It would have been enough to know that somewhere in the Capitol there was someone who gave a shit, even if he didn't do anything about it.
But Shion did do something about it, his mind whispered. Remember?
Shion saved his life. Shion had been nothing but a modest baker's son with barely any money to his name—and he gave all he had to send Nezumi a first aid kit. Nezumi still couldn't understand it. The districts should have meant nothing to Shion; they didn't affect his life. Nezumi should have been nothing to him but another face in an endless stream of unfortunates. But Shion saw something in Nezumi that he wanted to preserve. He wanted it so much that he sacrificed his future to do it.
Nezumi never forgot it. The world had turned its back on him, and, broken, bleeding, and utterly alone, Nezumi had been ready to stop fighting. But Shion had said, Don't, and offered him a second chance. No one had ever done that for him. Did Shion even know how deep that debt went?
Nezumi studied the smudge on Shion's cheek. He remembered Shion had confessed it was a birthmark turned snake tattoo. Nezumi's eyes dropped to the strip of pink along his neck, tracing the curve to where it slipped beyond the collar of his shirt.
He forced his gaze back up. Shion slept on, innocent and artless as a fawn.
From the first night he returned to the Capitol his defenses had been low around Shion. Nezumi knew it was dangerous, even while he confided in him and allowed him to get close enough to see his frayed edges. But he had reserved all his caution for the Capitol; he never once considered the danger of Shion's affections, and their affect on himself.
Shion was too easy to trust. Shion was too trusting. Everything about him was natural and straightforward when everything in his experience these last few months should have striped him raw. Shion was gentle, but firm; never pitied himself but was quick to shed tears for others; intelligent, but so even-tempered and humble it took you unawares. In a world of actors and spectacles, Shion remained unerringly true. Nezumi had never known anyone like him, and if he were being honest with himself…
When he looked at Shion, he saw the freedom he always longed for. That's why he let Shion close. That's why he kissed him. Shion held a quiet ferocity that resonated with Nezumi's wild spirit. He made him feel reckless and restless, and although Nezumi spent half his time annoyed with and confused by Shion, the other half he felt so comfortable he had to stop himself from sharing too much.
It terrified him, but at the same time… He just wanted to rest, to lower the walls and put down the load bearing down on his shoulders, if only for a moment. Nezumi knew that Shion would treat him gently if he left himself open to the possibility.
Nezumi ran his fingers through his hair. But I can't just…say it. There's no way in the hell I can say stuff like this out loud. Nezumi knew it was immature to hold back from embarrassment, but his pride would not step aside and allow that last barrier to fall. He had spent too much time and effort locking people out; it would take some doing to figure out how to let someone in, and even longer for him to let himself out.
The sun had set while he wrestled with his thoughts, and everything was gray and fuzzy around the edges. Nezumi's gaze dropped to Shion again. His notepad and pen laid beside his head, ready to be taken up the moment he awoke.
Maybe… Nezumi bit his lip. He picked up the notepad and flipped it open to a blank page. Maybe if I write it. Shion had no trouble when he wrote about his feelings. He made it look effortless. He took up the pen and began working his thoughts into something understandable.
Nezumi stared at the finished product. A flush of mortification crept up the back of his neck as he reread his words. How does Shion do this?
He hastily tore the page out and crumpled it into a tight ball. He wished for a fire so he could erase all trace of it, but he would not make that mistake again. He settled for stuffing it into the mud underneath a rock.
The next morning Shion smiled. He didn't stop smiling. Every time Nezumi caught a glimpse of Shion out of the corner of his eye, or glanced his way, a light smile played over the other boy's face. It was the proud expression of someone who had just won something.
Nezumi avoided Shion's affectionate gaze, and certainly did not think of the sentimental ramblings he had stashed under a rock not ten feet away. Instead he made a show of going through their bag for a suitable breakfast. He pulled out a bit of cheese and an apple and shoved the second at Shion.
"Here," he said, and forced himself to look Shion in the eye. Shion nodded in thanks and took the apple, holding it almost shyly to his chest. Nezumi was caught by the glitter in Shion's eyes. They were brown, he was certain, and yet, with the way the light hit them at that moment, the color seemed almost purple.
Nezumi's face grew hot and he turned abruptly away. I'm in trouble. Two kisses and his defenses were already crumbling. He never imagined he'd be this easy.
"We should keep moving," Nezumi said when they'd finished, and stood.
Shion rose too, chucking the apple core and slipping his notepad into his pocket. He grinned with the same wild abandon that he had last night.
"Stay close." Nezumi threw the pack he was holding at Shion. Shion caught the bag clumsily, but his smile grew a few degrees regardless.
They walked until they entered a break in the trees. The small meadow glistened in the sunlight, bright with green grass and the hum of the morning. A few sparrows pecked in the dirt, but bolted into the brush when they sensed Nezumi and Shion's approach. The space radiated tranquility.
"What are you going to do when we get to District 13?"
Shion jogged up beside him, a question in his eyes.
Nezumi rephrased. "If we get to District 13—and if your intel is correct, and it's somehow not a radioactive pile of rubble—what's the first thing you're going to do?"
Shion lolled his head to the side in consideration. He screwed his face up and shrugged.
"We turned traitors, ran halfway across the country to a district we're not even sure exists, and you haven't thought about what you're going to do when you get there? Really?"
Shion snorted and shrugged again. Then, upon second thought, he met his hands against his cheek and mimed silent snores.
It was Nezumi's turn to snort. Although, wanting a good night's sleep wasn't that ridiculous a desire.
"I know what I'm going to do," Nezumi said grimly and looked Shion dead in the face. "Change out of these ridiculous clothes."
"Pft." Shion rolled his eyes and shook his head. Nezumi smirked.
Something zipped by Shion's shoulder, emitting a keen buzz as it passed. Nezumi tilted his head toward the noise, without being fully conscious of why. The sound was familiar. Wing beats, but not a bird. A bug of some sort.
Another buzz, and Shion waved idly to clear the air. Nezumi halted mid-step.
"Shion, stop!"
Shion froze, hand outstretched, and in the same moment, a massive wasp flew out of the nearest tree and landed on the palm of Shion's hand. In the mid-morning heat, Nezumi went cold.
Tracker jacker. Its golden body was a full finger length long and tapered to a needle thin barb at the end.
Shion's body sang with tension as the wasp crawled to the tip of his finger. He was trying his best not to move or even tremble, but his eyes were wide and dark with terror.
Now that they stood still, the buzzing was so loud Nezumi didn't know how they hadn't heard it farther back. From the zips and drones around them, there was more than one nest. Nezumi eyed the nearest tree, and, sure enough, he spotted the horn of a hive peeking out amongst the highest branches.
Nezumi's heart pounded. He knew well what a Tracker jacker could do to a person. A single sting triggered powerful hallucinations; if you were unfortunate enough to disturb a full hive, you were dead.
Nezumi prayed that the wasp would fly off after preening, but the Tracker jacker stayed on Shion's fingers, its antennae twitching. The apple, he realized, his stomach bottoming out. Bees were attracted to sweetness.
A second golden wasp emerged from the grass and streaked toward Shion.
Nezumi couldn't blame him. One Tracker jacker was terrifying enough, and few people were brave enough to remain motionless when another large wasp hurtled toward their face. Shion actually reacted better than anyone could have expected, squeezing his eyes shut and releasing a low whimper. But he flinched, and for a mutt bred for death, that was enough.
The Tracker jacker on Shion's hand stung. Shion yelped, and Nezumi did the only thing he could do: He grabbed Shion's arm and yelled at him to cover his head and run.
An angry buzz rose behind them as the surrounding Tracker jackers awakened. Nezumi knew he had to get the barb out of Shion's finger, that the longer it was left in the more venom it would pump into the bloodstream, and the more easily the other Tracker jackers could follow, led as they were by the alarm pheromone it released. But the forest stretched on with nowhere to duck or hide.
Nezumi felt an agonizing stab in his back and cursed. He dragged on Shion's arm and made a decision to run headlong through the thick brush. The brambles and rough bark raked against their bodies, tearing jagged lines in their faces and limbs. They were shallow prices to pay.
The hum behind them spiked in irritation, and when they forced their way out of the first line of brush, the noise was quieter. Nezumi pivoted sharply to the right and plunged them into another line of shrubs, dislodging any stragglers that managed to follow through the first. They smashed through this too and ran full pelt again.
Nezumi's vision swam. He couldn't hear the buzzing behind them anymore, but then he realized that he couldn't hear anything. The forest blurred around him. Was he even still running?
Shion tripped and fell, yanking Nezumi down next to him. Sound came crashing back into his ears. Nezumi coughed, throat dry and back aching. Back.
Nezumi pushed himself up into a sitting position and reached behind him, his fingers fumbling. He found the stinger and did his best to press and scrape it from his flesh, so as not to squeeze more venom into the wound. It was just the one stinger, thankfully. Even still, Nezumi felt groggy and numb.
Shion lay prone in the dirt where he fell. Nezumi hastily extracted the first barb from Shion's finger, and then searched him for others. He found two more at the nape of his neck and his shoulder. Three stings. Dread pooled in the pit of Nezumi's stomach.
Nezumi pushed Shion over. He combed his chest and legs, but found no more stingers.
"Shion?"
Shion's breathing was rapid, his pupils dilated.
"Shion, whatever you're seeing or hearing, it's not real. Look at me." Nezumi touched his cheek. Shion flinched. "Look at me," Nezumi repeated, turning Shion's face gently towards his own. Shion drew in a shaky breath, and a little of the dazed terror retreated. He seemed to come back to himself for a moment.
Shion snatched Nezumi's hand and gripped hard enough that his nails dug into the flesh. Nezumi winced, but allowed it.
"That's it," Nezumi coaxed. "Keep fighting. Don't give up."
Shion's breathing hitched and the panic flooded back into his face. He squeezed his eyes shut. An anguished noise pushed past his lips.
"He's dying."
Nezumi startled so badly he rocked backwards. Rico was standing next to him, eyes innocently wide and unconcerned.
"Fuck." Nezumi exhaled in a rush.
Rico's brows arched. "Potty mouth." He glanced down at Shion and scowled. The expression looked wrong on his young features. "Fine, let him die. You let everyone else die, so it's only fair." He turned and scaled a tree with the ease of a lizard, disappearing into the dark snarl of branches.
Nezumi gripped the sides of his head and pressed, trying to force his brain to function properly. It was just one sting. He needed to keep it together. Shion needed his help. He drew in three short, heavy breaths and stood.
The forest warped and spun as he walked, but he forced himself in as straight a line as possible. He didn't stray too far from Shion, afraid that the hallucinations might lead Shion to get up and wander off. Or worse. Nezumi tried not to think about worse.
There was a plant they used in 7 that could help draw the venom of Tracker jacker stings out. It also reduced swelling. If he could just find some. He searched the forest floor desperately, but none of the plants looked familiar. They were all the wrong shape and color, and Nezumi couldn't figure out if their wrongness was real or hallucinated. Nezumi cursed. Pressure built in his chest as he thought of Shion lying alone and in pain as he walked farther and farther away from him.
Nezumi scoured the surrounding area one more time and then stumbled his way back to Shion. He collapsed at Shion's side.
"I'm sorry. I can't—" Nezumi clenched his jaw and swallowed impotently. "I'll find a way to help you. I promise. Just—don't die on me. Keep fighting. Please."
Shion's breaths had evened out, but his dark eyes were dull. Nezumi took him by the hand and dropped his head.
Voices. Nezumi ignored them at first, thinking they were a projection of his delirious mind. But then he heard a twig snap, a flock of birds flap noisily into the air, a lighthearted laugh. Nezumi raised his head and listened harder. It sounded like a group of men.
Peacekeepers.
Nezumi's head swung around, but there was no place for them to hide, and Shion didn't look like he was in any condition to escape. Nezumi had to make a decision: Save himself or stay with Shion and risk capture. If this were the Hunger Games, it would be no choice at all.
Nezumi stayed. He grabbed the biggest rock he could find within arms length and held it tight. He would not go easily.
He listened as the men's voices came closer, tensed as they came into view, weaving through the trees, unaware for the moment of him and Shion.
They were not Peacekeepers. Or at least, they weren't in Peacekeeper uniforms. The members of the party had the roughened look of the Districts, but they lacked the underfed and fearful bearing of those raised under the Capitol's heel. And they had guns at their waists, not batons.
District 13? They had been close to the border between 12 and 13 before the swarm. Could they have made it across?
Nezumi's brain told him he was seeing things. But if these people were actually real, could he risk letting them pass? Nezumi glanced at Shion. His face was white with tension and his forehead was damp with sweat.
Nezumi clamped down on his reservations and climbed once again to his feet. "Hey! Over here!"
The group of men swung toward them, their expressions instantly alert. The men approached. Fast. Their hands dropped to their guns at their sides and Nezumi's stomach twisted in alarm.
Nezumi took a step back at the hardness in their eyes. "Wait—"
The first of the group closed in on him. With a practiced movement, he grabbed Nezumi's arm and bent it behind him. Nezumi gasped, more from shock than pain. The rock he had been holding thumped to the ground. He hadn't even tried to raise it. Nezumi cursed.
"This one's tripping out," called another voice. His tone changed when he spoke again. "Looks bad."
"Leave him alone," Nezumi snarled. He bucked, but the man's grip tightened. Nezumi squeezed his eyes shut and hissed against the pain.
"Don't struggle, and we won't have to hurt you," the man growled into his ear. Then he turned to the other men. "Grab the kid and let's go."
Two of the men hoisted Shion up and shouldered his weight between them. Nezumi looked from one man to the next, fear and regret smothering the fledgling hope he had of rescue. He had been so sure they weren't Peacekeepers, but now his mind screamed at him that he had been tricked, that he had hallucinated their gray uniforms and guns. He half hoped this was all a hallucination.
"Are you District 13?" he asked.
The man behind him glared. Another member of the group stepped forward and shoved a bag over Nezumi's head.