A/N: So far, this is the longest chapter of this story by a wide margin. Seriously, what the heck did I do? I didn't even plan for this chapter to be that long, I just turned into a writing machine after I'd gotten the hang of this victor. As always, thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. It's an honor to know that people are taking the time to read my work!

Without further ado, here's the behemoth of a chapter I've been working on. Enjoy :D

Burton Flax from District 8
Victor of the Twenty-Second Annual Hunger Games

If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last,

When other petty griefs have done their spite,

But in the onset come; so shall I taste

At first the very worst of fortune's might,

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe,

Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

Sonnet 90, William Shakespeare

It was a smoggy day in District 8, and Burton Flax was writing in his notebook. There was absolutely nothing spectacular about this; every day in the textile district was dreary and cloudy, and Burton made a habit of writing every day. It would have been a perfectly normal day if not for the reaping.

Burton took a short break from writing; his wrist ached like hell and his neck hurt from peering over his desk. His brain hurt from thinking about the future and his heart hurt from thinking about the past. There wasn't much for Burton Flax to be happy about right now.

Whenever he was alone, his thoughts always drifted toward Gingham. Gingham, the boy he'd been in love with ever since he knew he liked boys. That wasn't true; he loved Gingham before he met him. He was the perfect match, the boy who was funny and charming and kind and caring. But then Gingham's father found out, and all hell broke loose. There was a screaming match, a throwing-around of words that no father should ever say to his son, and Gingham was forbidden from speaking to Burton ever again.

Why, he thought as he picked up his pen again, did fate have to be so cruel? He'd really thought that Gingham was the perfect match. It wasn't fair.

He leafed through his notebook again, trying to lose himself in the turning of the pages as the window started to lighten. The pages were filled with leaves and petals and wings of butterflies, natural specimens perfectly pressed and catalogued in Burton's neat handwriting. He flipped to his newest entry – the leaf of a sugar maple – and continued writing.

His father had taught him to love the natural world. The notebooks he'd kept as a young man were invaluable to Burton's endeavors. Nowadays, it was hard to imagine his father cared about nature at all. He was grouchy and pessimistic and always sick somehow or another. Burton wasn't the cause of this terrible attitude (he had no problems with having a gay son) but he could hardly help but feel guilty as he watched his father decay alive before his eyes.

There was a knock on the door, and Severa came bursting in. She was twelve years old but looked as fresh as a daisy, as soft and sweet as a drop of syrup. It was awfully distressing, Burton thought, to see her so depressed today. But he couldn't blame her. His first reaping had been terrifying too.

"Don't worry, Severa," he whispered, pushing away from the desk to embrace her. "They're not going to pick you."

"My name's in there twice," she said hopelessly. "I shouldn't have taken that tessera."

Burton panicked a little, wondering what to tell her. He was a lot of things, but he wasn't the emotionally sensitive type, and he was awful at consolation.

"Why are you up this early anyway?" he asked, hoping to distract her.

"I just thought I'd take a walk."

Burton frowned. "Alone?"

Severa's face broke into a smile. "Mom and Dad told me not to go out by myself. But I'm doing it anyway. I'll be real quiet. Back before you know I'm gone."

"I've got to go with you, Severa. I'll show you what the square looks like, so the reaping won' t be your first time there. That's what you're nervous about, right?"

She nodded slowly, sadly.

Burton closed his notebook and got to his feet. He slipped on a pair of shoes – the old pair he used for walking, not the new pair for special occasions – and followed his dear little sister out the door.

"Wait," Burton said. "We should leave Mom and Dad a note telling them we're gone."

"I already did that," Severa said proudly. "It's on the counter."

"You are a smart little girl, Severa."

"I know. And don't call me a little girl. I'm twelve, remember?"

The walk to the Justice Building was the creepiest route imaginable, running through dark alleyways and dusty back roads. The main streets of District 8 were mainly used for commerce, especially on the streets with factories. The downside of this was that the roads were so utterly crammed with trucks and supplies that they were impossible to walk on.

The only perfectly clear outdoor space was the district square. For the last few days, peacekeepers had been clearing the space to make room for the reaping. There was hardly anybody in the square this early, and the shadows of the shoddy grey buildings loomed over the cobblestones menacingly.

"This is it," said Burton. "Are you sure you've never been here before?"

"Never," she responded shortly.

"Not even when you took out your tessera?"

"I did that when the Capitol representative visited our school. In February, remember?"

He just nodded and gazed curiously at the assembling scene. A few peacekeepers were hoisting up the flag of Panem, while yet more peacekeepers were carrying the reaping balls. He suddenly thought about Gingham again, and his awful father. This was the place where they first met. Burton had been in the square trying to trade some old baby clothes for bread. That was when he struck up an offer with the boy his age. The boy whose relationship with Burton would soon turn into something more than a financial partnership.

"Let's go home now," Burton said quietly. "Mom and Dad will be waking up early today."

"They never wake up early."

"Well, this is a stressful day for everyone. They'll worry about you if you're gone too long."

Severa suddenly stopped in her tracks. "Burton, can you promise me something?"

Severa, like many children, was incredibly fond of secrets and promises. Normally there was a bright smile on her face as she whispered some angsty revelation to her older brother. But there was something different in Severa's gaze today, something that was the last thing from childish.

"Burton?"

"Yes?"

"Promise me you won't get reaped, okay?"

Burton's words jammed up in his throat. He couldn't make that promise. He would never break a promise with Severa.

District 9 was even uglier than District 8, if that was possible. The towns the train passed through were dusty, crumbling, and looked like they were built a thousand years ago by someone who had only a vague idea of how to build a house.

At least there was fresh air here: in the grain fields, outside the stinky towns where barefoot children peered enviously at the train windows. Burton had never fully appreciated the term amber waves until now. The grain bent and waved under every gust of wind. Without any workers slaving away in the fields (it was still reaping day) it was terrifyingly picturesque.

Georgio Bronte, the only past victor from District 8, set a silver platter on the table. Two avoxes laid it with a fancy red cake, decorated with the thread-and-needle insignia of District 8. Burton reached for a slice, but Georgio stopped him.

"The avoxes have to cut the cake," Georgio said.

"Why?"

"There was an incident a few years back. We're not supposed to talk about it."

The inside of the cake was almost completely black, but broken up by little strips of color that looked just like thread. It was a cute idea, and the cake would have been delicious if not for the atmosphere. Burton had to remind himself that they were on the way to die.

They being himself and a girl named Chartreuse. The memory of the reaping spun through his mind at a dizzying speed. Burton was so relieved that Severa was safe that he didn't even bother to worry about himself. Then the escort drew his name, and a little girl started screaming at the other end of the square, but there was nothing he could do except walk somberly forward as everyone stared at him like a corpse.

Only a few people came to say goodbye to him: his mother, who emotionally reminded him that ends bring new beginnings; his father, who actually acted fatherly and likable for once; and Severa, who just couldn't stop crying. Other than them, a few close school friends stopped by to bid him farewell. Not Gingham. Either he didn't want to show up or his father stopped him. Probably the latter.

The District 8 group sat quietly as they ate the cake. Chartreuse looked very fearless – much more fearless than Burton felt, anyway. Their escort, Calliope, was one of the few Capitolites who knew when to shut up. Burton could tell she was bursting to talk but respected the quietness of the space, which he was thankful for.

Then there was Georgio. He was the sort of awful comedian whose every joke seemed forced. Every laugh, every smile that ever crossed Georgio's face was clearly fake. So this is what victors turned into after they won the games. Not very promising.

"How's the cake?" Calliope asked, finally breaking the silence.

"It's great," Burton said simply. He hadn't picked a personality to display to her and Georgio yet.

"I picked out the colors specifically," Calliope added proudly. "For District 8, you know."

Burton just nodded. Chartreuse was too busy shoveling the sweet treat into her mouth to answer.

"Don't eat so much. You'll get sick," urged Calliope.

Chartreuse grunted and swallowed another mouthful. "Just trying to make up for the last seventeen years of my life."

"That doesn't mean…"

Georgio put a hand on Calliope's shoulder. "Keep it down."

She must have understood his meaning, because she slunk back into her chair. She sat with her arms crossed the rest of the time they were eating, and not because she approved of their haste.

"Well, I suppose you should finish up soon," Calliope conceded. "We still have to watch the reapings. They'll be on in fifteen minutes."

Burton set his plates in the sink and then sauntered over to the television car. Faces spun through his mind at the speed of light. Chartreuse. Calliope. Georgio. Gingham. Severa. He suddenly wished he'd brought his journal along with him. Like Jaguar, he thought, remembering the victor who'd kept a diary during the games. Probably kept him from going insane.

Watching the reapings didn't make him feel much better. From the get-go, Districts 1 and 2 provided four intimidating tributes who would undoubtedly be lethal in the coming weeks. The strongest-looking tribute, as it often was, was the boy from 2.

"Ulysses Carrion," Calliope said dreamily. "His name's been famous for a while."

None of the other tributes were terribly impressive. Thin little kids from 3, strong bronze-skinned volunteers from 4, oil-stained and squinty-eyed victims from 5 and 6. The girl from 7, Ciara, was the first intimidating tribute since District 4. She looked at least six feet tall, with big muscles and a dangerous gaze.

District 8 was up next. The program showed Chartreuse and Burton as they took the stage, both shaking with fear. The cameras zoomed in on Severa when she screamed, which Burton thought was a pretty humiliating thing to do to her. Then again, none of this whole ordeal was particularly humanizing.

As the District 9 reaping started, Burton pulled out his tribute token: the little note that Severa had left on the counter the morning of the reaping. He'd read it over so many times that he had every word memorized.

Mom and Dad,

I'm going on a walk by myself for a little while. Don't worry, I'll stay safe. I'll be back in time for the reaping, don't worry. I won't go far.

Severa

He folded the note back up and put it in his pocket. No use reading it anymore now that he knew the note by heart. Besides, he should probably try to push it out of his mind for now. Thinking about home just hurt.

Oddly enough, the last few districts put on a pretty good showing. The boy from 10 seemed pretty strong and confident as he took the stage. The boy from 11, though not particularly impressive, looked just like Gingham, which automatically made him Burton's favorite. Finally, District 12 sent up a tall boy and a lithe girl with dangerous eyes.

Burton fell into a scant and uneasy sleep that night. The terrain of District 9 – yes, they were still in District 9 – rumbled past outside the train window. The moonlight shone through a gap in the curtains, landing directly on his face.

He lightly got to his feet to close the gap in the curtains – and when he did, he couldn't help but notice the Capitol helicopters patrolling the wheat field. They were chasing somebody: a criminal, probably, or a rebel. The man was running at top speed, breaking through the grain with intense panic. Burton didn't watch as the helicopters closed in on him. He'd already shut the curtains and buried himself under the blankets.

That night, the same dream repeated over and over: Gingham turning into the boy from 11, then back, an endless metamorphosis.

The training center was a scary place for anyone, but especially for someone who'd never been in such a large enclosed space before. Burton imagined that the inside of a factory looked like this: long rows of racks, tables bolted here and there, peacekeepers and other guards keeping careful watch.

It suddenly occurred to him that he'd never been inside a factory before. District 8's children didn't start work until age 18. Maybe he could count this as his first visit. But what kind of factory was this? A tribute factory. He felt stupid as he laughed to himself.

By the time the first training day was over, he'd visited every survival station. Georgio had cautioned him and Chartreuse against making too much of a show, but it wasn't like Burton was a talented swordsman or anything. He figured it couldn't hurt to do his best. At the beginning of the second day, he caught the attention of a few gamemakers, which felt very rewarding.

He tried not to let his eyes wander, but he couldn't help himself from glancing at the other tributes. Assessing the playing field, Georgio called it. Ulysses from 2 made every effort possible to impress and intimidate. The pairs from 1 and 4 were clearly disgruntled by his brashness, but they didn't say anything. Of course they didn't say anything.

On the third and final day of training, fear tingled in Burton's stomach like a deadly toxin. He was at a major, major disadvantage. There was no denying that. Tributes like Ciara from 7 could cut him to pieces if they met in the arena. And the boy from 10, Rammy, kept leering at the smaller tributes while he threw knives.

Don't panic. Don't panic, he urged himself as he shakily settled into the knot-tying station. Freaking out wouldn't help him, but he couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he followed the instructions on the hologram.

"Mind if I join you?"

Burton jumped ten feet in the air. His face grew hot with embarrassment; fear had clearly heightened his nerves.

It was Gingham. No, it was the boy from District 11. Burton couldn't remember his name, but he thought it might have to do with some kind of plant.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "I… I can join you, right?"

"Yeah, no problem."

Thus far, Burton had not spoken to another tribute besides Chartreuse. Was he doing this right?

The boy from 11 pressed a button to start the activity. "You're Burton, right?"

"Uhhh… I mean, yeah."

He smiled. "My name's Cattail. I've been told it's a very funny name."

"It's not funny. It's just unique." Burton was pleased to find he felt perfectly comfortable speaking with him.

They stopped talking for a little while, which Burton was grateful for. He needed some time to get his thoughts in order, decide what kind of personality he wanted to display to his new friend. His stomach dropped when he remembered that private sessions were this evening. He had no idea what to show the gamemakers. What was his greatest skill?

"You okay over there?"

Burton jumped with shock again. He'd forgotten that Cattail was next to him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he declared, a little too loudly. "I'm just stressed. I'm going a little mad."

"Join the club," Cattail said. "We're all mad here."

Cattail noticed the confusion on Burton's face and giggled. "We're all mad here. It's from an old book."

So Cattail shared his love of the written word. That was a good sign. He wondered if Cattail kept a notebook back home, too. One where he catalogued every beautiful natural thing he could find. Probably not. Burton doubted that leaves and flowers were such a spectacle in District 11, the factory-less district where agriculture reigned supreme.

Burton and Cattail spent the next few hours travelling around the gym together. He reminded Burton of Gingham more and more every minute, and his appearance wasn't where the resemblance stopped. He walked the same, he talked the same, and he tied his shoes the same way.

Private sessions were a stressful affair. A pair of peacekeepers ordered the tributes into a little room off of the gymnasium. They were seated by district number, which meant the careers were in the front. Good. Burton hated the thought of the careers glaring at the back of his head.

"Vizier Dansker from District 1, please report to the gymnasium for your private session," a cold and robotic voice intoned.

So this was it. It was really happening.

Burton couldn't bear to think about the future, so he thought about the past. He played back his last conversation with Cattail, running every word carefully through his mind. Precision was important when it came to Burton's memories. That was one of the special things about him.

You ready? Cattail asked.

Burton's knees were knocking together. The bodily reaction to danger that he could not stop. Ready as I'll ever be, his voice warbled.

It's going to be okay, Cattail added. His face lit up suddenly, like he had a mischievous idea. You know what? It doesn't matter who sees us.

He grabbed Burton's hand, squeezing it tightly at first and then lightening his intense grip. The world stopped moving instantly, his racing thoughts freezing in place like flies caught in a spider web. If you'd told him a week earlier that he'd soon be holding a boy's hand in the Capitol, he wouldn't have believed it.

Tributes! a peacekeeper yelled. Report to the waiting room immediately!

Burton turned his head in Cattail's direction, staring at his chest. He couldn't bear to look into his eyes, in case there was some kind of fear in there. Cattail took a deep breath, undoubtedly preparing to console him. Burton, don't be afraid, he whispered.

He tilted his head the rest of the way upward, finally making eye contact. I'm not afraid, he said.

The intercom voice broke him out of the memory. The boy from 1 was finished with the gamemakers, and the girl from 1 was now being summoned. It would be nearly four hours before he and Chartreuse had their sessions, Burton realized. That was a really, really long time to be sitting in nervous silence.

He glanced over his shoulder. Of course, Cattail was looking right back at him.

Don't be afraid, mouthed the beautiful boy from District 11.

And, in that moment, he wasn't.

"Cattail, are you sure about this?"

"Trust me!"

Burton shivered for the millionth time, his teeth chattering as he waded through the chest-high water.

"You know hypothermia is a real thing, right? That you can die from?"

Cattail turned sharply around. "Yes, I know. We're almost there!"

The arena, a flooded underground tunnel system, was much more claustrophobic than Burton would have liked. He thought being able to identify every kind of plant would be a huge advantage! But that was only if the arena was outdoors, and alas, enclosed arenas seemed to be in vogue these days.

As Burton and Cattail forced their way through the dirty water, Burton ran his fingers along the colorful signs bolted to the walls. Restroom markers and terminal numbers – this was once a subway system, no doubt about it.

"Either I'm going crazy, or it's really, really cold in here!" Burton hissed as loud as he dared. He didn't like acting aggressive toward Cattail, but he was in an awful mood today. He hoped Cattail would understand.

"There," Cattail said, pointing into the darkness. "We can hide up there."

Burton was putting an awful lot of trust in Cattail. They'd only known each other for a few days; for all he knew, Cattail could be leading him to the place where he was going to kill him. But the way they'd held hands in the training center was really, truly real. And the way his eyes sparkled was the last thing from treacherous. Right?

The two boys ended up climbing a rung-ladder to get out of the water. They sat cross-legged on the elevated cement platform, bathed in total darkness.

"How'd you know this was here?" Burton asked, dumbfounded.

"I've got a stack of subway maps from before the Great Disaster. Of course, the tunnels have all been flooded and abandoned. But I've got the map of this one back home."

Burton couldn't see Cattail, but he was pretty sure he had the smuggest smile in the world plastered on his face.

"What… how…?"

It was too good to be true. It was impossible. Well, it must not have been, because it was happening right in front of him. Either that or Cattail was lying. And Cattail would never lie.

"That's right. Did you see the big map of the continent a few miles back? We're in Georgia."

"Georgia?" Burton's head was still spinning. "You mean Georgio?"

"No, silly. I mean Georgia. The old state that became part of District 11 when Panem formed."

He tried to remember the map as hard as he could. That's right, there was a map somewhere close to the cornucopia. He hadn't taken the time to examine the entire thing, but he noticed the coastlines looked different. That map was clearly made in the old days, back when a country called the United States occupied the land now known as Panem.

Burton peered in Cattail's direction. His eyes glowed in the dark like cats'. There was a question burning at his mind, a question he'd been dying to blurt out ever since his private session.

"Cattail?"

"Yes, Burton?"

"When you held my hand in the training center… what was that?"

"A sign that I really like you," Cattail said, his voice raised in amusement.

Burton's heart leaped into his throat. "You mean, like…"

"Yep. Come here."

He'd never kissed a boy before, but he was pretty sure this wasn't how it was supposed to be done. Shivering, teeth chattering, soaking wet on a platform of cement on live television? But it didn't matter. It didn't matter if it was the worst kiss in the world, only that it happened and it was real.

He suddenly thought of Gingham. He couldn't help it. A rush of guilt washed over him, and he tried to push it away but it just kept creeping upward. Making his head pound, his mind spin. Was he cheating? No, he and Gingham had broken up. But didn't they still love each other?

"What's wrong?" Cattail asked, slowly pulling away.

"Nothing."

Silence.

"Okay, not nothing. But I don't want to talk about it."

"Understandable. Let's dry off."

Burton was too miserable to feel embarrassed as he wrung out his clothes. He hoped the infrared cameras weren't looking at him, or at least that his half-naked body wasn't being broadcast to the entire country. That wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

The first death recap was ominous: twelve tributes were dead, including Chartreuse. Burton had never been great friends with his district partner, but it was still horrifying to watch her face on the cave ceiling that night.

Four of the careers were still alive: Vizier from 1, Ulysses from 2, and the pair from 4, Cove and Hydra. Also still alive were the two most powerful outliers: Ciara from 7 and Rammy from 10. There must have been four other tributes alive as well, but Burton didn't bother to deduce who they were.

"We made it," Burton whispered. "We actually made it."

By we made it he meant they'd survived the first day, something only half of the tributes had accomplished. He thought of home – Severa and Gingham and Georgio – and a spark flew in his chest. He was theoretically twice as close to seeing them again as he'd been this morning.

Cattail made the vocal equivalent of a smirk. "Don't get ahead of yourself. There are still ten others."

BOOM!

"Scratch that. Nine others."

On that ominous note, it was time for bed. They lay silently next to each other for a few hours until Cattail pressed up against him. He reached his arm over Burton's body, and their fingertips breathed lightly against each other as the floodwaters roared below.

Over the next few days, Burton Flax made an incredible realization: he could actually have fun in the Hunger Games.

Of course, it wasn't all fun and games. But whether it was betting on water droplets running down the wall, holding Cattail's hand as they moved quietly through the arena, or playfully practicing with their weapons, Burton could always force a smile if he tried hard enough.

On Day 3, they were attacked by the girl from 7. Ciara was a towering terror, and – armed with twin daggers – a deadly threat. Burton and Cattail were wading quietly through the water when they saw her a few dozen meters away. Ciara dove into action instantly, and the boys produced their scant weaponry, fleeing as fast as they could but also preparing to fight back in case things got messy.

Ciara was on them like a hound. It was mere minutes before they were overtaken, and they had no choice but to fight back. Burton sprang open his pocketknife and made a desperate slash at her throat. It was a pathetic means of attack, but his arsenal of weapons wasn't exactly humongous. Cattail dealt the final blow, smashing her in the skull using his brass knuckles.

Ciara slipped down into the knee-depth water, her head sinking under. If they wanted, they could have cut her throat open just for good measure, but neither of them could bear killing her directly. They started away quickly and left her to drown.

Food was scant in this part of the arena. They survived primarily off of edible moss and lichens, which Burton recognized from his catalogue back home. Water wasn't much of a problem, as they could get all the moisture they needed by licking condensation off of the walls. This was a disgusting practice and far from sanitary, but it would have to do.

On Day 5, they received their largest sponsor gift yet: a feast of apples, beans, and cheese bites. There were also two loaves of bread: one for District 8 and one for District 11.

"Did you read this note?" Cattail asked, squinting at the little slip of paper.

"No. What does it say?"

"Some gay rights organization in the Capitol really likes us. They sent us the food."

So, after all, their relationship was being realized on a national scale. It was a strange and dreamy feeling, being a symbol of something.

The next few days were uneventful. Cannon shots fired here and there. The subway system seemed to be pretty devoid of mutts, so the careers must have been out and about. Only three of the careers were left (Cove's face was in the death recap the previous night) but they were still worth looking out for.

By Day 8, the duo had encountered a strange dilemma. They were in the most secluded area of the arena, the part you needed to wade through cold water for hours in order to reach. The gamemakers probably didn't want them here, and if they didn't leave by themselves, they'd be forced out by mutts or traps or goodness-knows-what. Cattail wanted to leave, but Burton wanted to stay where it was vacant and safe.

"Stop being ridiculous, Burton. Let's go," Cattail urged.

"I'm being ridiculous? I suppose you want to wander right into the paths of the careers? And Rammy?"

Cattail groaned with frustration. "That's not what I said. We just need to relocate somewhere more central. I know this place, remember?"

"I don't believe you." And, truth be told, he didn't. It was too much to believe that Cattail conveniently had an ancient map of this exact subway station at his house.

"Hey. I saved your life back there, when Ciara tried to cut your throat open," Cattail added. "Don't forget that."

He had a point.

"That doesn't mean everything you say is right."

"Burton! Do you want to live or do you want to die?"

An arrow sailed out of the darkness, missing Burton's face by mere inches.

Cattail's eyes sank as quickly as Burton's heart. "Move!" Cattail wheezed, yanking Burton into the darkness just as the careers appeared. Vizier and Ulysses, the boys from 1 and 2: the most unwelcome guests imaginable in this arena.

Fortunately, they hadn't been seen yet. The careers were splashing through the water like madmen, and panic showed on their faces. Burton put two and two together an instant before it was too late. The careers weren't running toward something. They were running from something.

The huge snake slithered out of nowhere, grabbing Ulysses by the ankle. Vizier tried to help him, but it was too late; the snake was already feasting on his body, goring and snapping and hissing violently.

"RUN!" Burton screamed, no longer bothering to stay hidden from Vizier. Vizier was just as doomed as they were if he stopped running for a single instant.

It was a good thing Ulysses was such a large tribute; the snake was occupied with his corpse for quite some time before it chased after its next juicy victims. Burton and Cattail escaped without much difficulty, quietly shutting themselves in a little custodian's closet. Even after the noise of the hissing snake was long gone, they remained crammed into the tiny space, shivering in the waist-deep liquid.

The snake wasn't the only mutt that attacked that day. There was a giant rat, a mass of green mold that moved like a jellyfish and swallowed everything in its path, and much more. At long last, after a day of running and fighting and being ambushed, they rested on an upraised platform that was above the floodwaters completely.

"Long day, eh?" Cattail grunted, sitting cross-legged on the cement.

"You can say that again. How many cannon shots were there today?"

Cattail shrugged. "I don't know. Three. Or four, or five."

"You think Vizier survived the snake?" He relived the ugly memory of the boy from 1 splashing away from the deadly mutt.

"I didn't hear a cannon shot. We can't know for sure."

They went about their nightly rituals as usual: munching on sponsor food, practicing with their knives, discussing meaningless things. He'd forgotten all about having fun ever since the first day – which was understandable, really, given their lives had been attempted at least half a dozen times since then.

Finally, the afternoon of Day 11, he decided to once again take himself a little less seriously.

"Did you know my name means fortress?" he asked.

"I didn't. What does that have to do with District 8?"

"It doesn't really," Burton answered. "I guess it sounds a bit like button. With a smoky, mangled flavor."

It was a ridiculous thing to say, and they both knew it. But it didn't matter. Cattail pulled him in for a hug, but this embrace specifically was more friendly and less romantic. He just knew it somehow.

"You know what my name refers to, right? Cattail?" he asked.

"I know it's some kind of plant," said Burton.

He nodded. "It grows in the wetlands. Its roots are edible. We chop them up for dinner sometimes, back home in 11. That reminds me…"

"Yeah?"

"There's a funny nickname some people call me, in District 11. Have I told you about this, yet?"

"No."

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"I promise."

Cattail grinned. "They call me Meow."

Burton's heart melted just a little. It was an adorable nickname for an adorable guy, despite its obvious cheesy quality. "Can I call you that?" he asked.

"Sure," he said. "You get the joke, right? Cattail. Cat. Cats meow."

"Yes, I get it."

There was nothing else to say, so they went in for another kiss. It was just as dreadful and incredible as the first one.

But they couldn't stay in their little romantic bubble together. There were three other tributes left: Hydra from 4, Rammy from 10, and the still-unnamed girl from 12. Rammy got himself killed the very next day: how he died they had no idea. The other two tributes were incredibly mysterious. They discussed Hydra and her tactics – what they'd seen her use in the training center and whatnot. The girl from 12, though, was even more elusive. She'd kept an extremely low profile thus far, which probably worked in her favor; she was never a big target like Rammy or Ciara.

On Day 15, another snake mutt chased them toward the cornucopia. They encountered the girl from 12, and the snake slunk back into the shadows as they started to fight. If the girl from 12 had a friend to help her out, Burton and Cattail probably would have been overpowered. But with two tributes against one, she was a pretty easy kill.

BOOM! Now there was only Hydra to think about. He refused to imagine what would happen after that.

They didn't have to wait around any longer for the final showdown. Less than a minute later, Hydra pounced out of the shadows, holding a spear in each hand. Burton's heartbeat pounded in his forehead as he circled around her, dodging her early blows as she warmed up to the long fight.

Hydra's first few blows were powerful. In less than two minutes, she'd disarmed Cattail of his knife, sending it spiraling away into the water. He still had his brass knuckles, but they were pretty useless unless he could get into extremely close range. Burton hoisted up a rock and tossed it in her face, a strangely effective move. Hydra was out of combat long enough for Cattail to retrieve his weapon. That was when all hell broke loose.

Hydra tackled Cattail with an impossibly sudden burst of energy; she'd clearly been holding herself back thus far, but was finished doing anything else but take bold risks. Burton felt a scream escape his throat as Hydra pinned Cattail to the ground, forcing the point of her spear in and out of his neck.

Hydra got to her feet and looked slowly around, but Burton was nowhere to be seen. Where he'd been standing an instant earlier, there was only empty water. She peered cautiously over her shoulder, and then Burton was on top of her, slashing his pocketknife back and forth across her neck. Burton forced her under the water, his insides raging with horror as he stomped fiercely on her face and neck.

The trumpets sounded in celebration of Burton's victory. A hole opened in the ceiling, but the boy from District 8 didn't look into the sunlight. He just knelt down into the water and let the tears flow.

"And now," Caius Flickerman boomed, "I present the victor of the twenty-second annual Hunger Games, Burton Flax!"

Burton flashed a brief smile, and walked on stage to join Caius. The crowd's roar was deafening – impossibly loud, like the sound of a million people being murdered. That was the gruesome part of his brain acting up again.

The first segment of the victor interview passed with the usual fanfare. President Cornelius presented him with his crown, Caius asked him a few questions, and Burton tried to look as happy as possible as the crowd started to settle in.

Dread suddenly took hold of him. He didn't want to watch the recap of the games. He didn't want to relive the deaths of the other tributes. But this was the victor life, and that meant the Hunger Games never went away.

One by one, the reapings came and went. Burton watched as the papers were picked, the names were called, the terrified tributes walked to the stage. That was when the realization hit him: he really, really was a victor. Those other players really were dead.

The film focused on District 8's reapings especially. Both Chartreuse and Burton were shown being chosen without any cuts or edits. The cameras showed Severa screaming, which made a bolt of fury run through Burton's chest. There was no reason, no reason in the world, for them to have showed that.

He suddenly realized that he'd lost her note in the arena. Bringing a paper token into a flooded arena was never the best idea.

The movie showed the training center, the training scores, and the interviews before cutting to the bloodbath. The boy from 7 was the first to die, his throat cut open by Cove from 4 as the other tributes thundered past.

For the rest of the games, Burton stared at the bottom of the screen, not at the screen itself. He couldn't bear to watch as the games played out before him. He didn't want to be reminded of the perfect boy named Cattail that he'd kissed twice before his violent death-by-spear. He didn't want to be reminded of the two weeks he'd spent in that forsaken arena.

Had Cattail been telling the truth about having a map of the arena? He would never know; some questions can never be answered.

"Well, well, well," Caius Flickerman said as the film ended. "How have you been holding up these last few days?"

Burton stared down at his lap, thoughts jamming up in his mind. Help.

"The Capitol is a lot brighter than I remember."

Caius roared with glee. "Perhaps our friends in District 5 have done their job particularly well this week. But why don't you tell us about where you come from? Who are you excited to return to?"

"My sister, Severa. My mom and dad."

It was a dry answer, but one that stirred the audience's feelings anyway.

It wasn't long before Caius asked him about Cattail. He'd been hoping the interviewer wouldn't bring it up, but he knew that was a stupid thing to hope for. Caius always asked about the events in the arena. He wouldn't be doing his job if he didn't.

"I have a question for you, Victor."

"Yes, Caius?"

"I take it that you and Cattail were something more than friends?"

We literally kissed twice, he fumed silently. Then he nodded slowly.

"Nothing wrong with that, by the way. Always be yourself. At one point, he and you were talking about nicknames. He told you he had one back home, and he whispered it to you. Maybe I'm just hard of hearing, but I never heard what he said!"

The audience roared in agreement. "What was his nickname?" Caius asked, stating the question so directly that Burton couldn't ignore it.

His fists tightened in fury. No! He wouldn't tell. That secret was between the two of them, not for anybody else to hear. But he couldn't escape the question, and he couldn't lie either. Somehow he knew that Cattail would hate him for lying about what he'd said.

"His friends called him Meow," Burton said shortly.

"Meow! What a cute nickname!"

"Yeah."

The audience made a collective sigh of veneration. The tension in his chest lightened a little. At the end of the day, it was great to be liked.

Caius waited a minute or two for the crowd to quiet down, then continued speaking. "I've got a suggestion, Burton. Would you like to hear it?"

"Of course, Caius."

"Throughout the games, I was struck by how loyal you were to him. You never left his side. In fact, you remind me of a… well… a dog. A loyal, loving canine friend."

"A dog? That's a new one."

Everyone laughed, but Caius could not be stopped. "If he was called Meow, why don't you call yourself Woof?"

And the name stuck. He introduced himself as Woof to everyone he ever met, an endless reminder of the devotion he'd felt toward a young man named Cattail. Even as he grew old, he kept the childish nickname, holding it closer to his identity than anything else.

Long after his victory, long after the death of his husband, he was pulled back into the games for a second time. Mere minutes into the games, the woman named Enobaria threw a knife into his chest.

As he sank into the water, his old and fragile life leaving his body, all he could think about was Cattail bleeding in the water and how he couldn't be saved either.

List of Victors

District 1 (3 Victors): Luxor Dodge (1st), Citrine Whitacre (9th), Peridot Partridge (18th)

District 2 (4 Victors): Tyrell Crowley (3rd), Lancaster Percy (6th), Ajax Mathers (15th), Maximus Decimus (21st)

District 3 (2 Victors): Lumen Orlaith (12th), Cobalt Thindrel (19th)

District 4 (2 Victors): Mags Flanagan (11th), Ripple Hart (16th)

District 5 (1 Victor): Electra Wilty (4th)

District 6 (1 Victor): Jaguar Stratton (7th)

District 7 (3 Victors): Rowan Dobson (2nd), Willow Merrick (13th), Ebony Merrick (14th)

District 8 (1 Victor): Georgio Bronte (8th), Burton Flax (22nd)

District 9 (1 Victor): Izzy Mayfleet (17th)

District 10 (0 Victors):

District 11 (2 Victors): Bluebell Singer (5th), Crow Kensington (20th)

District 12 (1 Victor): Canary Roselock (10th)