OKAY SO MAJOR WARNING FOR THE FIRST SECTION! If you're uncomfortable reading transphobia, please please please skip ahead to the second section of the chapter. I'll mark it with the word "muttation" just before it starts, bolded and capitalised, so either use Crtl + F to skip ahead or just scroll until you see it.

Warning aside, this little cinnamon roll was sent in by CelticGames4! I really hope he came out okay and that I kept his personality consistent ^^"

05 - Pained People Pleaser

It comes as no surprise that the fist to his jaw hurts like hell. He drops to the ground and cradles his chin with a hiss, helpless as they circle around him.

Today must not be Tooru's lucky day.

It's not an uncommon occurrence, the harassment; but he'd at least hoped that Douglass would leave him be with the Reaping preparations going on around them. Tooru curls in on himself, groaning as the ache in his jaw starts to make his head throb. That'll definitely bruise.

"Where you heading, Ikeda?" Douglass asks condescendingly. Tooru tries to put the smile back on his face—he doesn't want to be rude if he manages to muster up a reply.

At the sight of Tooru's smile, Douglass laughs. It's a cruel, bitter laugh—but Tooru likes to think that there's a manner of joking behind it all. "Look at her dumb smile," Douglass laughs as he elbows one of his friends. The incorrect pronoun hits Tooru harder than he'd want to admit, but he doesn't let the smile slip. Everything takes time, even if it's painful being patient.

"It's 'h—his'," Tooru corrects meekly. Douglass only laughs harder, almost doubling over and resting his hands on his knees. Surely he's just jesting, trying to include Tooru in the usual rough and tumble Douglass and his friends are known for. "Y—You'll get it eventually, don't worry."

"Dumbass," Douglass wheezes. He motions to one of his friends, and suddenly Tooru is being hauled to his feet roughly. Tooru knew it—he knew Douglass wanted to make peace with him!

And then another friend flanks his side, grasping Tooru's arm tightly. He can't feel his arms with how hard both boys grip them, leaving him to dangle in their grasps.

"Hold her still." Douglass cracks his knuckles loudly. There is no peace in his eyes, only malice. Tooru prepares for the worst.

Just as the fist is about to collide with Tooru's gut, something stops Douglass. It's not mercy or politeness that intervenes like Tooru always hopes, but the person who embodies those qualities is just as welcome a sight. Douglass almost freezes at the sound of Donovan's voice, a look of annoyance crossing the tall boy's features before he lowers the fist.

It's no secret that Donovan Fabbri and Douglass Jones dislike each other. They never sit peacefully in the same room, never agree on anything—even in their choice of friends. It really should be no surprise that Donovan had come to Tooru's rescue the moment he saw Douglass was about to strike him, but the relief floods through him like a surge of energy nonetheless.

"Screw it," Douglass spits. "She's no fun, anyway."

Donovan strides past the taller boy as his friends release Tooru. Tooru stumbles to the ground with a grunt, limbs too heavy to hold himself up. "Misgendering people isn't exactly fun, either," Donovan points out. More hope in Tooru's chest—Donovan always corrects people where Tooru can't! "Suppose your idea of fun is quite skewed, though. Get lost before I report this to our teachers."

Douglass just strides past him, a smug look on his face. "Like they even care about poor little Tomoko."

"Tooru." Donovan glares at the taller boy. "If you're going to insult him, at least do it with the right name."

There's no response. The small gang simply walks out of the alley and start cackling at each other, mimicking Tooru's smile and mocking him. Donovan doesn't bother to pick more of a fight, instead turning for Tooru and offering a hand to help him up. It's easy for Donovan to lift his small form, but difficult for Tooru to stay on his feet once they're planted firmly on the ground.

"Thanks," he exhales shakily. He offers Donovan a smile, but it isn't returned. "S—Sorry you had to get involved."

"You owe me," Donovan informs him. Tooru flinches, but the smile doesn't leave his face. "That's the third time this fortnight I've had to get you out of a beatdown."

"I—I'll make it up to you," Tooru babbles. He rakes through his mind for ways he can return the favour, but struggles to come up with something new. He's already doing the next two weeks' worth of math homework for the two of them, as well as taking over for Donovan's shifts in class duties. What more is there available for Tooru to do? "Maybe I can help with some of your other work."

Donovan shrugs, but he smiles at the smaller boy this time. "Think you can handle cleaning up a garden?"

"Absolutely! When and where?"

There's a small hiss before Donovan says, "Today, actually. I've gotta get ready for some family stuff and I won't have time to clean the guy's garden."

Ah. Today. Tooru wipes at his chin—oh dear, that blood better come out of his sleeve when it gets washed—and nods. "That's fine. I'll… I'll clean up and then head over."

"Knew I could count on you, Tooru." Donovan shoves a hand into the pocket of his vest. He pulls out a slip of paper with an address scrawled on it, wasting no time shoving it into Tooru's hand. "That's the place. Just tell 'em I sent you and they'll let you in."

He reads over the address as Donovan starts to leave. The street sounds familiar, but Tooru feels like he's been told not to go to it before. Like he's been warned against it by more than just his parents and teachers—like the entirety of District 5 forbids him from entering.

The Victors' Village. It hits him like a blast of cold water. The address is inside the Victors' Village—but why is Donovan cleaning a garden there? He looks up to voice this, to get more information, but by the time he finds his voice Donovan is gone.

The walk home is lonely and filled with shame, but at least he doesn't waste any time crossing the streets and avoiding the gazes of everyone. By the time he walks inside, the blood on his chin and lip is dried, while the skin beneath his eye begins to swell and feels sensitive to the touch.

Cliona Ikeda, in all her strict, overbearing glory, jumps right into a lecture when she catches sight of him. Tooru's face hurts as he fishes through the medicine box for disinfectant—"You can clean that up yourself," Cliona had yelled—and his mother's voice is all but drowned out by the throbbing in his jaw. They can't afford to keep buying medical supplies if he can't stay out of trouble, she nags. Tooru will never get into a good university and become an upstanding member of society, she recites. For crying out loud, why can't he just go back to being Tomoko, she sighs.

Tooru practically snaps at her. He's got a small ice pack pressed to his cheek as he pulls the bloodied tissue away from his lip, only to wipe at it again as he splits the wound further in between yells. Cliona stares at him with a stunned expression, brown eyes wide and mixing shock with anger. There's no doubt that the neighbours can hear him, but he doesn't care. It takes time for people to accept something as big as coming out as transgender, but it doesn't help that his own mother is one of the majority waiting for him to put the dresses back on.

When he cuts himself off, tears threatening to spill over, Cliona jumps in again. How dare he yell at her so disrespectfully—doesn't he know what she has to put up with, day in and day out, just to keep food on the table? He shakes his head and tucks the medicine box under his arm. Cliona yells at him to sit down and listen to her, to apologise, but Tooru just runs past her and toward his room.

He shoves his cabinet under the doorknob so she can't come in. Locks were always too expensive to keep track of, what with how many keys they'd have to get cut, but tucking something under the knob does just as good a job. Cliona doesn't chase after him—a small relief as she gives up yelling for him—and Tooru is left in peace to clean his face. The mirror hanging next to his bed is rather small, too small for delicate work, but it's big enough for him to see what needs to be tended to.

All it takes is five minutes, and then he's looking just a little more handsome than before. That's how he feels, at least—how he wishes someone would say he is, like how his father calls him during the rare moments Tooru gets to spend time with him. Katsu's most handsomest son, his father declared him. Tooru laughs almost bitterly to himself as he wonders whether Katsu would still think such a thing as soon as he sees the black eye and swollen jaw.

He doesn't bother removing the cabinet from his door. With a sharp inhale to steel himself, Tooru heaves open his window and crawls out as best he can.

MUTTATION

It's a miracle the Peacekeepers even let him in, but one mention of Donovan's name was apparently all he really had needed. Tooru strides inside with a smile as he hears one of them mutter, "Damned troublemakers."

It must be the mess his face is in, he decides.

He's still smiling as he breaks into a slow run, searching up and down the streets of the Victors' Village for the house listed on the paper. It takes a while to find—some houses have been abandoned, probably because of the old winners dying of old age and their families being moved out—but he soon spots the giant garden that leads to 31 Porter Millicent Lane. It's filled to the brim with flowers he can't say he's ever seen before, high hedges creating an almost maze-like effect as Tooru gazes through the gateway.

As he navigates his way through, he comes across many messes and vandalised ornaments. A rosebush drenched in oil, a garden gnome missing its head as the marble statue of a large dog is covered with eggshells and yolk. Tooru almost winces at the sight of it all, at the thought that someone had gone out of their way to just destroy this poor person's garden. This poor person's lovely, lovely garden.

When he knocks on the door, he hears the crash of a body against the other side. Multiple clicks of locks being slid open reach him, only to stop after the seventh click. The door cracks open a peek, a small chain stopping it from letting so much as a hand fit through comfortably, as a single blue eye stares down at Tooru with suspicion.

"What?" an aging voice croaks out, a strong smell of tobacco wafting through the door. Tooru coughs once, tries to muffle any others that come up.

"I'm—" He clears his throat. "I'm here on behalf of Donovan Fabbri."

A dissatisfied huff. "Damn brat couldn't come do it 'imself," the man grumbles. He slams the door shut, the chain lock sliding until it comes free of its slot. The door opens once again, and Tooru is face-to-face with a vaguely familiar man.

District 5 doesn't boast about Victors much, mostly because they don't get a lot. They don't have jobs or activities that make it easier for them to win Games, and most that come back go into hiding. Not even Porter Millicent Tripp stayed out and about for long after her Tour due to her back injury, so it's no surprise that Tooru doesn't immediately recognise the wrinkled old man in front of him. He gets flashes of images, faces he's seen working with Katsu at Coriolanus 9, until he musters up the courage to ask this weathered victor a question.

"Are you… Are you related to Thomas Jackson?" Tooru asks quietly. The man's silver brows rise in surprise, and he quickly leans against the frame of the door as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.

"What's it to you?"

"Y—You look really similar, and I just thought—"

"First mistake!" the man bellows. Tooru jumps, squeaking in surprise. His voice echoes through the street, leaving a lump of fear to build up in Tooru's stomach. "Never make assumptions based on appearance alone. Even if you're technically right," he adds lamely.

"So you are…?"

The man nods. All aggression is gone from his voice, his stance going from tense to relaxed in a matter of seconds. "Thomas is my oldest. Surprised you even know him. Bit of a pompous dick, he is."

"O—Oh…"

"'S not important. You here to clean the garden?" Thomas's father squints down at Tooru, suddenly tense again. "You're not one of the brats who trashed it, are you?"

"No, no! I came to fill in for Donovan—he said he had to do some work here but didn't have the time."

"I thought you were Donovan." There's surprise in his face. His expression keeps changing with every sentence exchanged, like he can't decide what emotion he should rest on his face.

"I'm Tooru. Tooru Ikeda." Tooru holds out a hand, waiting for Thomas's father to shake it. He doesn't.

"Adam." He says it matter-of-factly, and it takes Tooru a moment to realise that it's his name. Adam Jackson. "The hell happened to your face?"

Tooru waves his hand dismissively, trying not to let his smile slip now that conversation is picking up between them. "Just a misunderstanding. You need me to clean the garden?"

Adam stares down at him for a moment. The cold gaze of his eyes, almost sizing Tooru up, sends a chill down the fourteen-year-old's spine. He's a big man, built like a bodybuilder; definitely doesn't look like the type to tend to a garden like this.

"Need a towel and bucket," Adam says, mostly to himself. Tooru can only watch as the man hobbles on back into his home, leaving the teen to wait awkwardly at his doorstep for a few minutes. He can hear water running and cupboards opening and closing, and then Adam walks out of the house with a fold-out chair tucked under his arm and a bucket of soapy water cradled in the other.

"Start with the statues," Adam orders. "Flowers'll grow back eventually."

Tooru almost stumbles back as the bucket is shoved into his chest. Adam doesn't look sorry in the slightest, nodding to the statues impatiently. As Tooru steps back into the garden with expert care, he can hear the fold-out chair click open; Adam wastes no time sitting on it and pulling a pipe from his pocket, a box of matchsticks tucked under his smaller fingers. Tooru barely wastes any time starting on the closest statue. It's shaped like a dog and definitely looks like one from a distance, but now that he leans in front of it he can see something's… off.

"That one's Sam Corduroy," Adam tells him gruffly. Tooru jumps, dropping the towel gracelessly onto the ground in his fright. "Easy, Tory. It's not the real thing."

"Tooru," the boy says under his breath. He doubts Adam hears him, doubts that it'll stick. The man seems to have trouble remembering even similar sounding names—even twice thought that Tooru was Donovan. "Who's Sam Corduroy?"

Adam flicks a match against the box. It ignites with a loud hiss, and then goes out just as quickly once the tobacco in his pipe is set alight. "District Eight boy," he recalls with a wheeze. At a glance, Tooru can see the smoke billowing out of Adam's nostrils. "He was the first one I killed. First mutt they sent after me, too."

"They?"

"The Gamemakers. Who else would make those beasts?"

He has a point. Tooru wrings the towel until it's slightly damp, and then gets to work wiping "Sam Corduroy's" face. As the eggshells slip away and the yolk peels off, it's easier to see the humanoid shape of the dog's face. Definitely a statue modeled after a mutt.

"How do you think I killed him, Toner?" Adam asks. He coughs lightly, but is quick to shut himself up with another inhale of smoke.

In all honesty, Tooru doesn't want to think about it. The Hunger Games are scary enough at just the Reaping stage, and he never likes thinking about what horrors the 5 kids have to face when they're in the arenas. His family doesn't have enough money for a TV to watch it on, leaving him one of the fortunate few who doesn't have to sit through the carnage the Capitol revels in.

But with a sharp inhale, wiping the yolk from Sam Corduroy's paw, Tooru replies, "Did you mercy kill him?"

Adam lets out a bellow of a laugh. Tooru flinches, almost drops the towel a second time. "Hell no!" Adam cackles. "I took a scythe in the bloodbath and drove it through his chest. Boy died slower than anyone else."

Tooru takes a steeling breath. He won't throw up, he won't think about it, he won't throw up. Instead he tries to think about what Sam Corduroy looked like—what Tooru's always imagined people from District 8 to be like. Glamourous and constantly pumping out beautiful clothing from their factories, modelling the latest fashions that the Capitol enjoys. He pictures Sam as a handsome boy, modelling a suit made from the most beautiful silk.

"After Sammy was the girl from Ten, I think," Adam goes on, and Tooru immediately tries to blot out the method of death he describes. Instead, he imagines the District 10 girl—Lulu Banks, Adam calls her—dressed in overalls and sporting the very same cowboy hats Tooru sees in pamphlets that come from the chariot rides. Lulu's only twelve, according to Adam, and Tooru immediately pictures her as the youngest of at least six; a family of Southern belles that run an illustrious cattle farm.

Once Tooru finishes cleaning Sam Corduroy, the next mutt statue he moves onto is jovially referred to as Oliver Seethe from District 7. The mutt statue has a hulking form, with an almost angry look to its gaze as Tooru wipes its face.

"Oh, Oliver was such a spitfire," Adam laughs. He slides down his seat and runs a hand through his hair. "Almost allied with him, but then I pissed him off by wanting to stick with strategizing rather than brute force."

That sounds typical of District 7, from what Tooru's heard. They always seem to be hulking, dumb lumberjacks who focus on being tough. Sometimes they win, but more often than not they're dead by the top five. Looking at Oliver's statue, he pictures the boy as inhumanly burly—maybe even with the beginnings of a beard along his jaw—as he yells loudly about how tough he is.

"Did they make everyone into mutts?" Tooru jumps in once Adam stops talking. The old man gazes out at the statues almost wistfully as he ponders the question.

"Some of 'em already were mutts," he says. "Just had to shed their human skin to show their true selves."

"Sounds sort of scary," Tooru laughs softly.

Adam lets out a bitter, "HA," as he jumps out of his chair. He pulls a tin from his jacket and rips it open, then makes short work of stuffing more tobacco into his pipe. "Fear's for the weak," he announces proudly. "No one gets anywhere through fear. You have to turn that flight instinct into exhilaration if you want to volunteer and face off against twenty-three peers."

Oliver's clean by the time Adam says this. As Tooru moves on to another small mutt, he says, "I don't want to volunteer. I'd rather avoid the Games entirely."

The old man scoffs, clearly disgusted. "No one ever wants to volunteer 'round here. Bunch of pussies, they are."

"Did you volunteer?"

That's a question that stumps him. Adam raises his brows thoughtfully as he inhales from his pipe with wide eyes. He watches Tooru with an almost quizzical gaze, like he's waiting for Tooru to provide the answers.

"I don't think I remember, Tony," he mutters. "Fancy that."

"What Game did you win?"

"Fifty...eighth. What're we up to now?"

"It's the Fourth Quell."

A look of clarity passes the old man's face. "Ah, yes. One hundred. When's the Reaping? It's close to the Reaping day, yes?"

Amazing, Tooru thinks. He can remember the fleeting lives of his kills, but something as big as his own life decisions and the anniversaries of his Games slip his mind like newly learned birthdays.

"It's today, actually," Tooru tells him with a sweet smile. "They moved the time to eleven for our Reaping so that the Capitol kids could have time to prepare for their own."

"Astounding," Adam whispers. "Why aren't you getting ready?"

Tooru gestures widely to the destroyed garden. The answer should be pretty obvious.

"Yes, right." The old victor rubs his brow tiredly. "Maybe… Maybe spend another half hour on the kids. They won't be going anywhere. If Donovan can't come do it himself, just let yourself in."

"If you're sure," Tooru says slowly. Adam merely nods as he glances in every direction, seemingly looking for something to come into view. "Mr. Jackson?"

Adam hums curiously.

"Why did you keep statues of the people you killed?"

Adam tilts his head ever so slightly. He doesn't look at Tooru as he lets out another thoughtful hum. "Pride, maybe. A sort of memorial." He sounds almost uncertain of the words, like they don't fit the reasoning he's thinking of.

"Guilt?" Tooru suggests.

"No. Never guilt. They all had it coming." Adam inhales through his pipe, exhales the smoke through his nostrils. "No, it was something different. I was… happy when I decided to do it."

Tooru doesn't say much else to him after that. Adam prattles on about another mutt statue—a lanky boy from District 12 named Mica Halliday, eighteen and the oldest Tribute of them all—and even goes into detail about how Mica Halliday had come to his untimely end. All the while Tooru can't help imagining a sickly thin boy with those trademark Seam looks, pulverised to death by the young Adam Jackson with a club as he laughs that bitter laugh.

Donovan smacks his hand hard against Tooru's back. Tooru can't help the small groan he lets out, the pain of the wind rushing from his lungs leaving a sting in his chest.

"There's my guy," Donovan cheers. He falls into step beside Tooru, walking speedily along the sidewalk. "How'd it all go with the errand?"

"It was interesting," Tooru wheezes. He fixes his binder as best he can through his shirt. Donovan at least looks away politely to save him the embarrassment. "He only had me clean his mutt statues. Even forgot what today was." He lets out a weak laugh.

Donovan raises his brows. "Sounds like a loony."

"He thought I was you. Kept going on about kids trashing his yard."

"Hm. Yeah, I heard some kids broke in last night. I offered to help, but family comes first—y'know?"

He does. Tooru just can't say everyone in his family sees things the same way. "How'd your thing go, anyway?"

"Fine. Just had to help finish up some homework for my sister." He drops the subject almost immediately. Almost sounds as though he needs to go somewhere else. "You're meeting with Shanell, right? Before the Reaping?"

Tooru nods with a great, big smile on his face. Meeting with Nelly is one of his favourite things during the Reapings. "I'm heading over now. Do you wanna…?"

Donovan snorts out a laugh. "She doesn't like me," he says. "Have fun meeting with her. I'll go look for something to do to pass the time." As Donovan begins to walk away, he calls over his shoulder to Tooru, "Eleven, sharp!"

Tooru waves after him. Watches as Donovan disappears through the winding streets and between the various apartments lining the pavement. He's left on his own, almost no one leaving their houses yet as the streets remain blissfully bare. Tooru can finally let his smile slip, let his swollen cheek rest.

He rubs his jaw—cringes at the pain he feels upon contact—as he jogs down the pavement in the direction of his house. It'll be some time till Nelly arrives, what with her living a whole hour away from the Justice Building, and it won't hurt to take a breather before telling her about his day. He sneaks over fences, almost getting his shirt caught on the large chip jutting out from an old picket fence; a good ten or so minutes of wandering pass before he finds the small walkway that leads to the back of his own house, visible only from his bedroom's window.

His sealed bedroom's window. As far as Tooru's concerned, Cliona won't notice him come home—or even having left in the first place. He climbs through the window, still open after all this time. His feet land on the hardwood floor loudly, but no sounds of alarm come from further in the house. He exhales with relief.

Keeping up the smile has been especially painful today, he thinks as he shuffles through his room quietly. Maybe if he hadn't been punched in the face, it'd be easier, but his experience while cleaning Adam's statues has him uncertain if this much is true. Maybe today's a day that Tooru's just tried too hard to stay sunny, backfiring with so much bad luck that even a black cat would pity him. He rubs the side of his face free of bruising, feels the sore muscles complain. Tooru wonders if he should have a nap, a short rest, once the Reaping is over and done with.

He places the now lukewarm ice pack on his face in a last ditch attempt to lessen the swelling. It's a little harder to see out of one eye, but at least he's not blinded by his eyelids puffing up entirely. It'll go down—he just has to wait it out and avoid doing anything that requires decent depth perception.

As Tooru checks his reflection to see if he needs to check his lip again, a knock sounds from his door. At first he panics, thinking that Cliona has figured out he's returned. But then Katsu's voice comes through, a sympathetic, "You in there, kiddo?" that melts away all of Tooru's anxiety.

He struggles to shove his cabinet out from under the knob, but once he does he flings the door open with a smile. Katsu looks down at him with an equally bright one of his own—only to have it slip once the man catches sight of Tooru's face.

Katsu ushers his son back into his bedroom and shuts the door quietly, lowering his voice to a whisper. Tooru can't help wondering if Cliona is still home. "You okay?" Katsu asks softly. He reaches for the ice pack, only to hesitate as Tooru steps away from him.

"'M fine," Tooru says distantly. Katsu sighs down at him as he sits on Tooru's bed. "Didn't cry about it, either."

"Tooru, I don't—" Katsu cuts himself off and sighs again, this time more tiredly. "Who cares if you cry or not?"

"Mom. Kids at school. Everyone."

His father frowns at him almost sadly. "It can't hurt to—" Katsu cuts himself off once more, though this time he changes the subject once he continues. "Can I ask how you got the shiner?"

Tooru shrugs his shoulders. "Just Douglass again. He'll learn eventually. It's like you say, everyone takes time to get used to change."

The man smiles ever so slightly. "You've got me there," he sighs. "Just do me a favour and let me know if it gets too much to handle on your own. Boyhood isn't about taking a beating with a curled lip—it should be a fun time of finding yourself and making your mark."

He tries to argue, but can't find it in him to push out the words. By all accounts, Katsu's right; boyhood shouldn't be all roughhousing and insults. Tooru should be enjoying his time as a young man before adulthood takes over. He nods slowly, readjusting his ice pack. "Okay," Tooru says with a small smile.

Katsu looks almost satisfied by Tooru's answer. He ruffles his son's hair affectionately as he makes his way to the door, keeping his footsteps silent. With a final whisper, Katsu says, "Head off and hang out with Nelly while you can. I'll talk with Clio and see how long I can stay after the Reaping."

Tooru nods. He watches Katsu leave the room, door shut softly behind him, and then he's left alone with a now warm ice pack to his face.

He climbs carefully out the window again, leaving the ice pack on the bed. Ever so slowly, as the sight of the Justice Building peeking through the apartments grows closer, Tooru can feel his smile coming back. He sprints down paths and bounds past the slowly growing rows of children leaving early, doesn't even notice that he's passed Douglass and a few other kids in his class.

Nelly's been Tooru's best friend for a while. They both live a good distance from the town square—Tooru spends a good forty minutes walking on a good day, while Nelly lives a whole hour in the opposite direction—and used to be next to each other in the Reapings. She was the first person he confided in when he wanted to come out, and the distance between their homes doesn't even leave an impact on how much they trust each other. Tooru can always rely on Nelly, can look to her for help, and Nelly can do the same with him.

He shaves off a good ten minutes in his journey by running. The day's events are long forgotten as he gets closer and closer to the meeting spot. He has to skid to a stop, stumbling to the point of almost falling on his face, just to keep from crashing into the kids walking in from outside of town. A lot of them are older, chatting amongst their own established groups; no one he knows, but definitely people he greets with a smile as they pass. The move around him with practised ease, Peacekeepers occasionally passing him as they guide the children to the Justice Building. Tooru stands on the tips of his toes in search of Nelly.

Finally, he spots the ever familiar mop of dark hair. Nelly locks eyes with him, a wide grin on her face, and soon enough she's sprinting over to him and crashing into Tooru's tired body with her arms flung open. They almost topple over to the ground, giggling at the ruckus their exchange causes. As soon as Nelly pulls away, her sweet smile and cheerful nature turns serious and cold.

"Who am I killing?" she says darkly. Tooru blinks at her in surprise, uncertain of what she means—until he smiles and a sudden pain surges through his jaw.

"No one," he assures her. Tooru laces his fingers through her own, guiding her along with the rest of the group. "Today's just been a bit unlucky."

Nelly pouts. But she doesn't press. "Did your dad get to chill out with you before you had to come?"

The change of subject is very welcome, and at least it's a topic he enjoys. "Yeah. Father-son bonding time, coupled with sage life advice from someone who's barely even middle-aged yet."

Nelly snorts out a laugh. "He walk you here?"

"No. I ran ahead—he covered for me so I could sneak out without Mom noticing." Tooru feels almost sheepish as he adds, "I climbed out the window and barricaded the door with a cabinet."

His arm is swung up high with Nelly's, a loud whoop coming from the girl. "Someone's hit their teen rebellion phase!" she hollers. A few eyes leap toward them, almost annoyed at how loud she's being. Once Nelly notices the attention she's gained, her face turns red and she rubs the back of her neck with her free hand. "Still though. Kinda sucks that your mom was being all… Y'know what I mean. But it's great your dad's being supportive and all—wish mine was like that. He doesn't even wanna let me move into the city when I'm older. Your dad's cool—"

"Nelly, calm down." Tooru gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. She's at the beginnings of a ramble, the nerves of attention getting to her. Nelly doesn't need to be nervous, though; they're together now, able to take on anything like the dynamic duo they are. "What's been happening with you since last year?"

It takes a while for her to fully open up. Her nerves slowly fade into excitement, and then Tooru's learning about her year at home. The things she's learned at school, the recent haircut she'd had thanks to her hair getting caught in a door—things that Tooru would've seen firsthand if they lived closer. He isn't too bothered by the distance, though. After all, seeing Nelly talk so animatedly about how she's been is almost relaxing for Tooru.

They don't separate until they absolutely must. Tooru gets called over to be identified, a slight pause as the official reads over his information. He'd only just recently been transferred to the boys' section, so it'll take a while for them to instinctively tell him which side to go to. The dark-haired man nods at him and tells him, "Third section from the rear," before calling on the next child.

He doesn't know a lot of the kids his age here. Nelly had been the only one he'd stood next to when they were twelve, and Donovan is a row ahead of him in this section—too far to chat idly until the escort comes onstage. Tooru shuffles on his feet and glances through the other kids for any sign of Nelly. He spots her after some searching, doing the same from her own line and waving gleefully when she sees him. Tooru giggles and waves back.

The loud screech of feedback from the microphone startles him. Tooru jumps in surprise, head snapping to the front as his hands clamp down at his sides. Everyone's quiet as they watch the escort tap the microphone experimentally, her assistants dragging the large Reaping Ball after her.

"Whoops," she says, and the wry smile on her face suggests something devious running through her head. She probably loved startling the teens, hardly apologetic for the grating sound. "Guess we should start the Reaping, though."

Eleven o'clock on the dot. She tucks some of her hair behind her ear and grins mischievously. "I'm Anari, the new escort for Five. You'll have to forgive me for not being more outstanding like most escorts," she says pointedly to the crowd, "but unlike them I had a good two hours to prepare for this."

That's unfortunate, Tooru thinks. She's just as unprepared for these Games as they are.

"That reminds me—" Anari puts a hand over the microphone and looks over her shoulder at the mayor. Just barely, Tooru can hear her ask, "Who's the mentor? They here yet?" One of the assistants shakes their head while the other shrugs. Anari shrugs as well, a nonplussed expression on her face. "Oh well. Let's just pull a name and get this over with. I'm sure they'll arrive soon enough."

The proceedings seem to be moving faster than usual this year. Tooru watches with raised brows as Anari recites the Treaty of Treason, glancing down at her cue cards occasionally; before long, she's bowing to the crowd—who remain awkwardly silent through it all—and turning to the giant Reaping Ball behind her.

Anari's tall. Tall enough to successfully shove her hand deep into the Ball. Practically her entire forearm is swallowed by the slips of paper, an intense look of concentration on her face as she gazes up at the sky. After what feels like minutes of watching her swirl her arm around the papers, Anari yanks it out with a crumbled up slip clenched in her fist.

She smooths it out delicately as her assistants give her a thumbs-up. The paper crinkles loudly through the microphone and Anari tries to smile reassuringly at the teens who cringe.

"To—" she starts, only to stop and reread the name. "Toe—? Geoffrey, help me with this—"

One of her assistants scuttles to her side and peers down at the slip. He blinks once, twice, and then says into the microphone, "Tooru Ikeda."

He's not quite sure what hits him first: The embarrassment of being called "Toe", or the horror of being Reaped. Tooru's face practically burns as the kids he's shared classes with—the peers he wished would accept him like Nelly does—quickly inch away from him. The fourteens section bleeds into the thirteens and fifteens, leaving Tooru in the middle of an empty space.

The first thing he sees is Nelly with her hands covering her mouth, eyes blown wide. Their gazes lock as the Peacekeepers move to Tooru, as he calls out his location. He lowers his voice deliberately, but it still shakes as those footsteps get closer.

Nelly moves to raise her hand, inhaling deeply. Tooru barely manages to shake his head at her and plead, "Nel, don't," before he's yanked gracelessly from his section.

Tooru's used to being stared at by now. Everyone did when he came out, still do two years later. It gets easier to ignore. Now, though? Tooru feels so hyper aware of the countless eyes on him, watching him like a hawk as he walks to the stage. He feels smaller than he really is, the unease he'd felt earlier this morning practically drowning him.

His chest hurts. His face hurts. He can feel his heart throbbing through his whole body, threatening to burst out from his chest.

When Anari sees him, the first thing she does is draw attention to his bruising face. "Goodness, you must be a scrappy one," she laughs. She pats Tooru on the shoulder—God, he feels like a toddler next to her—and looks down at the crowd. "So there's no volunteers?"

No one says anything. No one can even look up at Tooru, practically ignoring his presence. Only Nelly meets his eye, fists clenched by her sides and her lips trembling. Anari rubs Tooru's shoulder almost reassuringly during the silence.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," she says softly, keeping her face away from the microphone. "I wish I could do over the draw."

Tooru shakes violently then. He wants to cry, can feel the hiccups catching in his throat. But he doesn't. He just smiles as calmly as he can and whispers back, "It's not your fault."

He holds it in as she guides him into the Justice Building, no sign of a mentor in sight. He holds it in as they both wait for his parents, only to find that neither of them come. Nelly delivers a message: Katsu, despite having his only child Reaped, was expected back at Coriolanus 9 as soon as the Reaping ended; Cliona, stoic and with her arms crossed over her chest, had simply turned on her heel and walked back in the direction of their home. It hurts to listen to, but Tooru can't deny the possibility of it all. He hugs Nelly and tells her to take care of herself. None of his other friends come to say goodbye.

When Anari takes his hand and leads him onto the train, he finally meets his mentor. Adam stumbles through the doors and spills his tobacco stash all over the floor, cursing to himself. The dread in Tooru's stomach just grows.

It isn't until the train starts to move that it all spills over. Tooru's smile cracks, falls apart the moment his doubt surfaces. Anari sits next to him, pulls him into a strong hug. Adam merely smokes from his pipe, nonchalantly looking out the window at the retreating District 5. A small part of him, ever so familiar to his mother, demands he don't cry; a weaker, more understanding part begs for release.

So he lets go.

Okay quick summary of the first part in case the second section confused everyone who skipped: Tooru was being bullied and eventually bailed out of it by his friend, Donovan. Donovan has Tooru repay him by going to an old victor's house to clean their garden, which Donovan was supposed to do before he found Tooru. Before Tooru goes to do the job, he stops by his home and gets into an argument with his mother, Cliona, while tending to his injuries. He barricades himself in his bedroom and eventually leaves via the window to clean the victor's garden.

Whew. That's District 5 done, sorry it took a while to get out! I feel like we're going in a pattern with the mentors' first impressions so far lmao - we had 1, 3, and 5 give off sinister, sneaky mentors, and 2 and 4 have shown off more unexpected/underdog-type mentors. District 6 is up next and I hope I'll be able to get it out without too much fuss! See you all there!