when there's nothing left
but a little bit of dust on the ground
and a little bit of fire in the sky,
maybe that's when there will be enough here for you

Kyle Brown (18)

District Nine

Kyle lifted the last bin of grain up onto the truck, pushing it in and shutting the doors behind it. He wiped his hands down on his pants and let out a breath, looking over at his boss for confirmation that he was good to go for the day. He still needed to get home and shower before he went out to the square, but when Grant asked him if he could come help out before the reaping, he didn't want to say no.

The reaping day was probably the loneliest day of the year, somehow, behind only holidays and birthdays. It was a morning when the house sat empty, and dread was supposed to fill up the room, was supposed to slip the blinds close so everyone could quietly hope together. But Kyle never felt any of that on reaping days, even when he was back in the orphanage. It was always a lot of kids crying, worrying, but Kyle had been numb to their pain. He had only ever wanted to care that he could be reaped, but he couldn't muster the feeling.

Now that he was out on his own, in his own little apartment, it felt so much worse. Walls containing no one's grief but his own, when normally he'd have two parents clutching at their potential last moments with him. It just felt empty here, especially when he looked back on his time with all the other unfortunate orphaned kids of District Nine, and realized that not a single one of them had ever stuck close to him. Not a single one of them had ever cared enough to be a lifelong friend or sibling. They'd all been nice, and plenty had liked him, but it was passing. Every single thing was passing.

It was just a really bad day, and combined with the quiet apartment he was going to go back to, the reaping he would have to face on his own—it just felt a lot like today was suffocating him. Today had its fingers wrapped around his throat like tendrils of smoke, threatening to solidify.

"Kyle," Grant said as he turned away to go home, hands sliding into his pockets. Kyle turned back to him and looked at his boss. "Hey, Brown, come here."

Kyle stood there for a moment, looking over him, but then walked over to the older man. Grant Rooke was a good man from what Kyle had seen, and a dedicated farmer, always wanting to give his family what he could. He was usually pretty good to his workers, too, although his priorities were his family above all else—the rest of the world be damned. Kyle couldn't fault him for that. He would probably pick the same, if given the choice.

"You're alone this morning, aren't you?" he asked, taking off his big hat and scratching the side of his head, thin gray hair shifting as he did so. After Kyle nodded wordlessly, the farmer sighed and shook his head, looking down at the ground. He kicked at a clump of dirt, considering something. "You got any breakfast at home, Kyle?"

Kyle frowned. He hadn't really been expecting much, but if he had, it really wouldn't have been Grant asking if he had any breakfast at home. "Uh… I mean, I got stuff to eat, yeah," he told him.

Grant shook his head. "No, kid, I mean… I mean, do you wanna come over and have breakfast with me and my family?" he asked, putting his hat back on his head.

Kyle looked at him for a moment, wondering if there was some kind of catch. Or if this was some really weird dream, but he didn't think his mind could even come up with the concept of his boss asking him to eat breakfast before the reaping in a dream. He started to shake his head, feeling like it wasn't his place to intrude on Grant's family time before the reaping, even if he didn't have anyone else to go to. These would be Grant's people, not Kyle's.

But then he thought of trudging back to his apartment, getting cleaned up and dressed in silence, and said, "Sure."

"Okay," Grant said, nodding. He motioned for Kyle to follow after him, starting to head toward his house at the end of the grain field. "Oh!" He jogged back over to the truck and hit the back of it, after he must have realized that neither of them indicated to the driver that he was good to go.

The walk to the house was long, with the two of them striding in silence, hands in their pockets. Kyle could tell that Grant wanted to say something, to ask him something, but he kept his lips sealed.

The house at the end of the field wasn't too big, but it was much nicer than Kyle was accustomed to. Grant Rooke wasn't an exceptionally successful farmer, but he was surely comfortable. Kyle looked around at the yard, with remnants of kids playing in the yard left out, and over in a little gravel driveway was a very beat-up truck that Grant must have used to get some of his supplies. Kyle knew that he wasn't an inefficient man, and he rarely owned anything for himself that didn't server a dual purpose. For his family, though, it seemed like he allowed himself to splurge on wants more than needs, if the wooden playground set in the side yard said anything.

"Just to warn you," Grant said, looking over at him before he opened the door. "We have a little six-year-old girl and she's very hyper. But our twelve-year-old's pretty laidback."

Kyle nodded. He didn't mind kids, so that wouldn't be a problem. "I shouldn't stay long, though," he told him. "I have to clean up and get changed before the reaping."

"Right," Grant said, nodding. He started to turn the door handle when he looked over at Kyle again. "You know, we have some old clothes from our eldest son that we were just gonna give away. You can use our shower and wear his old reaping clothes."

Kyle shrugged a little bit, automatically turning that down without thinking. He couldn't take their charity outfit, not after he was already taking their charity breakfast. It felt like too much niceness to really be natural. He was only Grant's worker, anyway, and the man, while kind, was never this generous or welcoming to any of the others. It just screamed that he pitied Kyle, and he appreciated the gesture, but he couldn't swallow pity.

"I insist," Grant told him, "as long as you're comfortable." He opened the door and stepped inside, kicking off his dirty shoes at the side. Kyle followed suit, looking around the house, with light blue furniture and a rich, dark floor. It was nice in here, and reminded him a little bit of pictures of his grandmother's house. She had been a woman with a little bit of money, and a great sense of design, from what he could tell from his mother's stories and her photo album. "Kyle, I… I don't want to make it awkward, but I sort of see you as a… another kid. Not because you're… you know, fresh out of the orphanage. Just because you're a hard worker, and you've got a good head on your shoulders."

Kyle was struck by that, and before he had any time to process it, another man came into the room, smiling at Grant. He leaned in for a brief kiss and then looked at Kyle. "Oh, this is Kyle Brown, isn't it?" the man asked. He stretched his hand out toward Kyle, looking at him with warm, pleasant eyes. "I'm so glad my husband finally invited you over."

"Uh…" Kyle smiled uncomfortably and laughed a little bit, holding up his dirty hands. "I shouldn't til I wash my hands, sir. But thank you for inviting me into your home."

There was the distant sound of giggling and the pattering of feet on the hardwood floor, and as it got louder and louder, a little girl burst through the archway leading into the living room, but stopped short when she saw Kyle standing there. Another kid, definitely the twelve-year-old, came running in after his little sister, hands outstretched to scoop her up, but he also skid to a halt when he saw the unfamiliar man in the doorway.

"Who's that?" the older one asked, looking between his dads. "I mean… I'm Lyle. Who are you?"

"Uh…" Kyle was tired of awkwardly saying "uh" every time one of these people said something to him, but he felt like he'd just been invited to some kind of family gathering for a family that he had never heard of, but that had obviously heard of him, if Grant's husband knew him by first and last name. "I'm Kyle. I— I work for your dad, here."

The six-year-old ran over to Grant's husband and hid behind his legs, and the man gave a deep, rumbling chuckle, swooping her up into his arms and letting her bury her shy face into his shoulder. "Well, I'm Sam, Kyle, and this is Dela. We'll be happy to have you before the, uh"—his smile fell fractionally, and his eyes darted to the archway where Liam was standing—"the events today."

Grant patted Kyle on the shoulder. "Sorry for the bit of chaos. If you wanna get cleaned up before we eat, our son's bedroom was at the end of the hallway. His reaping clothes are in a box on the bed, and the bathroom's right next door," he said. He started to go to the kitchen, taking his husband's hand and giving Dela a kiss on the cheek. "I hope you don't mind me letting Kyle wear Oliver's stuff."

Kyle waited for Sam to answer before he went, but he just shook his head and said, "Not like it was any use to us anymore, anyway."

For a moment Kyle wondered, from the way that was worded, if this Oliver was okay. But the two of them were too jovial for Oliver to have died, or anything else like that. So he assumed that Oliver was just out of reaping age now, and safe from ever having to be onstage at one of these events again.

Unfortunately for them, just as he aged out, apparently, they had Liam age in.

Kyle found the bedroom that Oliver must have been in before. The walls were just a little grayer than navy blue, and the floor was a scratched-up old wooden floor, much less kept up than that of the floor in the living room. He went over to the box on the bed and pulled off the lid, looking inside. There were lots of t-shirts and buttons up on the top, and a pair of black slacks folded up on the side. He grabbed a white button-up, the slacks, and some suspenders that were tossed in there in case the pants didn't fit right.

The shower at the orphanage often didn't work, leading them to take more baths than anything else, and his apartment just had a tub like his parents' house had before they died. So he knew how to work a shower, but it had been a long time since he had had a nice, proper shower. When he was under the water, he shut his eyes and let himself enjoy it.

He didn't want to use up all their hot water, though, so eventually he stepped out and dried himself off, getting into the clean reaping clothes and folding up his other clothes, setting them over in the corner for lack of a better idea on what to do. The pants were a little loose on him so the suspenders were necessary. Just before he left the bathroom, he remembered to reach into his other pants, pulling the picture out of his pocket. He ran his thumb over it for just a second, looking down at the faces of his parents and his older sister. He tucked it into the pocket of the slacks and walked out of the bathroom, running a hand through his damp hair to keep loose strands from falling into his eyes.

He found his way into the kitchen, where Sam and Grant were just finishing up cooking, it seemed, and Liam was getting Dela to help set the table—with one of the end seats being set this time along with the four in the middle, undoubtedly for him. He looked at the plate that Liam sat at that spot for a moment before announcing his presence by clearing his throat.

Grant turned to look at him and waved him over. "Hey, Kyle. Go ahead and have a seat," he told him.

Kyle waited until the kids sat down to sit at the end of the table. Sam and Grant brought eggs over and set them in the middle of the table. Liam looked to Kyle, waiting to see if he was going to go first, but Kyle waved the kid off. So he pulled the big plate over to himself and dumped some of the eggs on his plate, pushing some off onto Dela's as well. There was also bread and butter, and some cheese to sprinkle over the eggs. It wasn't anything spectacular, but it was more than the shittily-made bread he would've had for breakfast at home.

"Thank you for this," Kyle said to Grant, feeling deeply grateful for him. This was all he'd wanted since he went into that orphanage, honestly. He had just wanted to know that he was seen, that he was still a person even though everyone who tied him to the world was gone. This wasn't enough to ease any of the pain, but it made him feel a little less like he was drowning in it.

Grant shook his head. "It's my pleasure, Kyle. I just want you to know I… I appreciate the work you do," he said.

Throughout the breakfast, Sam tried to ask him questions about home, but since there wasn't much going on with him beyond getting up, going to work, and occasionally making a trip down to the store, there wasn't much for him to say. He didn't want to tell his sob story in front of Liam and Dela either, so they shied away from questions about his life before he lived on his own. Eventually, he wasn't the center of attention anymore, thankfully, and they started to talk to each other. Occasionally one of them glanced over at Kyle to see if he'd add his two cents, but he didn't have anything to say. He was just… letting himself enjoy it.

Liam seemed bored, too, and turned to Kyle while his parents talked about their trip up to the capital that day. They were going to go into the nice stores like they'd saved up to do, and Dela was getting excited about the dress she wanted them to buy, but Liam whispered to him, "You're alone, aren't you? My dads say you're alone. Not to me, but I overheard."

Kyle shrugged. "Um, yeah. My parents and my sister are gone," he told him. He wiped his hands off on the cloth napkin and then ran his hands down his shirt, straightening up some wrinkles from him sitting there. "So… you eavesdropped on your parents."

Liam smiled up at him and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Only when they won't tell me things."

"That's not very good," Kyle said, but he was entertained by the kid's spying. He was obviously a nosy little dude, but he seemed genuinely sweet and good, kind of like the goodness his fathers exuded. Dela and Liam were definitely in good hands, being adopted by these two.

Was that some kind of sign? No, it wouldn't be. He was eighteen, and he had never gotten so lucky as to receive such a sign before, even though there were plenty of people coming through the orphanage who he connected with when he was younger. But as soon as they found out who his dad was, things never worked out.

When Sam and Grant realized he was actually Kyle Walker, son of Neil Walker—well, they probably wouldn't be so generous to him, not when they thought of how Peacekeepers gave Kyle shit wherever he went. His stepmom had tossed him aside to clear her name after her father and sister were caught smuggling someone who escaped a reaping across the border of Three and Nine. After the two were killed over it. He would be stupid to think he'd be so lucky with his boss of all people, when his own stepmom hadn't cared enough.

"Lots of things aren't very good," Liam said, leaning back in his seat and pushing his empty plate forward. He crossed his arms, looking kind of like he was trying to be cool. It was entertaining, to say the least. "I'm a bad dude, Mr. Kyle Brown."

Kyle chuckled and looked down at the table. "You know, Liam, I find that hard to believe," he said. He looked at the kid again and leaned over slightly, narrowing his eyes like he was keeping a secret with him. "But I'll take your word for it if you do something for me."

Liam paused, considering, and then nodded, assenting to the deal like it was something far more sinister than what it was. "Go on," he said.

Kyle's eyes shifted over to Sam and Grant for a moment, and he said, "You have fun with your parents after the reaping today, okay?"

Liam frowned, not having expected something so mundane, but Kyle could see that in trying to be brave on the day of his first reaping, Liam was just detaching himself from his family. He was separating himself from feeling how scared he was of leaving them, by refusing to be excited about the things that they were doing while he was here. The picture in Kyle's pocket was far too heavy to let the kid do that to himself.

Kyle's life came to a staggering halt when Victory Rose, the escort of District Nine, read out the name "Liam Rooke," letting it echo through the square with glee in their voice. Excited to see who would be going into the Games this year. Excited to see the person who would be dying for their entertainment this year.

For a moment, he reasoned with himself that Liam Rooke was a pretty average name. Maybe not the most common in District Nine, but it wasn't impossible that there were two. But then Victory Rose seemed to account for the same situation when she added, "Rooke with an e on the end, by the way."

That was when Kyle knew what had to happen. It didn't really matter, did it? No matter what happened, this would change everything. He would live rich and without worries, or he'd die and his lonely apartment wouldn't have to be filled to the brim with his grief anymore. And Liam Rooke could spend time with his family, could spend a lifetime with his family. Liam Rooke could be free.

Time slowed down for a moment as he tried to see past everyone else to the twelves section, to the shifting mass of kids as they moved for Liam Rooke with an e on the end. Kyle couldn't see his face, but he knew that he was heading out. That he was probably terrified, and that his parents were probably already feeling the full pain of a reaped child. Liam couldn't come back, unless a partner brought him home. And even then, Liam Rooke couldn't come back home okay.

And he couldn't keep his promise to Kyle, if he was off in the arena.

"I volunteer!" he called out, loudly, before Liam had even found his way out into the aisle. He brushed past the people around him and went up to the stage. It wasn't far. He was finally in the eighteens section this year.

Victory Rose looked at him with their eyebrows raised. "Oh, dear, okay," they said, glancing over at a cameraman, who shrugged at them in confusion. "Okay, well, I don't know that this is protocol, but you're already up here… What's your name, mister?"

"Kyle B—" He paused, looking out at the crowd. No, that wasn't his legal name. That wasn't who he was. "I'm… I'm Kyle Walker."

no proofreading yet again we die like men. also yeah we do have a lot of volunteers it's ok idc bc i like all of their reasons for it

this is kyle he's from my buddy chase and he needs some fuckin therapy

chapter question: if you were to read kyle's dialogue in your head, what Accent is he speaking in? i'm just curious bc i know what accent he has in my head and it makes No Sense logically but that's just the way it be and i'm curious if anyone got that vibe even tho i didn't mention it in-chapter