Her hands shake as she walks off of the train, trying to put on a smile as she and Flotsam walk off of the platform with Barnaclea and Waydeson strutting forward proudly in front of them. The cameras pop with bursts of bright white flash, and the undulating, iridescent sea of Capitolites shimmers before the two shell shocked Four tributes. Ibiza smiles as Barnaclea slowly tilts her head back farther and farther to see how far the gleaming skyscrapers reach upwards, her mouth agape. The Capitol still amazes her every time she comes here. It might just be a pretty mask over an ugly, demented place, but everyone loves to admire attractive people even if their personalities and reputations are toxic.

The path to the Tribute Center is cleared, but excitable, adoring Capitolites crowd around the edges, waving and shouting and blowing kisses. Waydeson flashes flirtatious smiles and Barnaclea's head keeps swiveling around like it's on loose, she can barely walk forward since she's looking everywhere except in front of her. Soon enough they're at the doors, and Flotsam and Waydeson march in together and melt down a hallway. Barnaclea pauses outside the doors, marveling at the brave new world around her. Ibiza waits at the door, holding it open, waiting for her charge to follow, smiling softly. Maybe this won't be so bad.

"Come on, Barnaclea," Ibiza murmurs. "Once you win, you can look at the skyline forever."

Barnaclea just stands there, staring, and Ibiza tugs her inside.

"I think I'm in love," she mutters, sighing, and Ibiza chews her lip, her insides suddenly turning cold.

The buzz of the summer heat emanates from the Victor's Village of District Six. She couldn't resist. When the strange Dirk boy she met what feels like all those years ago invites her back to the Village after the ball in Six's square, just outside the Justice Building, she follows. She's hungry for something more than the empty eyes and handshakes and congratulations, and Dirk is a hormonal nineteen year old boy enamored with the newest Victor.

Indigo and Greason are already sound asleep, and Mercedes is still out drinking, when they get back to the Village. Ibiza's clueless to what is happening as his fingers discreetly brush against her thigh and as he strips off his shirt, revealing a pasty, leanly muscled abdomen, blaming the heat as the cause for ridding himself of his shirt. Ibiza's eyes dance across his sweaty chest as they walk through the sweltering garden pathways carved on the outer edge of Six's Victor Village, courtesy of Greason's building talent and Indigo's landscaping one. He takes her hand and she does not object, not even for a moment.

"Have you ever wondered what it's like to be one with someone?" Dirk muses, staring at the stars.

"Not really. I never had time for that," Ibiza mutters, staring at the glossy black flats on her feet, shimmering under the path's lights.

"You have time now." Suddenly Dirk is looking Ibiza in the eyes, pulling her close to his face. She jerks back a little bit, shocked, but then she lets him hold her. His eyes are sharp and bright, not yet diluted by Morphling. They will be in a matter of weeks, when he tastes a vial from Mercedes' stash after finding out that his mother has been killed under mysterious circumstances, under the direction of Snow. A delayed reaction to his rebellion in the Games. Snow always loves to toy with his victims, making them feel safe and secure and comfortable over terrified right from the start. Those types of prey are always the easiest to take down, the ones who have been lulled into a false sense of security, the ones who think their world is as good as it'll ever be.

"Dirk..."

"Kiss me."

"Why?"

"Because we're high."

"Did you drug me?!"

"No, not a drug high. I'm high off of you. Everything's a paradise with you right now. I need you, Ibiza."

"Dirk, this is sort of fast-"

"It's just a kiss, Ibiza."

She can't sway him, and she can't sway herself. While her instincts tell her to run her heart is pounding out of her chest, trying to leap out of her throat, and the primitive parts of her mind are pumping her full of heady chemicals that make her blood broil and run wild, and she wants to kiss him even more than she did before. She doesn't know if it's the summer night or him or her or nothing at all, but she presses her lips against his for a short moment.

Nothing happens for a moment, until Dirk instinctively pulls her closer. She is mashed up against his chest as they kiss, and then he's pushing her to the ground on the path, and the next moments are secrets hidden between the two of them.

On the blazing hot stone of the path, Ibiza stares at the night sky, shaking. Dirk stares at the sky with glazed over eyes and a lazy smile, but she gathers her clothes around her and pulls them on. Dirk turns over and looks at her, confused and worried.

"Where are you-" Ibiza stands up without a word and dashes off. Dirk stumbles to his feet and stands there, hands on his hips, and he sighs.

Ibiza can't stop now that he's back in her mind. His hands, his hair, his smell, his laugh, his needles, his pain, her pain, their pain. Barnaclea's in one of the remake rooms with her prep team, getting waxed and scrubbed and brushed and enhanced. She can hear the girl's light chime laugh echoing from the room, followed by the booming laugh of one of her prep team's members. Ibiza ignores it, putting her head in her hands.

"Ib...Ibby?"

Ibiza looks up slowly sighing. Who wants her attention now? She swears, if it is that damn Kyla Burks-

"Dirk? DIRK!"

A/N: Oh gersh I have not updated in forever! This is a little short, but I wanted to get a little something out on this story!

Hope you liked the further exploration of Ibiza and Dirk's relationship! Please review if you can :D

Until Next Time,

Tracee