A/N: Basically my attempt at angsty romance... never comes out like I want it to. Whatever!

02 – Opal

"Lance!" I choke as I see his familiar face come into view. He quietly gives me a weak smile—I'm unsure whether I should be reassured or further worried.

"Hey," he says, making his way over me. I know him too well; behind his mask of calmness I'm sure there's a flurry of emotions. Somewhat guiltily I reflect on the fact that I haven't given any thought to him, but it's understandable for someone in my position. "How're you feeling?" Lance asks, bringing me back to the present.

I don't say anything just yet. I want to be honest with him, but I realize that I must do so immediately. How quickly they had just rushed my father out! "I don't know," I admit. I try to return his aforementioned smile.

He kneels on one knee in front of me, as opposed to sitting on the overly plush chairs positioned around the warm room. I like him here. Close to me. He puts his hand on my knee.

"I brought you this," he says suddenly. I was enjoying the quiet moment we had, but I also wanted to say whatever he had to say. This would be the last time I saw him. "I thought you'd want it as your district token…" Lance reaches into his pocket and retrieves a dazzling ring. I recognize the stone as opal. It's not the most precious of gems, but to me it means everything. Neither of us are particularly wealthy. "I'd gotten it for you." There's sadness behind his voice that I don't want to acknowledge yet.

"Oh!" I manage, but I break off, unable to say more. I eagerly, but shakily, take the ring and slide it on my finger. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes.

And then something occurs to me. "Lance," I say hesitantly. "You know this will probably be lost, if I—if it slips off my finger." I correct myself quickly. I can't bring myself to say that I'll die just yet. A wave of helplessness sweeps over me when I realize how little of a chance I have.

Forcefully, I tear the ring off my finger as the tears start rolling down my cheeks. I can feel them running down my chinbone, eventually collecting together and dropping onto my dress. My finger hurts where the ring was but I don't care.

Now I'm trying to force it back to him. I'm going to die. He can't waste this valuable piece of jewelry on me now. He's just shaking his head, and now I'm sobbing, making strange, inhuman, guttural noises, holding the ring in my outstretched palm.

"Please," I gasp, but he won't take it back. And then some Capitol official is at the door, calling to Lance. I want to get up and scream at him. Doesn't he know what he's interrupting?

But Lance obeys, standing up, walking away. Just before he exits, he whispers, "I love you."

"I love you," I return, with considerably less grace. But the door slams shut behind him. He didn't hear me.

In my frustration I've stood up. I slowly sink back into the couch. Anger pulses through my veins now. It's not directed at Lance, though. It's the Capitol, who enjoys throwing me into this position and watching me squirm. Because they can.

I close my hand in a fist around the ring and cross my arms. My arms remain crossed as I use my left triceps to wipe the remaining tears from my eyes. A few more sobs escape me; I haven't quite calmed down.

Part of me wants to throw the ring across the room and forget it even exists. But I can't. I'll honor Lance's intentions.

I sheepishly slip the ring back onto my finger. It's all I have left.