Chester and Willow held each other's gaze for a long time. Chester took in every detail of her face. Her dark brown hair. Her ice blue eyes. Her features, sharp and gaunt. The Arena had done nothing to improve her skinny appearance that bordered on dangerous. She had a freckle under her left eye. A small zit on her chin. Her nose was small and perfect. Her cheeks were bright red with cold. Her lips were dry and cracked, but they had a nice shape. She had long eyelashes. Nice eyebrows. God, he would miss her.
For most of their time in the Arena Chester had been unable to read her expression. It was clear now, though. Her eyes were wide and scared. Her mouth frowned slightly. She looked on the verge of tears. They both knew that before long one of them would be dead. Chester wanted the last thing he saw to be her. He closed the distance between them and pressed his forehead against hers. Their hats got in the way, and Willow smiled a little bit and the face Chester made.
They grew serious again. Chester found her hands and held them, though their gloves made it awkward. It was so cold. She looked so scared. Chester had to end it. He needed her to go home. He gently extracted his right hand from hers and reached for his knife. He took one step back before she realized what he was doing.
"You promised!" she accused, her expression no longer scared but hurt and upset.
"Willow, you don't understand—"
"You promised!" she screeched, her voice high pitched.
"They want a show, Willow," Chester said harshly. "They're not going to be happy if we just stand here. They're going to do something horrible. At least this way is quick."
"No," she said forcefully, grabbing for the knife. Chester moved it out of reach and she pouted. "Let them kill us. Let them pick. I can't just stand here while you commit suicide, Chester. I physically can't. I'll kill myself, too. Before your cannon fires. Then what will happen?"
"So we both stab ourselves. Then we can both get out."
"It doesn't work that way, Chester," Willow sighed. "One of us will die first. Then they'll save the other. There's no way, Chester. One of us is going to die."
"So let me kill myself."
"No."
Slowly, Chester held the knife out and dropped it. It took a moment for it to settle on the hard surface of the snow. The instant it stopped moving, the snow started. Not gradually, no. One second the skies were clear, the next a wicked blizzard was dumping on the pair of tributes. Instinctively, Chester reached out for Willow. They held each other close.
"Please, Willow," he whispered in her ear. "This death will be slow and painful. And whoever lives will go through a lot of pain, too. And then they'll have to live without the other. I could just stab myself. It'd be so easy. So, so easy. Then you'd be safe and you could go home to your sisters. Everything would be okay."
"It wouldn't be," she responded simply. "I'd be without you. I'd live with the memory of watching you die."
"You could close your eyes. I won't scream."
She shook her head slightly. She couldn't move it too much, locked in Chester's embrace as she was. "You promised we'd let the Gamemakers do it. Please keep that promise. For me."
"…Okay."
The wind began to howl, whipping snow in their faces. Chester buried his nose in Willow's shoulder, attempting to shield it from the weather. This did little to stop the stinging flakes from piercing his skin. He was shivering more than he had at any other time in the Arena. Willow was, too, and they trembled together as the wind attempted to knock them over.
"I'm cold," Willow complained quietly.
"Me, too."
"I can't feel my fingers."
"I can't feel my toes."
A soft giggle escaped her lips. Chester smiled. He didn't want dying to hurt. At least not hurt her. He didn't want her to die at all. He wished there was a way, any way to ensure that she'd win. The snow was piling up quickly. Already their ankles were covered.
"Can we sit?"
He nodded. They sat down awkwardly, trying not to let go of each other. Willow leaned into him and he wrapped both arms around her. The wind howled so loudly Chester worried he might go deaf. It wouldn't matter when he was dead, of course, but he was concerned for Willow.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Mm," was her quiet reply.
"What's your favorite food?"
"What?"
Shrugging, he said, "I never really learned some basic stuff about you. So, what's your favorite food?"
"I had some really good breaded chicken fillets in the Capitol," she answered. "With ketchup, mm. Yours?"
"Chocolate layer cake with raspberries. What's your favorite color?"
"Lavender."
"Green."
"What's your favorite animal?"
"I like dogs. The friendly golden kind. The baker in my District has one. Her name is Starlight. Yours?"
"Birds. Because they can fly away."
They fell silent. Chester was shivering so much it almost felt like he wasn't shivering at all, just vibrating. Like one of the massage chairs he had seen in the Capitol. The snow piled up around him and Willow. His legs felt numb, buried in the white snow as they were. It was rather boring, as finales went. Willow's head was snugged into his chest. With some effort, he moved his arm to lift her head to face him. She gave him a feeble smile. He kissed her. He kissed her like he'd never kiss her again, because he knew he wouldn't. He could practically hear the heartbreak in the Capitol. Maybe he could convince them to let them both live. He kissed her hopelessly, desperately.
After a while, she pulled away. She gave him a miserable look. They weren't getting out of it. One of them was going to die.
"I'm tired," she murmured.
"Don't sleep," Chester said quickly.
"It'd be easier to just fall asleep…never wake up…I don't mind this…I can't feel the cold if I'm asleep."
"Willow, please."
"Mppph."
"Don't do this to me, Willow."
"It'd be nice to just fall asleep…I could deal with that…death isn't so bad…"
"You're not dying, damn it. Stay awake. Please."
"You're not sleepy?"
"Not enough to sleep."
"Ah."
"What's your favorite smell?"
"Cinnamon."
"Freshly baked cookies."
"Mmm," Willow said with a soft laugh.
Chester didn't know what else to fill the silence with. He listened hard for Willow's breathing. She couldn't die. She couldn't. He was supposed to die. Why wasn't he dying? Why wasn't he dead? The knife was out of reach. She'd notice if he picked it up. Stupid, stupid. He should have just killed himself. She was going to die. She couldn't die.
His brain felt a little fuzzy. He couldn't see anything through the blizzard that enveloped them. He wondered if the cameras could get a good shot or if the Games would simply end in a blur. That'd be a bad ending. They probably had a way for the cameras to see. Hear, at least. No one would be happy having to listen to the howling wind. Chester wished that it would stop.
"Are you okay?"
There was no response. The fog in his brain was getting heavier, but he fought it. "Willow? Willow, are you okay?" He pulled away from her slightly. Her eyes were closed. He tugged off one of his gloves, wincing as the snow attacked his hand. He wiped the snow off of her neck and attempted to find her pulse, but his hand was already so numb. He thought he could feel something. A cannon hadn't fired. Right? The wind was so loud. Maybe he hadn't heard it. But no, he wouldn't be in the Arena if there had been a cannon. He'd be in a hovercraft, flying back to the Capitol.
Alone.
No, he couldn't be alone. She wasn't dead yet. He could kill himself. She was unconscious. She wouldn't know. Then she'd go back and she'd take care of her family and yes, she wouldn't have him, but it would be okay because she had so much more to live for.
Without putting his glove back on he began to grope around for the knife. The snow had piled up so much. His head was full of clouds. He couldn't find the knife, and he quickly became frustrated. Sleep didn't seem so bad. Willow was right. He could feel himself drifting, drifting…
Through the haze in his head he was vaguely aware of a cannon firing, but the meaning didn't register. He was so tired. It was so cold. A bright light flashed above him. He slipped quietly, calmly into a white oblivion.