Disclaimer: I don't own JJK. Suguru would be alive and living his best life if I did and Gege would be getting his shit rocked for putting my boy through this torment.

Control

"Without fear, there cannot be courage." -Christopher Paolini

I remembered the day the world crumbled around me.

The fear, anxiety, desperation, and sheer no I had felt. There were seventeen slips of paper with my name in that bowl and there were so many others around me who were in the same boat, but I had tricked myself into believing that it was impossible for my name to be drawn. We all thought we were immune to the pull of the Capitol's demands until suddenly, we weren't and whatever free will we falsefully believed we had was ripped out of our hands cruelly.

The plain kimono I wore every year felt suffocating, scratchy in all the most annoying spots and the obi around my waist seeming to get tighter and tighter with each breath I took. I wanted to crawl out of my own skin to desperately escape the uncomfortable feeling. Clouds obscured the sun, a dreary and windy day that befitted this god awful ceremony and the Capitol's laughable attempt at propaganda.

Reaping Day was nobody's favorite day except the Capitol's. Capitol folk cheered and gossiped about how they hope this year's games would be just as interesting as last year's and people from the Districts were counting down the dreaded days where our escorts would begin setting up that less than sturdy stage and all the voice enhancers and lights that made it impossible for the chosen Tributes to hide the expression on their faces. Parents would have to say goodbye to their children before they lined up as they bravely tried to hide their tears, many praying to a God that never seemed to hear their wishes and being forced to watch in helpless silence when their child's name was drawn from that annoyingly crystal clean bowl by manicured hands.

I hated the tears that streamed down my mother's face every Reaping Day. This kind, gentle, graceful woman should never look as if her very world was shattering right before her eyes. My biggest wish has always been her happiness and the week leading up to Reaping Day stole the very light and soul from her body. It was heartbreaking and made a part of me die inside every year.

It was an honor in some Districts. To the lesser Districts, it was our worst nightmare made into reality.

There was nothing glamorous about District 7. Lumber. Trees. Axes. Nature was beautiful here and the air was fresh with the scent of leaves and soil, but compared to the higher Districts, there was nothing to brag about in District 7. There wasn't a lot that could be done to show off lumber and often times, the Tributes from our District fell to the wayside when compared to the Career Tributes, who almost always seemed to have the spotlight perpetually on them. We didn't have it as bad as the lower Districts, like 11 and 12, but we weren't far behind in the popularity contest.

The point, though, was that District 7 didn't have that many Victors under its belt, only a handful that were almost mere shells of themselves once they'd returned from their Games. Others say it felt like they only won their Games by sheer dumb luck, thus they were never taken seriously as "true" Victors, which I thought was ridiculous. Anyone who could go into that Arena, putting on a brave front or visibly scared out of their mind, and come out as the winner whether by dumb luck or skill deserves recognition for beating the Capitol's silly game.

Though, only one District 7 Victor won his Game by pure, raw talent alone. I didn't watch his Games (I refused to watch the Capitol's idea of entertainment and the thought of children dying violently by the Career Tributes was gut wrenchingly sick to me), but his return home was met with much relief from his parents and a soft smile that never quite reached his eyes. He could never look at the female Tribute's caretaker, who had been hovering in the background with grief surrounding her like a cloak and gracefully allowing her to caress shaking fingers against his cheek and thanking him for doing his best for her now deceased little girl.

(He became a recluse after that and the only people to ever see him were his parents and a figure cloaked in black that we all blatantly saw making its way towards the Victor's Village. Nobody said anything about the makeshift grave that had sprouted up overnight just outside of the Victor's Village, a simple cross with a single ocean conch that most definitely could not be found in our District resting at the base. Words were not needed as everyone was immediately dedicated to keeping the cross in good condition and the space around it meticulously cleaned once a week.)

I dreaded the returns of our rare Victors. Shadows of their former selves and eyes that could never quite focus on what was in front of them. Eyes that were constantly reliving their time in that Arena, haunted and closed off and being set off by things considered to be mundane by those who have never been in their position.

I hoped and hoped and hoped I would never be picked and as if I had manifested it, that hope disappeared as quickly as it came.

I was not lucky. Nor was I skilled at anything. I was painfully average and this game was going to chew my mangled corpse up and spit me out to the cheers of those obnoxious Capitol jerks. I was going to die in less than a month and there was nothing I could do to fight it.

"Naegi Suzume!" District 7's escort signed my death certificate with a huge, hundred watt smile and glittering eyes filled with the genuine cheer that only Capitol people could pull off as they knowingly sent children to their deaths.

It felt like the world had stopped on its axis. Silence reigned for what felt like an eternity and then girls were shuffling away from me awkwardly and noise overwhelmed my stunned brain. The heavy beating of my heart thudding in my ears. The crunching of dirt beneath shoes as a path was made for me. The popping of a nearby microphone. Even the wind caressing the bare skin of my arms and shoulders was too loud. My foot took a very slow step forward.

Oh my God.

Was I moving too slow? Moving too fast? Or not at all? It felt like the distance between the Peacekeepers and my position was an endless abyss that seemed impossible to get closer to. Dirty hands gently grazed my back and cheeks, their touches shocking to my clammy skin, but not unwanted. A silent support and sympathy. The obi belt around my waist was tugged and I almost came to a screeching halt as clumsy fingers stuffed something into it, but an urgent hand smoothly kept me going to keep the Peacekeepers from noticing. I missed the way light-colored eyes stalked my progress, a feminine hand patting a child on the hip as congratulations when none of the Peacekeepers surged forward.

I'm going to die.

They crowded around me like serpents coiling around its prey, a large and very unwelcome hand pressing against the small of my back to usher me forward quicker, matching the fast footsteps of the other guards. Colors blended together in dizzying swirls and I blinked harshly to try to correct my scattered vision, a harsh burning beginning to set in. Absently, a part of my mind screamed to not show that specific weakness, that the other Tributes would eat me alive if they saw it. As if I actually stood a hell of a chance at surviving what I was about to go through.

I'm going to die.

The Escort, a woman with deep, red hair and eyelashes that were obscenely long, was quick to grasp my wrist as I slowly climbed the steps, happily presenting me before the crowd with gentle hands on my shoulders. "Ladies and Gentlemen, your female Tribute for District 7!" She cheered, releasing my shoulders to clap enthusiastically. A few people in the crowd clapped respectfully, but the noise quickly died down and complete silence returned. The Escort (I couldn't even remember her name anymore, what even was it?) cleared her throat awkwardly, continuing, "Before the male Tribute is selected, do we have any Volunteers?"

Vague cognition returned to me in that moment and I cast desperate glances to the girls despite knowing my Fate was already sealed. No one wanted to be in my position and if it was me in the crowd and some other nameless face up here, I'd be doing the same thing the girls were currently doing. Faces down, clearly ashamed and knowing what will happen, but unwilling to give up their lives for the sake of the Capitol's game. Someone, please. ANYONE. Please Volunteer! I don't want to go! I don't want to fucking DIE.

No hands were raised and no voices came forth to sacrifice themselves.

Something in me shriveled up and everything was muted. I didn't hear the Escort move on with the Reaping, heels clicking loudly against the stage. I didn't hear the announcement of the male Tribute, nor if there were any Volunteers for him. I barely registered making eye contact with my mother in the back of the crowd, crystalline tears leaving long tracks down her cheeks and a hand covering her mouth as she no doubt tried to hide her sobs. The burning increased and a single wet line traced itself down my face. I didn't brush it away, could only hope that the cameras focused on my reactions didn't catch the slip, but not holding much hope.

Hands suddenly turned me, forcing me to face the male Tribute and zero in on him subconsciously. Black hair in a spiky ponytail, brown eyes that resembled the sharp blade of an axe, and a large, jagged scar that spanned his cheek to his jaw. Oh. Muta Kokichi. The boy my mother used to help take care of. "Come on, you two!" the Escort insisted, motioning for us to come closer. "Shake hands now and wish each other luck!" Why should I shake hands with my potential killer? It was the last thing I wanted to do and Muta seemed to agree. He glared angrily at me, as if it was my fault he had been picked, and he thrust his hand out sharply. I reluctantly reached out to grasp it with my own.

His grip was tight, painful almost, like he wanted nothing more than to break my hand but was very clearly restraining himself. It was terrifying how big his hand was, completely covering my own and I morbidly wondered how easy it would be for him to wrap that hand around my throat. As if he could hear my thoughts, his fingers tightened more around my thinner ones, a flinch escaping me before I could stop it and I hastily ripped my hand away before he could actually do some real damage to the only things that would allow me to hold a weapon in a few weeks.

Peacekeepers quickly surrounded us again, directing us away from the stage and into the City Hall building. The Escort's parting words echoed behind me and her words would haunt me for a very long time after it was all said and done. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor."

The doors slammed behind me and I heard no more.