These Fractured Minds

by Mykindleisawesome

There are always those that are burdened with memories. They can never forget those that are gone. But even if they aren't ready, the cycle is about to start all over again. The 124th Hunger Games is just around the corner, and there's no telling what that could mean for Panem. [odwh sequel]

42. through the looking glass

perchance to dream

When you open your eyes, the first thing you notice is a light far above you. The next thing you notice is darkness all around you. The dark makes you feel weary, makes exhaustion seep into your bones. Your eyes flutter shut.

You open them again. Something compels you to. You're not sure what. All you can do is stare up towards that light, the only thing grounding you. The light is blinding. The light is comforting. The light is all you know. That, and the incomparable sensation of drifting.

Yes… drifting. You're not held responsible for the way your body is held aloft. Something else is doing that for you. It would be more relaxing if the faintest sense of panic wasn't overtaking your mind the longer you're coherent.

How long has it been? Where am I? What happened?

Sound begins to filter in. Erratic beeping, and then a constant, droning whine that makes you wish you had the ability to clamp your hands over your ears. Attempting to even try simply leads to excruciating pain ricocheting down your spine. Your very nerves are on fire.

Are you- crying?

No. Not possible.

The light gets brighter. You swear you can see a face above you. It's hauntingly unfamiliar. Their mouth moves, but only snippets of conversation reach your ears, the overlapping voices turning to slush in your mind. After days – weeks? years? – without hearing anything at all, you're not quite able to follow the course of the conversation.

"Gone? We're down-"

"One left. This… it."

"... 's ready?"

"-doesn't- any choice."

"Shit- waking-?"

"Too soon. Needs… time."

"Put- back under!"

No- wait! Heavy fingers reach towards the light. As soon as you begin to struggle, darkness encroaches at the edges of your vision. You try to cry out, but no noise escapes. The world goes dark. You've been entombed once more.

Something about that strikes you as familiar. But as soon as you get close to reaching a conclusion, sleep takes hold of you once more.

---

A small part of you is relieved. You're afraid of what you might wake up to.

The next time you wake up, you feel more… yourself. Alive. The memories begin to filter in, of flesh and blood and knives and pain. A weak groan tears out of your throat at the reminder. You struggle against nothing, hands desperately seeking your own neck, trying to reassure yourself of your own state of being.

The simple movement results in a shuffling sound from the room around you. A room. A real one, this time. Not the insulated pod you were in before. There's beeping, and lights flashing, and metal glinting dangerously out of the corner of your eye.

Are you afraid?

You should be.

"-king up! Can I get-?"

Any attempt to wrestle against your fate is fruitless. Footsteps rush into the room – two, three people? – and you try to plead your case, but whatever garbled noise you make is quickly swallowed by the feeling of drowsiness that washes over you.

You catch a hint of red hair before your eyes shut once more. A smile, the sort you know not to trust. The sort you're well versed in, yourself.

"Congratulations," the voice says as you return to the void. You're gone again before you can figure out what it is that you've managed to achieve.

---

Light seeps in through cracked eyelids, and no amount of turning away is enough to drown it out. Raising a hand in an attempt to block the rays only leads to a wave of pain. Gritted teeth aren't enough to hold back a small, pathetic noise. There's the clank of metal against metal, the sharp pain of something thudding against bone, the disorientating sensation of something being missing-

Your eyes flicker open once more, and panic seizes in your chest. There's no telling where you are right now, not when your surroundings are so bleak. White walls, fluorescent lighting, crisp white sheets binding you to the bed. You blink, and the world swims. You catch sight of white tiles underneath the hospital bed, a window with heavy curtains drawn, and numerous tubes coming out of your left arm. Your gaze trails up to a pole with fluids hanging, and you squint to read the labels. Amoxi- Sodium Chl- Hydromor-

Fuck, that hurts. Your head throbs. The very act of moving aches. The more aware you become, the more this knowledge sticks out in your mind, every one of your nerve endings coming alive with pain. You whimper – there's nothing more to do. Your voice is strangely gone. Your throat aches, feels dry from disuse, and the most it can do is manage a few pathetic noises at your request.

What the hell happened?

Something wet streaks down your cheek. Overwhelmed by a new flood of embarrassment, you reach the hand not laden with wires towards your face and-

It's cool. Unnaturally so. And you can't feel it, not in the same way you can feel the sheets against your legs or the stabbing pain in your stomach or the tubes rubbing against your arm. It feels like this hand is not yours, and that very possibility shakes you to the core. You use all of your limited strength to heft your hand up high enough to see.

The gleam of metal is enough to dislodge whatever was blocking your throat. What escapes next is a scream, high and shrill.

That metal thing attached to your body feels like nothing at all. The nails of your only remaining hand dig at the place where it attaches to your wrist, scraping and clawing to get free of this intrusion, the flashes of pain not nearly enough to convince you to stop. The inherent wrongness of this – this moment, the silver hand gleaming at you, the fact that you're alive at all – feels enough to drive you to your breaking point.

Haven't you already reached that? Didn't you surpass that when you drove that knife into her throat when you killed a lost frightened child when you let that boy fall?

you didn't mean to it was an accident-

And who do you expect to believe that? Do you even believe yourself?

You want it all to stop. More than anything, you just want it to stop. Your fingers dig so deep that you swear your nails graze bone and blood soaks the sheets of your bed and that copper taste is back in your mouth and you can't spit it out. All it does is remind you of her, and that's enough to make you want to tear off as much of your skin as you can, make it so that you're something new and untouched and better.

More nurses swarm the room, their crisp white coats stifling enough to make you choke. You wrench your arms away from them, struggling for a freedom you don't know how to accept, and th

en there's a sweet num b coldness spreading through your etire body

and it feels lrelaly nice doesn't it? don't you just want to give in? don't you just want to go to sleep?

sleep sounds nice rest sounds like a Reward something you don't want to reach out for but It's reaching out for You and you don't have a hand to grab hold with

and the spotlight looms over you glaring so intensely that you could Melt and it's always felt like a kiss before but this time there's blood and claws and for once you might be content to let it

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---

a glove upon that hand

Whoever is at his bedside realizes that Kodo Hotakim, Victor of the 124th Hunger Games, is awake before he himself does. The voice – warm, feminine, happy – is the first thing his addled mind registers.

"-lations, Mr. Hotakim! It is most certainly my pleasure to see you awake and well. I do hope to be the first to congratulate you on your well-earned victory!"

Victory. The word rings hollowly in his mind. It takes him far too long to register what he's being told.

Kodo Hotakim, who to any outsiders right now appears to be a rather unremarkable boy, sits quietly in his hospital bed, eyes wide and frightenedawed by his new status. He's held many titles under many different facades throughout his seventeen years of life, but never did he think he would achieve something as renowned as Victor by his own means, under his own name.

He can't believe this to be real. Kodo should be bleeding out on that bridge, soon to be forgotten by Panem as a whole. To be alive is one thing, to be a Victor is…

"I did it?" Kodo whispers, like he can barely comprehend the concept.

"You did." The woman smiles at him, white hair against white coat. "I'm The Doctor. I'm the one that's been watching over you these past few weeks."

There's a flicker in The Doctor's eyes, something that makes Kodo distrust her immediately. But considering she's all he has in the world right now, he can't send her away just yet.

"What… happened? I don't remember… winning."

She smiles at him patiently, like she's preparing herself to explain something to a sensitive child. "That was a rather recent development. You see, there was something of a… complication at the end of the Games. Three of you were too grievously injured for us to comfortably stand aside and wait to see who would survive. The Games are nothing without their Victors, and we had to ensure one of you would be able to take that title.

"When we extracted you from the Arena, you were all in very critical condition. You may remember that you had severe internal damage, as well as the extensive damage to your hand and a concussion. Miss Akaste had been battling an infection for days, not to mention the numerous other injuries she'd racked up over the course of the Games. It's a miracle she lasted as long as she did. Miss Solomon's lung was punctured, and one of her arteries was nicked. By the time we got a hold of her, the blood loss alone had nearly done her in."

Kodo feels faint, like he might be sick. He racks his mind to summon any memory of these things happening, but all he can conjure up is the sensation of cold rain beating down on him and slick blood under his fingers.

He presses a hand to his stomach, just to make sure everything is still there. It's only when he shudders from the cold that he realizes he used the wrong hand again.

"We were under direct orders to stabilize you, and do nothing more," The Doctor continues, oblivious to his turmoil. "It wouldn't be in the spirit of the Games to heal you all and then kill two of you again after!" Something about this statement is funny to her. She laughs and waves it off like it's nothing. "It's only after the other two… expired that we were able to go in and truly heal you."

He swallows. Breaks eye contact with her. Kodo stares down at the crisp white sheets of his bed. He flexes his metal hand, unsure how it's responding to his body's commands. Any movement takes a little extra effort on his part, and it doesn't move nearly as smoothly as his left hand does. He ends up clenching the hand into a fist so he doesn't have to think about it anymore.

"Is that why I don't have a right hand anymore?"

"More or less. Due to the delay in care, and despite our best efforts, some things are beyond saving." Her face brightens, eyebrows comically raised in delight. That's what makes Kodo register that there are no wrinkles on this woman's face. "But you're lucky! We've made extensive progress with this sort of technology in recent years – that prosthetic of yours is state of the art! You've already noticed it's incredibly responsive, haven't you?"

The Doctor smiles at him, clearly expecting some sort of reaction. Kodo can fake a more impressive smile than she can. "Wow!" he marvels, holding his hand up with all five fingers splayed wide.

She nods approvingly, like he's passed some sort of test. "Piecing back together your old hand would've led to a severe loss in function, the sort that might take years to overcome. What you have now is an upgrade! Titanium is far harder to break than bone, so you'll never have to worry about this happening again!"

The words hang in the air for several moments before Kodo understands what she's saying. "You… could've fixed it?"

"Define fixed."

"I didn't lose it in the Arena. You cut it off, but you're saying you could've… put it back together?"

"And, as I said, you would've experienced a loss of function for an indiscernible amount of time. I fixed your hand – it will never be broken again."

Nausea roils in the pit of his stomach. Kodo forces it back, forces a smile on his face. He can hear the part she's not saying out loud: you should be grateful.

"Thank you," Kodo says as sincerely as he can manage. "I'm sure you can understand that this is just… an adjustment."

She preens as if she crafted the prosthetic herself – maybe she did. Kodo doesn't care enough to ask. "I understand completely. I can only imagine the panic you must've experienced when you first woke up."

Kodo nods along. He looks at his wrist, where flesh connects with metal, trying to discern where he'd clawed at himself until he bled, but there's no visible sign of that happening at all. He could almost convince himself it was a dream.

The Doctor tuts at him, shaking her head disapprovingly. "You must be more careful next time, Mr. Hotakim. If something like this happened back home, you might have to wait months for the Capitol to get rid of those scars!"

He flinches. "Don't call me that," Kodo rasps.

"Mr. Hotakim? What would you prefer?"

"Just Kodo is fine."

"Alright then, Mr. Kodo. You understand you need to be more careful with this particular attachment? The Districts do not have the necessary equipment to handle your care if anything were to happen."

"Oh."

"But every time you revisit us, we can fix you up! Remove any blemishes that mar your youthful skin, upgrade your prosthetic – anything you want! And now that you're awake and healthy, if there are any… cosmetic procedures you're curious about, we would be more than happy to make that happen for you."

"Cosmetic…?"

The Doctor smiles again, that terrible, wrinkle-free smile. "It can be as simple as coloring your hair to as complex as changing the shape of your jaw! Nothing is too much for our latest Victor!"

Insecurity isn't a feeling Kodo Hotakim is used to. He takes pride in his looks, knows how to accessorize and dress and accentuate his best features. But the way The Doctor looks at him so expectantly, like she's waiting for him to admit there's something else about him that needs fixing, makes him feel strangely… small.

You've never been in a spotlight like this before. Eyes on you from every angle. They'll see every flaw, no matter how miniscule it is. You'll need to cover up all your defects-

"I'm okay," he forces out.

Pursing her lips, The Doctor cocks her head. "Nothing at all?"

He sucks in a breath. "Not now," Kodo amends.

That pleases her more. She pats him on the head. "Do you have any-"

"I'll take it from here."

The sudden intrusion is enough to startle both of them. Kodo shrinks back into his bed under the piercing green-eyed gaze of the newcomer. She gazes coolly at The Doctor like she's nothing.

"I'm sorry, I'm discussing with my patient-"

"And I need to discuss matters with my new mentee. So will you give us the room?"

The Mentor waits expectantly to be given the room. It's only a matter of moments before The Doctor excuses herself without so much as a goodbye. When the glass door clicks shut behind her, The Mentor draws the curtain to shield them from view and perches on the edge of Kodo's bed.

"You're not my mentor," Kodo says quietly. He knows this woman's face, with her red hair and serpent eyes. "You're not even from Nine."

Crimson lips pull apart to expose shiny white teeth. "I'm not. But I am your mentor, as of now. You could say I've been reassigned."

"Why?"

"I just follow orders. My guess? Someone thought a little liar like you would need someone of your caliber to navigate these next steps."

His face pales at the word liar. It's a cruel, unpolished word that doesn't come close to reflecting what it really means to be an actor, to step into another person's shoes for a while. To be a liar is something far more uncouth, being deceptive for deception's sake.

That's not what Kodo did. He didn't. He just- he played a part. A lovesick fool. It's not his fault things got so…

(... confusing?)

Realistic.

Kodo lifts his chin. "I don't need your help."

The Mentor simply smiles. "You can tell yourself that if you want. But when you're all alone on that stage, lights shining in your face and all of Panem waiting to hear you justify your actions, you'll need someone in your corner."

"And that's supposed to be you?"

A flash of red – Kodo recoils until he realizes it's just her nails, glossy and sharpened to cruel points. "I'll tell you the truth, and not whatever those capitolites are paid to convince you of. If you'd rather Giavanna come to your rescue…"

His jaw clenches. The Mentor waits patiently for a response. She won't let him get away with silence.

"How long have I been here?" Kodo finally asks.

"About three and a half weeks."

He blinks rapidly. There's no other way to process that Kodo lost almost an entire month of his life. "I…"

"Guinevere died about a week in. They wouldn't have been able to pull her off life support. Her mind was already gone. Thessaly, the Career, lasted two weeks. There were concerns that the Capitol would have to choose between the two of you to get its Victor. I'm not sure who would've won out in that regard."

Guinevere and Thessaly. Kodo recalls snippets of each. Brown hair, brown eyes, a ruthless smile. A taunting voice. The desperation of a dog on the street, gnawing at its own leg in an attempt to gain the strength to get back up again. The desperation of losing someone you'd grown close to in the short weeks they'd been together since the Reaping. It hadn't been that long, really. Not long at all.

Our time has been cut short.

I want it to be ours.

Together til the end.

… what a fucking joke.

"I won," Kodo whispers hollowly.

"You did."

"What does that mean?"

A torrent of emotions flash across The Mentor's face. It's clear Kodo has asked a loaded question. "What does it mean to you? Right now."

Kodo lays his head back against the flat hospital pillow, staring up at the ceiling. He hadn't noticed before that there's a muted mural above him, a blue sky and fluffy clouds. There's no chance for him to take comfort in such a sight; the brushstrokes show plainly, ruining any illusion that might be created.

"I don't know," Kodo whispers. "I just didn't want to die."

The Mentor is visibly disappointed by that response. Her nails click against the bed railing and she stands up. "I'll give you some time to think on it. Your answer will determine our next steps."

She doesn't say goodbye. Kodo doesn't want her to. He wants one of the nurses to come back in and fill his veins with something that'll make him forget, that'll make him into whatever Victor they want him to be.

He doesn't even know who they are.

No one joins him. Kodo is left to stare at the ceiling until the room grows dark and there's nothing to do but let his eyes slip shut and pray his body is merciful enough to let him sleep.

---

what's done cannot be undone

The collar of his shirt is too tight.

The Stylist bats his hand away every time he tries to loosen it. He tsks at Kodo impatiently. Three more capitolites flit around wordlessly — touching up his hair, adding exaggerated makeup to enhance his features under the spotlight, fixing imaginary wrinkles in his clothing.

It's strange. Kodo has never felt more like he's supposed to be playing someone else, like his own skin isn't really his. All his years of acting should've prepared him for this moment, but he just feels… hollow.

(They're looking at him. They're staring at him like he's a silly, broken little thing. They're watching him like he's more monster than boy. They're waiting for him like they expect him to crumble completely.

The high collar is a rope, a noose, a leash. Kodo wants to tear it off, but they won't let him. He's stuck staring at the boy in the mirror, trying to see what everyone else sees. He's never pleased with the answer.)

The Stylist steps back to survey his work, circling around Kodo like some sort of predatory bird. The other capitolites flutter off into the wings, where they titter amongst themselves. All eyes are on Kodo Hotakim, and for the first time in his life, he hates it.

His entire outfit is monochrome – white occasionally accented with silver. His undershirt has flowing sleeves that flare at his wrist, as if purposefully drawing attention to his new prosthetic. Over that, Kodo has a suit jacket draped over his shoulders, adorned with silver buttons that he knows won't clasp. White slacks, silver shoes. He looks at the barren expanse of white he's covered in, and wonders what sort of point they're trying to make about him. Cold and detached, most likely.

Is that really an incorrect conclusion?

"Ah! I almost forgot." The Stylist darts off to the side and returns with a thin silver chain, which he carefully pins to Kodo's collar.

The addition is small enough that Kodo can't quite figure out why it was included at all. It's only when he leans into the mirror that he realizes the chain connects two halves of a broken heart.

"Wow," Kodo says. "That's…"

Beaming, The Stylist nods and begins to push him out the door. "Yes, yes, I'm a genius! A little token from me to you, something to keep your paramour in your thoughts."

Kodo never thought he would have much of a problem with that. He's having an exponentially harder time keeping her out of his thoughts. But he's not given a chance to argue before he's abruptly pushed out of the room and finds himself in the hallway with a familiar face.

The Mentor raises an eyebrow at him. She lowers her cigarette, smoke curling into the air. Kodo stands a little straighter under her scrutinizing look. "Do you have your story figured out?"

He deflates slightly. "My… story?"

"I didn't think I'd have to explain this to you of all people, but yes. You won. You're a Victor. Every choice you made in that Arena has ramifications beyond anything you've ever considered until right now. This interview is your chance to tell Panem what you want the truth to be. There's only one thing you have to keep in mind."

"And that is…?"

"This is the only chance you'll get to control your story. This interview will become the canonized version of events. Unless you want the whole country to turn on you, you have to be willing to act out whatever role you choose for the rest of your goddamn life."

"Is that what you did?"

Her eyes flash. "Excuse you?"

"Is that why they sent you here? To me? Because everything you're telling me is based on your own experience?"

The smile on her face grows forced. The red staining her lips looks more and more like blood. "In a sense. But no one bothered to tell me the truth beforehand. All I knew going out on that stage was that admitting I was a scared little girl just trying to get home to her family was the worst story I could come up with. No capitolite can relate to that. And that doesn't make me any different from the rest of Panem.

"They'll want answers, you know. Answers about that girl. Everyone saw you propose. Everyone saw you jump into her interview. Everyone will want to know what happened between the lovebirds they saw before the Games and the way you drove a knife into her heart. Twice."

Kodo opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He was scared. He didn't want to die. He knew he couldn't do it without her, but in that shape, he couldn't do it with her, either.

Fuck. He still remembers the way she looked at him once she realized what he'd done. Those dark eyes were alight with hatred, even more than they were in the aftermath of his proposal.

And he understood why, didn't he? All he ever did-

-he used-

you're just as bad as your father.

"Well?"

The Mentor stares at him expectantly. Kodo wants to shy away, wants to go somewhere he can't be found. They'll tear him apart under that spotlight. They'll see through every miniscule crack in his facade and they'll know how much of him is nothing.

He can't do this.

There's a lump in his throat when he speaks again. "I don't…"

"Tell them a story," The Mentor demands patiently. She looks as if she's willing to wait here all day. "Something you can learn to live with."

"I don't know-"

"You have to," she snaps. Despite being several inches shorter than Kodo, he feels as if The Mentor looms over him now, impossibly imposing. "They'll eat you alive out there if you let them. I can't give you the answer here. You know why."

Kodo nods and squeezes his eyes shut. He has to come up with his own lie, something he can convince himself is the truth. The thought process is painfully familiar.

"I-"

"What's taking so long?" a capitolite hisses, getting enough into Kodo's space that he can see every detail of the scales printed on their skin. "Come on – it's almost time!"

"We'll be there shortly," The Mentor says coolly. She acts as if the intruder isn't even there.

"But-!"

"You're the one holding us up right now. I'd hate for that to get around to your boss."

The capitolite squeaks and scuttles off, properly scolded. Kodo frowns after them. When The Mentor places a hand on his arm to grab his attention, Kodo doesn't understand why her eyes are suddenly so soft.

"All you have to do here is set the stage," she says quietly. "Get through tonight, and the next step is months out."

The smile that crosses Kodo's face isn't anywhere near natural, but the false sense of bravado it offers him is a good enough start. "Sounds easy enough."

The Mentor looks faintly relieved. She pulls something out of her pocket and offers it to him. "That's the spirit."

Kodo waits for her to walk away before he opens the flat box. Inside, he's relieved to see a pair of white leather gloves tailored to fit him perfectly. It's only once the sheen of his metal hand is hidden away that Kodo can really begin to feel like himself again.

---

wing'd cupid painted blind

ACT ONE - SCENE FOUR

CAST (in order of appearance)

THE INTERVIEWER….…..Itara Kulkarni

THE VICTOR….….Kodo Hotakim

THE MENTOR…...….Ariadne Valade

THE LOVER…..…..Bourbon Jaque

THE FOOL….Aleksei Court

THE HERMIT….Svelte Rasa

THE HIGH PRIESTESS…..…..Guinevere Solomon

THE STAR…Thessaly Akaste

The stage is set. An audience full of rabid capitolites is eager to meet their newest Victor. The month that has passed with no official announcement has led to them being ready to devour whoever steps foot in front of them. Excitement is just as palpable as anxiety, mingling amongst the people as their anticipation builds and builds, a crescendo that never stops. There's a singular spotlight focused on two chairs that draw the eye of every capitolite. Even the tiniest speck of dust floating across the stage is enough to induce a sharp intake that ripples across the audience.

Finally, right as the clock strikes the hour, a newcomer approaches. The capitolites strain as one to catch sight of the figure dancing alone through the darkness, the hem of her dress teasing the edges of the spotlight. Flashes of purple, of green, of blue… when The Interviewer takes the stage, she does so in a vision of the ocean in all its endless depths. Despite being deprived of their Victor for a little while longer, the capitolites scream with delight as The Interviewer plays to her audience while they're still solely hers. Kisses to one corner, a wave of the hand to another, an elegant bow to all. She takes her seat and crosses her legs, the length of her dress rippling across the floor in waves.

The Interviewer: Welcome, one and all, to the official crowning of our 124th Victor!

She raises a hand to her ear, the roar of the crowd's applause echoing throughout every corner of the auditorium. In the wings, a fresh face remains hidden for a little while longer. His palms have never been sweatier. His palm, he should say. He tugs at the edges of his gloves again, hoping to conceal the gleaming silver of his false hand.

The Interviewer: I know you're all as excited as I am to meet our latest Victor, but we might scare them off at this rate! It's been nearly a month since they've faced the spotlight — you'll all help me give them a warm welcome, won't you?

The crowd explodes with noise, in unison rising to give their unknown Victor a proper welcome. Scattered voices still cheer for one Victor in particular, and others hold up signs proclaiming their preference. The tension in the room heightens further as the spotlight widens, illuminating more and more of the stage. The Interviewer gets to her feet, dramatically peering into the wings as if trying to summon the Victor to join her.

The Victor steps onstage just as the crowd's hopes begin to dwindle, one hand casually raised. He soaks in the explosion of attention, a bashful smile on his face, like he can't believe he's really here. The Capitol eats it up, screams continually growing in volume.

The Victor makes his way towards The Interviewer, who stands to greet him. She extends a hand, but he swoops in to kiss her on both cheeks, making her laugh. She eventually waves him off, and he sits down with a cheeky grin.

The Interviewer: It appears congratulations are in order! Am I correct to assume that I'm not the first to congratulate you on your victory?

The Victor: Unfortunately, from the way I understand it, you're a few weeks behind.

The Interviewer: That's an understatement! You wouldn't happen to be a fan of dramatic entrances, would you?

The Victor: You caught me! I couldn't possibly make it easy for everyone, could I?

The Interviewer: You had us all worried sick! Do you have anything to say for yourself?

The Victor: Apparently being in a medically-induced coma still isn't enough to get a person well rested. I still feel like I need to go home and take a nice twelve hour nap.

The Interviewer: Three weeks still wasn't enough for you?

The Victor: Not quite. I've been told I almost died or something, so I guess that takes a bit of a toll on your body.

The Interviewer: Well you look good for an almost-corpse – doesn't he?

The audience shrieks in relief. It's moments like these where The Victor's smile looks a little more real.

The Victor: Aww, you flatter me. But it's really thanks to the Capitol that I'm here in one piece at all!

The Interviewer: Laughs. Well, mostly.

The Victor: His expression grows strained. He swallows hard. Yeah – mostly. I'm missing an appendage, but who could even notice?

The Interviewer: Not me, certainly! You've got it hidden under one of those gloves, don't you? Do you mind if we see?

The Victor takes off his glove with all the leisure of someone that minds at least a little. He holds his new hand up towards the light, and the capitolites 'ooh' and 'ahh' in unison. This continues on for a few moments before he replaces the glove.

The Victor: I hope you can understand why I had to hide it away at first. I would hate to steal the whole show so easily!

The Interviewer: No, I understand completely! You're making me want one!

Several audience members seem to agree with this sentiment. The discomfort that crosses The Victor's face isn't even acknowledged.

The Interviewer: I really can't emphasize how good it is to see you, though!

The Victor: Absence makes the heart grow fonder?

The Interviewer: Yes, very much so! But – is it too presumptuous for me to say that I hope we never have to miss you for that long again?

The Victor: Not presumptuous at all. I certainly missed everyone here as well. There really is no place like the Capitol, is there?

If there's one thing the Capitol responds well to, it's flattery. The Mentor nods approvingly every time it happens. She's well aware that the most difficult part is yet to come, but for now, The Victor seems to be doing well.

The Interviewer: It's nice to see you didn't lose that silver tongue along the way!

The Victor: Oh, you know me. Who would I be without it?

The Interviewer: Certainly not the Victor we know and love. Can I just say – it really is a delight to get the chance to talk with you again.

The Victor: A delight that goes both ways.

The Interviewer: Last time we spoke, I'm not sure I would've guessed you'd be the one standing on the other side with me.

The Victor: I can't blame you. I don't think I would've guessed it, either.

The Interviewer: And… well, you know who I have to ask about now, don't you?

The Victor: A smile crosses his face, wistful enough to make all the hopeless romantics in the audience swoon. Of course. I certainly wouldn't be here without The Lover, after all.

The Interviewer: Pardon me if I'm getting ahead of myself, but you two looked pretty cozy all the way up until the end there! Mind shedding some light on what happened?

The Victor: His smile drops abruptly. When he stares off into the audience, it's almost as if he's searching for something. It takes several long moments for him to regain his composure. I- well… it's complicated. That's a cheap answer, and I know it doesn't mean much, but it's true, isn't it? Anyone who's been in love knows that love will make you do terrible, terrible things.

The Interviewer: Like kill your fiancée?

The Victor: Laughs drily. I guess I walked into that one, didn't I?

The Interviewer: Just a bit. You can't fault us for being curious, can you?

The audience cheers in agreement. The Victor seems to flush under their attention, rubbing the back of his neck.

The Victor: I guess I can't. I suppose I'll start by setting the record straight in one regard – I love her. She's the kind of girl I'll never be able to forget. Not that I'd ever want to.

The audience coos. One particular capitolite waves a 'KOURBON 4 EVER' sign vigorously.

The Victor: He falters, and places a hand over his heart. I… It's hard to see your fiancée get stabbed right in front of you, you know? And to not be able to do anything about it… I didn't want to hurt her. I've never wanted to hurt her. But that wound…

The Interviewer: You knew it was over, didn't you?

The Victor: Yeah. Yeah. And she's never been afraid of anything, so she'd never ask me to do that for her. And I knew there wasn't much time, so I…

He falters, hides his eyes behind his gloved hands. The Interviewer rests a hand on his shoulder soothingly. There's hardly a dry eye in the room.

The Victor: But I know that's not what you're really asking about, is it?

The Interviewer: Is it?

The Victor: You're talking about after- the kiss. When she called me selfish, a coward… not exactly the lovers goodbye you expected, right?

The Interviewer: Not exactly, no.

The Victor: What we went through together… the stress can get to anyone. We saw sides of each other that we'd never experienced before – and not all of them are good. And, really… maybe she was right about me. I'll forever have to live with the fact that my hands were what finished her off. At the time, I thought I was doing the right thing. Now…

The Interviewer: Hindsight can make a difference, can't it?

The Victor: Laughs. You can say that again.

The Interviewer: Your relationship with The Lover was certainly your most prominent one, but she wasn't the only tribute you encountered! I seem to recall a short-lived alliance between you and The Fool shortly before the finale. Care to elaborate?

The Victor: Oh, god. He was a good kid. Not the sort that should've been there.

The Interviewer: … Been where, exactly?

The Victor: At the end. With me. We- I saw him a few times during training, and he was always so… happy. It doesn't make any sense for him to have gotten that close to the end.

The Interviewer: Yes, he and his ally were certainly fan favorites! She pauses to let the audience cheer in affirmation. It was devastating to watch them fall apart…

The Victor: He visibly cringes. I didn't mean for that to happen. I must've surprised her. And then I couldn't… reach him in time.

The Interviewer: A tragedy all around. What did you know about the others in the finale with you?

The Victor: Not much. The Hermit and The High Priestess were district partners. The Star was from Four. She was predicted first, I think.

The Interviewer: She was! A delightful little reversal of last year – predicted first, placed second.

The Victor: She was… wow. It's no wonder she was predicted first. I've never seen anything quite like it.

The Interviewer: You haven't had the chance to watch your own rerun yet, have you?

The Victor: Not yet. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to watch it with everyone here.

The Interviewer: I'm afraid to say that little taste The Star gave you was nothing compared to what she's really capable of. Not to mention – you didn't know that one of your fellow tributes is the reason half the Arena exploded, did you?

The Victor: I can't say I did. Prior to that, I was a little… preoccupied.

The Interviewer: Understandably so. Are you ready to see it now?

The Victor: His expression grows somber, and there's a far-off look in his eye as if he's thinking of someone. It wouldn't take a genius to guess The Lover is on his mind. This will be the first time he's seen her – really seen her – since the moment he killed her. As ready as I'll ever be.

The Interviewer: That's the spirit! Let's get this show started.

---

tell the anger of my heart

The train home goes by too swiftly. Kodo wishes it would go faster.

The outside world bleeds together into a kaleidoscope of greens and browns, a muddied mess beyond Kodo's window. There are no rays of sun illuminating the grass, only an endless expanse of grey skies.

Kodo is alone in the back of the train, sitting ramrod straight beside a window. He doesn't know where anyone else has gone, and he doesn't particularly care. Giavanna and Mal have been strangely absent since he won. The annoying escort keeps fawning over his prosthetic, even when Kodo has it tucked away under a glove. He can't bear to look at it without feeling the tingling of digits that are no longer there, a burning that grows worse the longer he stares.

And then… his new Mentor. Ariadne Valade. She avoids him when she can, and when she can't, she spends most of her time staring at him like he's a rather peculiar bug, the sort she can't decide if she wants to squash or not. Kodo thinks she may hate him.

(... she's not alone.)

It's fine. He likes being alone. Likes the solitude in the back of the train where he can't see what's coming until it's already passed. There's a strange comfort in knowing he can't do anything about where he is, where he's being taken. This particular brand of helplessness is nothing compared to the Capitol and their prying eyes and invasive questions.

His hands are clenched together in his lap, shielded from the world by his gloves. Kodo takes one off, marvels at the pale flesh and blue veins running under his skin. His nails are short but perfectly manicured. His knuckles are dry but still soft. If he turns his palm over, he can take in the delicate whorls of his fingerprints. His hands have always lacked the calluses of someone who has ever indulged in manual labor, but his dominant hand is familiar with the sensation of holding a pen.

It takes far more effort to take off the second glove. The pristine shine of silver makes his stomach turn, but Kodo makes himself stare anyway. He's never paid this much attention to his hands before, despite how much he relied on them in his day-to-day life. He supposes that's often how these things go. You don't know what's worth holding onto until you've lost it forever.

This attachment made of metal seems so cruel and detached. Kodo can curl the fingers into a fist, but he can't feel the sting of nails biting into his palms. He could smash the hand in a door and there wouldn't even be a dent. Kodo knows that, if he really wanted to, he could wield a knife and stain the metal with blood until it rusts, or he'd be able to wash it out like it never happened – would that ever change how people look at him? Would anything?

"Kodo."

His head snaps up. His hand is trembling too badly to get his gloves on fast enough. He feels fucking pathetic, but when he realizes green and brown have turned into golden grain, he realizes he has no choice but to get the fuck over it.

The one nice thing about Ariadne is that she never asks him anything personal. She never asks, Are you okay? Are you glad to be home? Are you ready? Kodo is grateful for that, because he wouldn't know what to say even if she did.

Instead, she says, "We're almost there."

By the time Kodo's fumbling hands manage to pull the gloves back on, their train has stopped. Kodo smoothes his hands over his crisp white shirt, over his brown slacks, and wonders if any of this will feel like it's enough. If any of it will rid him of the taste of bile lingering in the back of his throat.

Will anyone be happy to see him again?

They certainly weren't sad to see him leave.

The first step off the train is the hardest. The clouds have started to clear away, and Kodo has to lift a hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. For a moment, he can't see anyone at all. He wishes it was a relief, but the thought of being welcomed home by no one at all is enough to make his eyes prick with tears he won't allow himself to shed.

Kodo is glad that Ariadne went in front of him. He stalls on the platform, the shadow of the train looming over him, and squints into the crowd in search of someone, anyone, who's willing to save him. There's less than ten feet between him and a roped-off crowd of people, all their faces blurring together. He knows they're staring at him. It takes remembering his years of training to lift his chin and pretend he still loves the spotlight.

Someone cries out his name, and Kodo stiffens instinctively. It takes several moments for the familiarity to hit him, and several more for the tentative smile to reach his face.

Aana brushes past the peacekeepers attempting to keep her away from her stepson and throws her arms out in reckless abandon. Her petite form plows straight into Kodo, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground. The lump in Kodo's throat grows larger as he ducks his face into Aana's familiar head of grey hair. Her shoulders shake, and Kodo can already tell there will be a constellation of tear stains on his shirt when he pulls away.

He wishes this moment could last forever. When Aana pulls away, she brushes a hand over his face, his hair, and stares at him like she's trying to memorize his every feature. She's always been so lovely when she cries, but Kodo wonders if he's just never seen her truly devastated before, not until now. He still thinks her mascara-stained cheeks are one of the loveliest things he's ever seen.

"I never thought I'd see you again," Aana chokes out. Her words would hurt more if the relief wasn't palpable. "I- I can't believe you're home."

Maybe those tears are a little closer to the surface than Kodo thought. He sniffles. "I missed you too, Mom."

Her face crumples again at the term of endearment. She steps to the side to fan her face, and behind her is Kosa, who looks at Kodo with a strange look in her eyes. Kodo recognizes that look. How could he not? They share the same face, after all, and Kodo has had to see those skeptical eyes in the mirror for the past week. It's hard to come home to a twin untouched by the horrors of the Arena.

(It's probably harder to see your twin come home a monster.)

Kodo can't make the first move. His jaw is clenched so tightly he fears it may lock in place. Seventeen years of love and resentment mingle in his mind, and he sees all of it reflected in Kosa. Those three and a half minutes she lived before him. The lifetime she could've existed without him.

(Maybe, in another world, they would've gone into the Games together. If- if she wasn't there to take Kosa's place. Maybe they both could've avoided the Games entirely, if Kodo had his own replacement.

But there's no use wondering. Not when they're together once more, and Kodo can't decide if he loves her more than he hates himself.)

"Hi," Kodo whispers. She's within arm's reach of him, but he doesn't know how to bridge the gap. Not anymore.

"You're back." Her eyes shimmer with tears.

"I am."

Kosa takes a step forward. Her hand reaches for his – the prosthetic, the one that isn't really his anymore. He flinches as her fingers slide between his gloved ones. There's no way she hasn't noticed the difference lying beneath stark white leather. But whatever flicker of emotion that crosses her face passes too quickly for Kodo to linger.

If she says anything else, Kodo doesn't catch it. His attention is instead grabbed by a familiar figure in a peacekeeper uniform, one who looks entirely uninterested in being there. A wave of disgust rises in Kodo, but he squashes it down. He can't let his father win again. Not like this.

Kosa's other hand braces itself against Kodo's arm. His breath shudders as he exhales. He can feel Aana's presence behind him, comforting and loving and far too good for his father.

That hour in the goodbyes room feels like a lifetime ago. Kodo remembers how angry he was, but he can't summon that anger towards his father now. Just pity.

y̵̥̘͔̤̱͓̜̪͙͌̾̓͝͠ǫ̴̪̹̮̫̪̜̥̠͎͛ų̷͈̖̪̮͎̲͎̼̣͙̏̔̆'̵̧̘̜̯̫͈͙̗͎͙̂̓ͅr̷̛̭̦̳̈́̅̽̓̇̓̒͒͌̚͠͝ē̴̢̛̞̝͇͍̮̳͔̠̓̌͊̾̍͆̋͊͝ͅ ̴̛̝͔̻͔͍̞̑̈̾͆̉̀͊̆̎̊̿́͌ͅj̸̟͈̪̑͒̔̿͝u̴̳̣̙̳̟̰̭̥̗̮̠̟̤̦̯͊̀̌̃̒s̷̤̰̘̮̥̗̠͈̾̇̒̐͗́̔ṱ̴̈̓̅̈́͐̚͝͝ ̷̢̨͚̭͕̝̻͕̻̮̝̏̏́̕̕ǎ̴̺͓͍̾̀͆͛̔ş̶̨̢̤̬͈̯̯̰̥̰͓̰̭̾̏ ̵͚̜̪͚̗̙̘̐̇͆̾̀̈́͝b̸̢̛̘͍͓͐̈̈́̓̃̿̊͂̚ạ̵̀̒̾͘͘̚d̶̢͍̲̳̜͉̠̥͚̘̜̩̾͊̓̊͋̅̉́̾͠͝ ̸̼͔̐̀̉̈́͌å̶̧̲̠͆́̿̿ś̷̫̺̈́͒͗͂̚-

Teff Hotakim stops several feet shy of his son. He waits for an apology that will never come. He looks through Kodo instead of at him, and Kodo wonders how long it's been this way. How he didn't see this coming until it was far too late.

How pathetic that boy from weeks ago was. How foolish. When faced with certain death, he was so sure that his father would find it in him to care, see that it was a mistake to let Kodo die so easily. At least now he knows the truth.

Kodo gently shakes off Kosa's hands. He takes a step forward. Opens his mouth.

"Did you ever love her?"

Teff's eyes narrow. "What are you-"

"Aana. Or the other woman. The one I saw you with. Our mother."

His father's face twists into an ugly grimace. "If you're going to make a scene-"

"I'm just asking a question."

That cold gaze flickers away for one second, two. "Yes."

Kodo's never been sure what love means to his father. He can't tell if Teff is telling the truth or not. "At the same time?"

Aana's voice behind him is soft and startlingly insecure. "Kodo? What are you…?"

"Did you see her while I was gone? When you thought I would never come back? Is she who comforted you while you left your wife and daughter to comfort each other?"

"Kodo," Teff hisses. "Stop this now."

"I hope they both leave you," Kodo says simply.

He brushes past his father without another word, catching up to Ariadne next to the roped-off section. The look that she gives him is the most intrigued one he's seen from her. He just shakes his head and knows she won't ask.

As he makes his way towards his new home, Kodo feels the weight of eyes on him all around. He searches for one pair in particular, and only catches a glimpse of who he's looking for. Blond hair, blue eyes – Dagan Einkorn stands at the very edge of the train's platform, wind ruffling through his hair. A faint feeling of desire wafts through Kodo's body, longing and nostalgic. He wishes he felt more. He wishes he didn't feel anything at all.

The crowd around Dagan shifts, swallowing him whole. Kodo cranes his neck attempting to find his friend again, but by the time the crowd clears, the boy is nowhere to be seen.

---

the guilty mind

The new house is big. Quiet. Empty. Different. Every step Kodo takes echoes through the whole building. He can hear whispers at night from the corner of his bedroom, and it's only after several days of exploration that he discovers the source is simply Ariadne. Apparently being appointed his new Mentor means she's not allowed to go home yet, and thus needed a place to stay.

Neither of them are pleased by the arrangement. Kodo resents the idea of being babysat. Ariadne… would clearly rather be anywhere else.

(Sometimes, when she thinks he's out of the house, she uses his telephone to contact someone. Kodo surmises that she's contacting her family; her voice changes, gets lighter and softer. Strangely tender.

The other person she attempts to contact won't so much as pick up the phone. Every voicemail she leaves is tonally different: anger, panic, sorrow, resignation. She tries to pretend like it doesn't bother her, but Kodo's started figuring out some of her tells. An unfortunate side effect of being stuck together.)

Kodo never realized how few belongings he truly has. He's lucky that this house came mostly furnished – any sentimental objects he owns are few and far between. He's able to fill in his closet with little trouble, and he takes great delight in furthering his collection of (already incredibly extensive) jewelry. He finds himself steering away from silver given his new… permanent prosthetic. The only exception he allows himself is the chain that Aana gave him before he… left. Despite telling him that she expected it back, she's never asked for it. In fact, Kodo would hazard a guess that she prefers it on him, for one reason or another.

But besides his closet, Kodo's bedroom has very few personal touches. He has a stack of marked-up scripts in the drawer of his nightstand, symbolizing every play he's ever been a part of. His bookshelf is stacked with everything from childhood fairytales to educational literature. There's a jar stuck in the corner of the highest shelf that's full of mementos from his different shows: several petals from bouquets, a couple feathers, a handful of lucky coins.

The notable standout is a small plush dolphin that Kodo keeps tucked away beside his pillow. It's his one possession that looks well-worn, with several stains that will never come out. Kodo cherishes it anyway. It's a gift from Aana, after all, back when she first started dating his father and searched for any way to buy the twins' affection.

It worked. Of course it worked. Kodo was nearly four and loved any attention he was given, especially if it was something his sister didn't receive. To have something that was purely his… it was magical. Something Kodo has never forgotten. Aana did for him at three what Teff would never do at all. Isn't that something?

It takes a week for Aana to show up at his doorstep. Kodo wishes he was surprised to open the door to her tear stricken face, a purse clutched to her hip. She sniffles and looks around, lost. Her eyes well with fresh tears when she sees Kodo.

"Your- your father," she stammers. "He… he…"

Kodo opens the door wider. Stands to the side. Lets in the only motherly figure he's ever known. She's the only person in the world who would never have to ask him for anything. She's done more for him than she'll ever be able to understand. If all Kodo can do right now is offer her a place to sleep, a place to get away, then he'll do so happily.

Later that night, when Aana's crying has worn her out, and she's settled down in one of the spare bedrooms, Kodo goes downstairs to find Ariadne in the living room, sprawled out on one of the couches. She's illuminated by a single lamplight, watching him curiously. He hates it when she looks at him like that, like she sees something. He bristles instinctively.

"What?" he asks, purposefully keeping his voice low.

She sips something in a mug. "Who's that? I remember her from the train station."

His stomach turns at the thought of telling her anything even remotely revealing. "My mom."

Ariadne hums. "You don't look anything alike."

"Step-mom."

"Ah."

Silence stretches between them. Kodo shifts uncomfortably. The corner of his mouth twitches. "Whatever it is, just ask."

"You care about her."

"That's not a question." But he doesn't deny it. He can't. Not when Aana is right upstairs and he feels relief at the thought that she'll be here when he wakes up tomorrow. Maybe even the day after. He hopes she'll stay around for a long while, perhaps even forever, but his chest seizes at the thought, like hope is too dangerous to believe in for long.

"It just surprised me," Ariadne says, "to see real affection from you. It puts your little charade from the Games into more perspective."

"Don't talk about that."

"Why not? You can't run from it forever. You're home now. She has family. There are people that will have questions. You can lie to the Capitol, but you can't lie to the District that raised you."

His hands clench uselessly at his sides. Kodo tries to summon bravado, some way to fight back, but instinct makes him turn cold and callous, so familiar that it frightens him. He takes a step back, floundering.

weak pathetic coward

Those green eyes stay locked on him, frustratingly perceptive. "We have to talk about this eventually, you know."

Kodo laughs hollowly. "Do we? When do you leave?"

Her expression sours, but only for an instant. Kodo doesn't know what to make of that. Ariadne Valade is a Victor. Shouldn't she be able to do whatever she wants, whenever she wants?

(Shouldn't he?)

"Not soon enough, I can promise you that." Ariadne gets to her feet, sighing quietly. "I'll get out of your way for now. But you and I both know you can't escape this forever."

Kodo doesn't respond to that. He stays in the doorway, forcing Ariadne to move around him to go off to… wherever it is that she goes when he's not around. She leaves the light on for Kodo, but when he goes to turn it off, he ends up sinking into the couch instead. His bed upstairs threatens to drown him some nights. The slight discomfort he knows he'll wake up with lying here, without so much as a pillow to cushion his head, sounds… nice.

And at least this way, he won't be forced to dream of her.

---

false face must hide

School starts a week into September, just as harvest season hits its peak. Amaranth has bloomed and will be slowly harvested over the next several weeks, field workers plucking the crimson flowers before the first freeze of the year turns the ground hard and dry. Golden corn will glitter in the fields until that, too, is collected and brought to the mill, and from there packaged and sent off to other districts. The spring batches of wheat wave out in their pastures until a sickle strikes them down, one clean sweep at a time.

It's like clockwork. School cannot be put off forever, and so the first several weeks will have a noticeable drop in attendance from the upperclassman as they toil away in the fields. A few extra hours of work means a little less worrying about mouths to feed when winter inevitably strikes. One less bag of tesserae. One less chance that a loved one will be stolen away by the Capitol. It all adds up, and unless you're privileged enough – or, really, just lucky enough – to never have to worry about the basic necessities of life, then the first month of school is a mere formality. Nothing that can't be made up for later.

Truthfully, there is no need for Kodo Hotakim to return to school. Most Victors never do. They have more money than the majority of Panem could ever dream of. They've reached the summit of success by the ripe age of twelve to eighteen, and thus have no further use for the formalities of schooling.

But the thought of continuing to pace around his large and far-too-lonely new mansion makes Kodo itch. He has explored every square inch of this house and is certain it holds no more secrets for him. Aana has grown fascinated by the Capitol reality shows that his television somehow catches, but Kodo can't watch them without cringing at how poor the acting is. There are more books to read in the downstairs library than Kodo knows what to do with, but…

Well, quite frankly, he's bored. And the only thing that makes him want to get up in the morning is the thought of another acting role waiting for him.

(He can't bear the thought of his final role being… that.)

Kosa meets up with him before school three days a week. Sometimes she arrives early enough for them to catch breakfast together and exchange stilted conversation.

They don't talk about the Games. They don't talk about much at all. Nothing that really matters, anyway. Kodo knows his other half well enough to see that something's bothering her, but she's not willing to talk about it with him.

Why would she? She's the older one, after all. The more capable one. There's no reason she'd have to rely on Kodo of all people.

Still. It's nice having a friendly face to walk into school with most mornings. Especially when Kodo isn't sure he has a friend in the world anymore. He can feel eyes on him everywhere he goes, hears whispers just out of earshot that have to be about him. But if there's anything he's perfected over the past couple months, it's his ability to act like he's untouchable.

(Act like.)

(And maybe, just maybe, his charade is aided by the fact that on the first day back, just as Kodo is getting anxious that he'll be sitting by himself the rest of the semester, Dagan Einkorn slides into the seat next to him. Like he never left.

If Dagan hears Kodo's sigh of relief, he's at least kind enough not to point it out.)

The monotony of schoolwork is a blessing. Kodo has never been so glad to experience the mundane. The formulaic redundancy of mathematics, the long-winded essays for literature, even the prospect of dissections for biology. This is what kids do. Normal kids, the sort that haven't killed anyone or lost a hand or been in a coma for three weeks. The sort that don't have a Victor living in their house. The sort that can look at their sister without feeling so stupidly, frustratingly jealous that she was too loved to be subjected to the same torment you were.

Someone delivers a sharp kick to the leg of Kodo's desk. He jumps, head snapping towards the front of the classroom. All around him, students are getting to their feet, flooding the hallway. Dagan stares at him with those worried blue eyes that make Kodo's stomach churn.

"Kodo," Dagan says when they're two of the only people left in the room, "are you-"

"Hotakim. Einkorn." Foxtail Cartwright stops in front of their desks, hands shoved in his pockets. An easy smile splits their teacher's face in two, his freckle-spattered cheeks crinkling from the effort. "Engaging class today, I hope?"

"Yes, sir!" Kodo responds, perhaps a bit too quickly. "I was just- really invested in the lighting techniques used in theatre. You'll need extra hands for the musical in the spring, right? I thought maybe I could, since this is my last year and all, start branching out by working sound and lighting?"

"You know I'd love to have you on board however you'd like to be involved," Cartwright says kindly. He turns his attention to Dagan briefly. "Einkorn – would you mind giving us a minute? I was hoping to chat with Hotakim alone."

Kodo takes a minute to respond. He unconsciously looks to Dagan for some sort of support – Dagan is giving him the same questioning look in response. Several moments of silence stretch between them before Kodo slowly nods.

Cartwright doesn't say anything, not until Dagan is well out into the hallway, the door cracked open behind him. Kodo stares after his friend longingly; he's never before been disappointed to be the sole focus of Cartwright's attention, but something about the complete upheaval of his life has him somewhat on edge.

"You don't have to stay," Cartwright says kindly, softly. "You don't have to keep up appearances just for your friend."

The simple offering makes a lump grow in Kodo's throat. He chokes it down, does his best to sound normal. "No, it's fine. What did you want?"

"Straight to the point," Cartwright says, his smile growing crooked. He laughs a little, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck. "I wanted to check in with you, see how you were doing. Not with class – you've got a great year ahead of you, I can already tell. With… this summer."

Kodo's face burns with something akin to humiliation. It's getting harder and harder to accept that everyone he's ever known saw him in that Arena, doing everything short of groveling for his own life. He may have convinced the Capitol of his love, at least for a time, but the people in Nine…

They know. They know he's a useless asshole that rode the coattails of whoever he could up until the end. They know he never so much as looked at- at her before the Reaping. They know the only reason he's alive is because he was lucky enough to outlast the others.

Whatever expression Kodo makes in an attempt to conceal his own insecurities, he doubts it's convincing. "It's… fine. I'm fine. It's different, but I'm… getting used to it."

"I'm glad to see you back," Cartwright says, so sincerely that Kodo feels like he could be sick.

Why? he wants to ask, but the mere thought of saying something so vulnerable out loud makes Kodo want to bury his head underground for the next ten years of his life.

"If you need anything, I just… wanted you to know I'm here to lend an ear, if that's something you'd want. I can't even imagine…"

Cartwright trails off, and Kodo purses his lips. He doesn't want to fill in the blanks for his teacher, not when doing so would be so stupidly vulnerable that Kodo can't even begin to summon the words.

"Thanks," Kodo finally says hollowly. He pauses. "Was that all?"

"There's one other thing." Cartwright pinches the bridge of his nose and then sighs, leaning against the desk. "Kodo," he says, then pauses. "Kodo, do you know what Parcel Day is?"

He wrinkles his nose. "No?"

His teacher huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "I shouldn't be so surprised."

Before Kodo can decide if he should be offended by that, Cartwright continues, "I think it would be a good idea, you know. For you to visit. See what it's like."

A petulant frown crosses Kodo's face before he can even think about stopping it. "Why?"

"It's been… ten years? Twelve? Since the last one, but I still remember it like it was yesterday. I… would tell you what happens, but I think it's best if you see for yourself. Parcel Day is the first of every month for the next year, all because you won."

Kodo wrinkles his nose, trying to come up with any memory of what Cartwright is talking about. "It's… because of me?"

"I can't imagine what it's like to be in your position," Cartwright says. "I don't want to make any sort of guess regarding what you're feeling like right now, but… I think it would help to know something good has come out of it. Out of winning."

"There are plenty of good things," Kodo argues stubbornly. "I have everything I could ever want now, don't I?"

Silence answers him. Kodo can't come up with enough examples to ease his own mind. Cartwright just looks at him with something like pity in his gaze.

"Do you?" he asks, so gently that Kodo feels…

Kodo stands, his spine stiff. He's clasping his books to his chest so tightly that his metal hand is beginning to dent one of the covers. "I'll see you in class Monday."

Cartwright nods, clearly disappointed but willing to let it go. "See you Monday, Kodo. And… just keep it in mind, okay?"

---

cracks a noble heart

The train station is crowded by the time Kodo arrives.

It's the first of October, and Kodo is glad for the chill in the air that accommodates the hooded jacket he's thrown on over his clothes, the fresh pair of white gloves that cover his hands. He'd be a fool to assume there's no way anyone would recognize him – after all, Kodo Hotakim is currently the most well-known person in the District. In Panem. But the thought of prying eyes watching his every move makes him feel squeamish, and so a poorly cobbled together disguise will have to do for now.

There are enough people here that Kodo can fall in easily with the crowd, can become completely unseen amongst the throngs of sweat-soaked, dirt-covered people. He's rather glad for his multiple layers – his skin crawls if he thinks about touching anyone directly for too long.

Why the hell did Cartwright want him to come to this? Kodo doesn't feel anything but slowly rising panic and disgust as he attempts to maneuver his way to the outskirts of the station. There are few people's opinions he trusts, and Cartwright is certainly one of those people, but… really? How the hell did Kodo's Victory bring any of this about?

The train platform itself is blocked off, but the crowd congregates as close as they can get. A few peacekeepers mill around, expressions blank beneath their helmets. Kodo swears he accidentally makes eye contact with one and, fearing that it's somehow his father, pulls the hood down over his head even more.

Over the course of an hour, steam from the train's engine piping into the air grows closer, the crowd packing together even tighter. Kodo can't seem to disentangle himself anymore. He presses his metal hand close to his chest as if it'll keep him safe from the crowd of people encroaching on his space.

The first blast of a horn makes Kodo jump. The second makes everyone around him begin cheering. A few children slip under the rope keeping people off the platform, and no one stops them. They giggle and jostle each other as the train slowly screeches to a stop.

The train hisses, and anticipation in the crowd spikes to new levels. Kodo feels his entire body tense. He's just about to find a way to escape this entire ordeal when the doors to one of the train cars gets thrown open, and Kodo can finally see what everyone is so excited about.

Whatever Kodo expected from Parcel Day, it wasn't this.

Buckets of apples, overflowing with glossy fruits in all shades of red and yellow and green. Eager hands catch any that fall overboard, scooping them directly off the ground and biting into the crisp outer skin without any concern. Cartons of berries, in shades of purple so deep they almost look black, are passed out among the crowd. It's only been moments before a child laughs with wonder and excitement, their hands and chin covered in juice and seeds. Even Kodo has never seen this much fruit before. Green pears, blueberries, melons of all shapes and sizes, green and purple grapes alike, elegant figs that Kodo watches an old man sink his teeth into and then cry.

This is only the beginning. The next train car's doors are thrown open and all the brown packages that are passed out look the same, but a woman next to Kodo cries out with excitement – sugar, and salt, and flour, and yeast, and then smaller packages of spices and ornamental bottles of oils. Kodo recognizes some of them, knows which ones Aana likes to use on the days she decides to cook something fresh for them.

Further down, Kodo can see fresh meat being passed out, wrapped tenderly in brown paper. Sausages and whole hams and chickens and lamb, the sort that could feed whole families for a week – or longer. Even Kodo's eyes widen as he sees the fish being brought out of another case, alongside shrimp and crab claws and oysters. Delicacies that Kodo's never even seen before.

It's overwhelming. Everywhere Kodo looks, there's something new. Wheels and blocks and slices of cheese in every shade of yellow, some packed full of spices or dried fruits. Whole loaves of bread begin to filter through the crowd, and then bagels, and cornbread, and then little palm-sized cakes filled with nuts and topped with fruits. Someone is stacking cartons upon cartons of eggs, whole gallons of milk, freshly squeezed juice. And for every person in the cluster that holds something from the train, there's at least two boxes being stacked on the sidelines.

It's… all food. Enough to feed entire families. Some of the most prized industries from other Districts being brought to Nine, all because Kodo won the Games.

There's something about this knowledge that brings Kodo to a complete standstill. The crowd surges around him, smiling and laughing and so blissfully happy that they don't notice the one person who isn't.

(Why isn't he?)

A dirty hand latches onto his sleeve, and Kodo recoils. Peering up at him is a small child with dirt on her nose and grass in her hair, her sticky hands holding up a paper-wrapped sweet.

The expectation is clear, and Kodo's hand reaches out before he can stop himself. The pink candy shines under the sun. He fumbles to unwrap the delicate paper, but the little girl continues to watch him ardently, waiting with delight for him to partake in the same simple pleasure as her.

Strawberries. Kodo tastes strawberries and a faint cooling sensation overwhelms his mouth. He braces himself for an artificial taste to hit, but it never does. Just overt sweetness and tartness tangled together in his mouth, bright and delicious. The candy dissolves on his tongue far too soon, but the aftertaste it leaves means that Kodo doesn't have to miss it too much.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. The girl just beams at him like she's sunshine itself, and Kodo wants to run away like a shadow in the night.

"Thank you!" the little girl chirps, just loudly enough for Kodo to hear.

His mouth goes dry. The aftertaste turns bitter. Kodo shudders as he realizes that this nameless, faceless little girl knows him and knows what he did and is grateful? She can't- can't understand, can't know that she only profits because Kodo is a goddamn selfish asshole-

i'll never forgive you for anything

-and that's all it takes for him to jolt backwards, stepping directly on someone's foot. They holler something at Kodo, but he's already turned tail and started running. Deliriously, he thinks that's all he's ever been good at in the first place.

It's a good thing the citizens of Nine are far too preoccupied with their upgraded status of living for the next year. No one pays gives Kodo a second glance, even as he bumps hazardously into citizen after citizen, unable to stutter any apologies in his wake. His throat is closing up. His vision narrowing. He feels, faintly, the absurd notion that he might cry.

Why would he do that? Why does this matter so much? It's never mattered before, not at all. Kodo can do whatever he wants now, he has everything he'll ever need, he's a fucking Victor-

Bright laughter rings like bells over the crowd, familiar enough that it draws Kodo's attention. He falters and turns to look, some sort of magnetic pull compelling him, and then his breath whooshes out of him all at once.

The slope of her nose. The gentle curl of her hair. The curve of her mouth. All so familiar, but pasted on someone else's face, someone so alive and standing only a few feet away that Kodo's head swims. He almost can't believe what he's seeing, until a memory he's tried to push away resurfaces, and Kodo can't breathe.

I'd do anything for them. Clothes off my own back and shit. That's just how it is.

Kodo rips his eyes away. He doubles over, right there on the outskirts and barely out of sight of the entire District, and vomits onto the ground.

It still tastes faintly like strawberries.

---

face of heaven so fine

Seeing her in your dreams has become a common enough occurrence that it shouldn't surprise you anymore. But even so, every time one of your painstakingly buried away memories manages to resurface in your subconscious, it's like you can't breathe all over again.

It's not raining outside, but the clouds above you are grey enough that the skies may open again any second, unleashing yet another relentless deluge upon you. You'd like for nothing more than to hole up inside all day, but simple pleasures are hard to come by in the Arena, and so you're better off putting one foot in front of the other to keep pace with her.

The scent of petrichor wafts into the air, and you can't decide if you like it or not. Warm and earthy, the scent makes you think of filth and home all at once.

(Or, really, it makes you think of her. She doesn't seem to notice the way you keep staring at her, taking in the way the humidity is making her dark hair wispy, little hairs raising around her forehead like a crown. Looking at her from the left, the slightest glisten from a droplet of sweat draws your attention to a pair of moles on her cheekbone, right by her ear. You've grown accustomed to the way she expresses her emotions with her mouth, and you often catch yourself looking at her slightly chapped lips to gauge what's going on in her mind. Sometimes you look at her for no reason at all.)

(But that's neither here nor there.)

When the two of you stop to rest on a set of stairs leading up to a house, she begins rifling through one of the backpacks, likely in search of water. You lean back against your palms and stare up at the sky, content to let her do all the work right now.

The silence between the two of you has grown… nice. With eyes on you all the time, there's not a chance to be at each other's throats, and so you've had to learn how to coexist. If she wasn't so… like that, you could almost convince yourself that there's a chance the two of you might've gotten along back home.

(Ha. Likely story.)

A screech escapes you as something lands on your leg. You immediately move to swat at it, but the brown lump croaks at you and any fight within you drains immediately. You're frozen, staring at this disgusting thing that has the audacity to use you as a resting place.

"Don't squeal like a fuckin' girl!" she hisses, glaring at you like you asked this intruder to slime all over your already very dirty pants. "You wanna attract the attention of everyone here?"

Silently, you point at the bug-eyed creature that won't even turn to face you. She crinkles her nose at you before following the line of your finger.

She leans forward, hair falling in front of her face to mask her expression. You dig your nails into your palms and wait for her to save you from this foul beast, but instead she laughs at your distress. Classic.

"It's just a frog."

"So? Get it off!"

"Do it yourself if you want it gone so bad!" She pauses, then cocks her head to the side. "You know, it kinda looks like you."

You make a disgruntled noise, sure that this is an insult. But then you remember that you're supposed to be in love for the cameras, so maybe it's just a really strange compliment. "Oh, does it? What, you love frogs and me because we're both so cute?"

She raises her head enough for you to see her lips twisted into a poorly concealed smirk. Mirth twinkles in her eye, and that's all the warning you get before she bolts upright, taking the backpack with her.

"Hell no – I'm not touching that thing!" she calls over her shoulder, darting into the house.

"Hey!" you cry after her, leaning as far away from the frog as you can get. It stares at you, bulbous jaw twitching as if it has any reason to be nervous right now. "Come back!"

The door shuts behind her, sealing your fate. You stare at the frog intently, hoping that your searing gaze will somehow shoo it away so you don't have to touch it with your bare hands.

The vermin croaks at you once. Blinks. Then leaps forward, launching itself into the bushes beside the house.

It takes a few minutes for you to join her inside. She's still laughing at you by the time you get there, but… it doesn't feel mean-spirited the way you're used to.

You don't quite know what to do with that, and you never will know what to do with that, so it's best to put the thought aside for now. Maybe you'll come back to it later.

…

Maybe you won't.

---

such sweet sorrow

"Hey, you."

Kodo opens his eyes blearily, and it takes several moments for him to comprehend what he's seeing. At first he's stuck staring at a mirror, at his own reflection, and then the world sharpens and he realizes it's not himself he's looking at, it's his sister. Kosa.

"Hey," he slurs, forcing himself upright. Kodo looks outside, trying to gauge what time it is, but the expanse of darkness that looks back at him doesn't answer very many questions. "Are we late…?"

"You don't have any idea what time it is, do you?"

Kodo shakes his head. "Late…?"

She snorts. "You could say that. Scoot over, will you?"

It's barely a question. Kosa's about to sit on his legs by the time Kodo moves them out of the way, casually taking up the other half of the couch like Kodo wasn't perfectly comfortable the way he was. He tries not to be terribly put out by this.

"Did you need something?" Kodo asks warily.

"What, I can't just come visit my little brother?"

"Usually not without a reason."

"Would you believe me if I say I miss you?"

Kodo squints at her. "I don't know…"

She huffs out a laugh, but it's clear she finds no amusement in his words. "Alright. I just… I realized we've never talked. About what happened."

Kodo immediately looks to the entrance of the living room, wondering if he'd be able to run past her and lock himself in his bedroom before this line of conversation can continue. "Uh… right."

"Quit that. I'm not holding you at knifepoint. You can indulge your older sister a little, can't you?"

Grumbling something under his breath that Kosa politely pretends she doesn't hear, Kodo crosses his arms over his chest. "Okay. I'm indulging."

"Oh." Kosa squints at him. "I didn't think it would be that easy."

"Do you want it to be harder?"

"No, I- okay. Whatever. I'll just get into it, then."

That is, in fact, not quite what happens. Kosa looks strangely nervous and out of place, like she's not entirely ready to say whatever is on her mind. She bites her lip and fidgets on the couch like she can't quite get comfortable.

"I'm glad you came back," Kosa finally says. Her eyes are far softer than Kodo is used to seeing from her. "I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't."

"I'm sure you would've been fine."

She tucks her knees into her chest, rests her head against the back of the couch. "Don't be so sure. I've never lived without you before."

"Technically, I'm the one that's never lived without you."

He's trying to keep his tone lighthearted, but Kosa's lips barely even twitch. She kicks at him and rolls her eyes. "Shut up. I'm serious. I started breathing about three minutes before you did, but we've never really been apart. Made together, and I never really thought about it, but I always thought we would… y'know…"

Die together. Kodo swallows hard. "How honest are we being right now?"

"Who are we supposed to be honest with if not each other?"

Kodo doesn't know what to say to that. When he looks at Kosa, it's like looking at himself. He can't tell which one would be worse to tell the truth to.

So instead, he opts for neither. Kodo stares down at his own hands, carefully sliding off his gloves. His right hand – the one that's no longer there – aches as if it never left, as if this prosthetic holds the memory of a blade shredding through his skin, tearing tendon and muscle as payment for-

He shudders. Looks at his own warped reflection, cool and steely. "I'm so jealous of you sometimes that I think it might kill me."

"Oh?"

"It's not fair. We're supposed to be the same, but three minutes gave you everything. It makes me wonder what I've been missing. Would it have mattered if I was first instead? Was this the inevitable outcome?"

"Kodo, that's not-"

"It is!" He squeezes his eyes shut tightly. "I'm only here right now because our father paid to save you, but not me. Because you had a replacement, but I didn't. Because you've always been worth more to him. I was sent off to die, Kosa. We were reaped together, but I'm the only one that's had to deal with the consequences."

"That's not true," she insists. Her lips press together tightly, like she's trying not to cry. "You almost died. I had to watch it happen, and I couldn't do a thing about it."

"That's not the same, and you know it."

"I do! I'm not-" Kosa blinks rapidly and looks to the side. She sucks in a breath, then releases it slowly. That one simple act helps her posture relax, gives her control over herself again. Seething jealousy bites at Kodo's chest once more. "I'm not trying to say it's the same. But I don't- I talk about those three minutes all the time, but that doesn't mean I know how to live without you, Kodo."

He laughs bitterly. "You've never had that issue before."

"It's different. You've always been here. I didn't have to come home and wonder if you'd quietly slipped away while I was off at practice. I didn't have to stay up late watching you sleep, watching your chest rise and fall, just to prove to myself that you were still alive. I can't- you can't tell me I don't care, Kodo. That's never been true."

"I just want someone to look at us and see both of us, not just you," Kodo whispers, his voice tight. "I just want to stop feeling like I'm the expendable one."

"You've never been expendable to me."

"Maybe not you, but our own father, Kosa-"

"He lied to me," Kosa says sharply. A single tear has escaped, and from the looks of her, more are to come. "He told me you had one, too. Someone to take your place. I just… never questioned it. Why would I, you know? We're supposed to be the same, we should've had the same measures-"

A ragged noise tears out of her throat. Kodo watches as his sister – older, by enough minutes to count – breaks down in front of him.

"I feel guilty," Kosa chokes out, a hand buried deep in her hair, like she's on the verge of tearing it out at the root. "I feel like if I'd only asked more questions, maybe I could've figured out he was lying to me, but I didn't care. Not because I didn't care about you, but because I thought it was ridiculous to assume we'd ever be reaped for the Games in the first place. Because all our lives, we were untouchable. Why would this be any different?

"And then I heard my name." Her gaze is hollow, haunted. "And I was so afraid, even though I spent my entire childhood knowing that there was a plan in place just in case that exact scenario happened. And I watched as that- that girl walked up in my place, and it wasn't supposed to matter, right? Because she knew what she was getting into, she had gotten all the money any impoverished fool could ever need.

"And then your name was called. And what are the odds, you know? It's beyond improbable for us both to be reaped, much less in the same year, but we were supposed to be fine. And the silence dragged on and I tried to find Father and he was just standing there. Like he already knew. Like he was perfectly content to get you killed instead of me, to pay some other girl to run off to her death instead of me, and I still don't know what makes me so special that other people should have to die in my place."

Before Kodo can react, Kosa reaches out for one of his hands, and ends up clasping his silver one between her palms. She doesn't appear bothered by the inhuman nature of his new appendage, rather acting as if it's some sort of lifeline between them.

"I'm so sorry," Kosa whispers. "I'm sorry for a lot, and I don't even know where to start, but… but you get it, don't you? We're the same, aren't we? I wasn't in the Arena with you, but I killed that girl just as much as you did. I've been so- so complacent, and…"

She can't finish her thought. Kosa doubles over like she's been hit, and her shoulders shake with the effort of trying to keep her sobs in. It occurs to Kodo that he's never seen his sister cry before, not like this. She's turned on the crocodile tears when she wants someone to take her side in a fight, she's cried prettily during many a performance to inspire sadness in the crowd enraptured by her, and Kodo's seen her devastated over a bad breakup. Nothing compares. Nothing could even come close.

Kodo's always been the younger sibling, always the lesser of the two. He's used to Kosa drying his tears, typically with the tiniest bit of satisfaction that she's the one taking care of him. He's never felt like the rock between them. That's why it takes so long for him to encircle Kosa with his free arm, bringing her into his chest, burying his face in her shoulder.

Things will never be simple between them. Kodo has risen to the highest of achievements any one citizen can reach in Panem, and yet Kosa will always be his older sister, his other half. He can't exist without her, nor can she without him. It's pointless to even try.

"I love you," Kosa whispers, her words barely audible. "I know I've never said it enough."

Who are we supposed to be honest with if not each other?

Kodo's eyes sting with hot, unshed tears. He clings to Kosa like he never learned to let her go. "I love you, too."

The two of them never migrate upstairs. Aana finds them early the next morning, so curled into each other that it's hard to tell which body part belongs to who. They've never looked more like twins, more like two halves of the same whole.

Aana smiles at her children, the ones that are hers in every way that counts. She gently lays a blanket over them, the only bit of protection she can offer. She can only hope that morning finds them kindly.

---

violent delights have violent ends

As the nights grow longer, and the darkness encroaches earlier and earlier in the evenings, Kodo finds himself staying later and later after school.

Obviously, it isn't for no reason. Kodo's doing fine in all of his classes. More than fine, probably. He hasn't been keeping an eye on the specifics. He knows that, at the end of the day, the school is willing to keep up appearances, and if that appearance involves letting their shiny new Victor graduate, then that's what will happen.

Not that Kodo has been slacking off. Not at all. To the shock and surprise of most of his classmates, Kodo still retains some modicum of self-respect.

(Ha. Ha.)

No, Kodo's been spending his time backstage, sorting through costumes and props and equipment. Reading old scripts. Enjoying the darkness and solitude. He's traversed up to the catwalk half a dozen times by now, just to stare down at the theatre below him through the metal grate. Watch people mill around beneath him. Set up the stage lights, fine-tune their intensity, and wonder when he'll be back on that stage again.

It's enough to drive him mad. The theatre is the sort of place Kodo has been falling in love with over and over again his whole life. But it means something different to him now, something he doesn't know how to express. All he can do is take things one day at a time, try to reacquaint himself without falling too far, too fast.

Inevitably, Cartwright has to chase him out the door. Kodo lets it happen, in part because he's afraid Cartwright will ask him about Parcel Day again. Kodo doesn't have any idea what to say about it, not anything that wouldn't make his favorite teacher hopelessly disappointed.

So Kodo grabs his belongings and leaves, heading out into the school hallway with its high, arched ceiling towering above him. He can hear the clamor of other kids scurrying from… somewhere, but Kodo can't pinpoint their location, not with the way their voices echo all around him. It's more than likely a crowd from some sort of sporting event, something where they're all disgustingly sweaty and worth avoiding at all costs.

He should've known. Kodo's luck isn't exactly something worth investing in these days.

Someone slams into his side, jolting Kodo so hard that his shoulder rams into the wall. He hisses, steadying himself with a hand that clanks when it hits brick.

"Hey, watch-"

"-where you're going!"

Kodo pushes himself away from the wall, rubbing his shoulder and wincing. The girl that ran into him is small and sweaty, her brown hair thrown into a haphazard ponytail. Everything around Kodo fizzles out, his whole world shrinking down to a single point. It shouldn't take him this long to realize why.

"Oh," Kodo whispers. There's nothing more to say.

It's the girl. The one from Parcel Day. The one that has to be her sister.

Her face contorts into something that flits rapidly between rage and anguish. "It's you."

Kodo doesn't remember her name. He knows they talked about it, remembers her fond smile when recounting her siblings, but… Kodo keeps drawing a blank.

A younger boy comes running up, clutching no less than three textbooks to his chest. He whips his head back and forth between Kodo and the girl, his eyes wide and petrified, like he can't tell who he should be more afraid of right now.

"I'm surprised you still have the nerve to show your face around here," the girl spits out. Her hands tremble. "But I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Kodo wrinkles his brow. "What does that mean?"

"Are you serious?"

Her brother quivers every time Kodo's curious gaze falls on him. "C'mon, let's just go-"

"No!" the girl insists. She steps closer to Kodo. "No, we can't just let him walk around like he hasn't done anything wrong! No one else will say anything, but I can! I should!"

Tears course down her face, and she swipes at them angrily with the back of her hand. The boy next to her tries to grab her shoulder – to reassure her or hold her back, Kodo will never know – and the girl just wails in response.

"It's not fucking fair!" She's hyperventilating, and Kodo still can't come up with her name. "You don't just get to throw money at us for years and then send my sister to die and- and drive the blade into her throat yourself and come home like n-nothing happened!"

"Bia, please-"

"You don't even care about her," Bia hisses, stepping close enough to jab her finger into Kodo's chest. "You never did. You used her, you used my sister to get yourself home safely, and now you're using her to save your own reputation. Your father dug her grave, and you buried her. She was never anything to you but a pawn, something to be used and discarded like nothing. Like she wasn't even a person."

"I-"

"C'mon, Bia," her brother pleads again. His face is pale and terrified, but his eyes are locked on Kodo. Like… like that's who he's afraid of.

(Surely…?)

Bia's chest heaves, broken sobs spilling out of her throat even as she tries to compose herself long enough to say whatever she's been holding in for months. Kodo is powerless to stop her. He can barely draw breath into his lungs. All he can see in front of him is another one of her, and this time he can't do anything but let her speak her mind.

(He should stop her. Shouldn't he?)

(He should say something. He should take his glove off and show her that he's suffered too, that she may hate him but the longer this goes on the more Kodo hates himself. She may hate him, but Kodo is the one that has to look at himself in the mirror every morning and know that there's nothing he can do to end this.)

(Maybe that's why he can't say anything at all.)

"You don't know her like I do. You might think you know what she would've said to you if you hadn't k- hurt her, so I'll just have to finish for her."

Bia squares her shoulders. Her lower lip trembles. Kodo is entranced by it all. He knows what she's going to say, he wants her to say it. He thinks it might be enough to quell the sickness in his stomach when he looks at his unblemished hand, the one that shoved that knife right into-

"You deserved it," Bia says simply. Her eyes glisten with more unshed tears, with rage and despair alike. "You deserved everything you got and more. I hope you think about her and what you did to her every day of your miserable fucking life and understand that no one here will ever believe you loved her. They know that you're nothing but a liar, one that's too pathetic and despicable to ever own up to what you've done because you can't stand the thought that you might've done something wrong.

"No amount of money could ever fix this for you. That's what you'd like, huh? It would be nice to throw money at us so you don't have to think about your own guilt, but you can't. You have everything you could ever want, but nothing will change how deplorable you are. After everything, you won't even say her fucking name. Go ahead. Prove me wrong."

He- he can't. The word gets lodged in his throat. Kodo could try one of the nicknames he gave her, one of the many that she hated, but he knows that's not what Bia is looking for. She wants the full acknowledgement of her sister and what Kodo did, and he can't- he can't-

"I wish you were- were gone like h-her," Bia chokes out. She raises a hand to her mouth like there's something she's holding back, some sort of weakness that she doesn't want exposed in front of Kodo. "But I'm also- glad you're still here, just s-so you have to think about her for the r-rest of your- your life. And so that you alw-always know- that no matter wha-t, I won't ever fo-forgive you. For any of it."

Kodo reels back like he's been stabbed. The righteous anger in her eyes sears through him, leaves him floundering. His words keep failing him.

Something about this…

He wishes she'd hit him. He thinks that might make him feel better. Kodo can see the way her hands tighten into fists at her sides, and he turns his cheek just enough…

…feels familiar?

…and doesn't feel anything.

"I can't," Bia whispers. "I can't, I- I won't. I just-"

"Bia," the boy says again. Kodo thinks his name may be Scotch. And though he's clearly the younger sibling of the two, right now he appears to be taking on the role of the eldest. "We should go home."

All of Bia's spirit melts away into nothing. She looks so small in the embrace of her brother. It doesn't take a genius to guess that the thought of home stings when you're missing part of what made it a home in the first place.

(He thinks about Kosa, the half of him that he's never lived without. He thinks about her all alone in that house with their father, the months that have passed by without him. The way jealousy still curdles in his chest, ugly and all-consuming, but love forever remains nestled next to it. He can't even imagine…

It's not fair for him to run home, not now. But Kodo can't help where his feet take him next.)

---

stars, hide your fires

Kodo's feet ache by the time he reaches the doorstep. He raps his knuckles against the dark blue door a little harder than he means to; his silver hand hangs limp at his side, and therefore his real knuckles sting from the effort. He spends the agonizing seconds before someone answers the door looking around nervously. Kodo can't even begin to imagine how horrified he would be if someone saw him like this right now. So stupidly fucking vulnerable.

"Oh, Kodo! It's been a while," Mrs. Einkorn says kindly. She stands in the half-open doorway with an apron around her waist and flour dotted on her cheeks. The normalcy of such a sight is enough to render Kodo speechless. "How have you been? Do you want to come in?"

Words fail him, as they seem to more and more these days. Kodo nods.

"Dagan was worried sick about you, you know," the woman says as she leads Kodo into the modest entryway of their house. He's sick with nostalgia for a place he's never been able to call his own. "Always watching the Games. I thought he was going to lock himself in his bedroom and never come out while we were waiting to see if you won or not."

They walk further into the house. There to the left is a hallway that leads to a bathroom and the master bedroom. On the right is a sitting area and a formal dining room. Ahead is the kitchen, as well as a door leading out into the quaint backyard. Kodo knows that if he were to go upstairs, he would find the final two bedrooms – the first being Dagan's, of course – and one last bathroom.

Whatever Mrs. Einkorn is saying goes in one ear and out the other. Kodo has been here enough that he knows how to go through the motions. He nods along whenever it feels right, and makes sure to take his shoes off by the back door. He trails after Mrs. Einkorn like a lost duckling, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island as she continues with… whatever it is that she's making.

While her back is turned, Kodo takes a look around the space. Dagan's house has always been particularly welcoming – not so clean that you feel as if you can't get comfortable without imposing, but not so dirty that it's off-putting. Nothing in the house is white, either. The wooden cabinets above each kitchen counter are a rich chestnut, which, when combined with the dark green walls, make the whole place feel… warm. Inviting. Kodo has half a mind to rest his head on the granite countertop and waste the whole evening in a place like this, where he'll be safe and warm and…

And happy.

(Does he deserve that?)

Kodo sniffs. It hurts to want something so badly. Something he knows he'll never have. A loving family. A house that can also be a home. Dagan.

Ceramic clanks in front of him, and Kodo jumps, nearly falling off his stool. He regards the mug as if it's filled with poison.

"Hot chocolate," Mrs. Einkorn says gently. "It's getting cold outside. You should bring a jacket next time."

Was it cold? Kodo doesn't remember. He just nods his head jerkily and takes a scalding sip of the hot chocolate, his throat burning and his eyes watering in response. He barely lets a second go by before he tries for another.

"Let me-" Mrs. Einkorn interjects, carefully stealing the mug away, "-cool that down for you. Please?"

"Okay," Kodo rasps. He tucks his hands between his legs. It's hard not to feel at least a little scolded.

When Mrs. Einkorn brings the hot chocolate back, it's a little milkier than before. The temperature is perfect. Kodo counts four marshmallows floating across the top. He drains half of it in several consecutive swallows, and then has to wipe foam from his upper lip.

All the while, his friend's mother frowns at him. "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, but I'll ask again… are you okay?"

It's a loaded question. Kodo isn't sure how to answer her. Nothing he'd say would bring her any sense of relief; at best, she would consider him some pitiable creature. At worst, she would think him a monster.

"I don't know," Kodo manages. He's not sure if that's a lie or not.

"Well, I think Dagan's upstairs, if you want me to-"

Kodo half rises from the island, his stomach heavy with regret. "It's okay, maybe I should-"

"Kodo?"

He winces at the sound of his own name. Kodo has seen Dagan on a daily basis since returning to school, but never like… this. Outside of obligations. Everything from Kodo's confession to his Victory lingers between them like an open wound, ugly and raw. It's easier to just avoid looking at it, hoping it'll heal on its own.

Things could never be that easy.

"Hi," Kodo whispers. He shouldn't have come here. "I was just…" Going.

"Mom, is Sirine home?" Dagan asks, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Kodo.

"Not yet."

"Can you keep her down here for a while? We'll be… upstairs."

Mrs. Einkorn looks between the two boys, her brows wrinkling in concern. She doesn't say whatever is on her mind. Kodo can't feel too relieved. "Alright. Just… I'll be down here. If you need anything."

Dagan's smile is tight as he nods at his mother. He then turns to head upstairs, without any sort of gesture that Kodo should follow.

And, yeah, Kodo could leave now. Dagan knows that. But Dagan also knows that Kodo won't. And that's the faith that makes Kodo head up to his friend's bedroom.

When Kodo gets there, Dagan is already laying in the middle of his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Kodo looks around for a different place to sit, but the desk chair currently holds a pile of clothes. He doesn't have much of a choice.

Kodo lays at the end of the bed and rests his hands on his chest. He stares up at Dagan's white ceiling, seeking out the little glow-in-the-dark stars they'd put up there a few years ago. Not all of them remain, but the ones that do make Kodo feel just a bit more at peace.

"Why'd you come here?" Dagan asks, finally breaking the silence.

"I didn't know where else to go," Kodo admits. He's always been a little too honest around Dagan like that.

A hum. "What brought this on?"

Kodo bites his tongue. His cheeks burn. He doesn't know how to tell Dagan what's wrong in a way that won't make his best friend hate him. It's honestly a miracle they've gone this long without Dagan realizing how much better he could do.

I saw her sister. The… you know the one. She hates me. I can't even blame her. And I'm scared to be alone right now, but I'd feel guilty going back to my own home when I ruined theirs.

… you know, I've never really felt like this. Not even when they played the recap for me, when I had to watch myself do those… things. That felt like a different person, someone that wasn't really me. It couldn't be.

But it was. It is. I just don't know… I can't…

Kodo's chest feels tight. "Dagan," he whimpers. "Dagan, I don't think I'm a good person."

The mattress shifts under him, presumably as Dagan sits up. Kodo covers his eyes with his forearm, too overwhelmed with humiliation to look at his friend. He knows it isn't enough, not as pathetic sobs wrench from his throat. He hasn't cried like this since the goodbyes, since his whole world fell out from under him and all he could do was scramble for purchase.

ị̴̢̭͖͎̯̈͑̕͝'̵̧̧͕̙̭͇̀̿̃̊͝l̵͓̠͈͗̈́͜ḻ̴̡͆͛̽̾͜͝ ̸̢͉̰͎̍̈́͜ṉ̶͕̻̿̓͜e̶̢̛̞̹̬̲͎̓́̀̊̋v̷̥̯͐̀͋͜ę̶̭͓̖̿͂̑͐͑̕͜r̷̥̬̻͍̣̣̽̓̿͘ ̴̭̯͔̝̌͘f̴̱͉͔̔ỏ̸̡͖͖͚̝̊͋̓͝ͅr̸͖͕̹͕̚g̴͙̉ì̶̜̰̘̓̑̄̾̅v̷̮͍̘̯͛è̷̡̝͚͖̲̔̍́ ̵̮͊͗y̷̧̯͉͙̆̈́̈́o̷̟̺̙̻̲̮̾̈́̅̇͝ũ̴̧͓̏̾ ̴̙͓̘̦̺͕̍̐̀̄͠f̶͙̀̀ȍ̶̡̭̖͘͘ȓ̴͇͒͆͗̈͝ ̶̧̦̞̐̽͗̃á̵͍̓̾̀̑ņ̸̖͇̯̈́͝ý̷͓̇̅̚̚t̷̝̱̗̻͈́͐̔̅͠h̶̬͍͙͕͉̗͗̎i̸̼̟̒͜͝͝n̷͚͈͕̅͜g̸̺̺͍̝͙͘͜

"What if I'm worse?" Kodo forces out, letting every ugly little thought he's ever had escape into the world, into the quiet of Dagan's bedroom. "What if I'm not just as bad – what if I'm worse? I can't- I spent so much of my life- hating- and now-"

A hand smoothes over his hair, too gently for Kodo to tolerate right now. He presses his forearm against his eyes harder, until he sees stars, and wonders why he did this in front of Dagan of all people.

Maybe because he gets it, a little voice in his head whispers. He knows you better than you want him to.

"Kodo, I'm not your friend because I think you're a good person," Dagan says, not unkindly. Simply. Like it's just a fact. "And don't take that the wrong way. I've been with you too long to give up just like that."

Quietly, almost shyly, Kodo peeks out from under his arm. "Really?"

Dagan raises an eyebrow at him. "Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

"... Yeah."

"Then yeah, really."

Kodo raises up on his elbows, lips pursed into a pout. "You don't- hate me?"

Dagan laughs. "You'd be out of my house by now if I hated you. And yeah, I don't like a lot of the shit you did over the summer, but I… well, I've never been in your place before. I don't know what it was like. I don't know what I would've done. And the fact that you're beating yourself up about this at all… it already makes you better than him, Kodo. It's not about being a good person. It's about finding ways to be a better one."

"Okay," Kodo whispers. "Okay. I just… you promise?"

"Promise what?"

His voice has never been smaller. "Promise you don't hate me?"

A hint of a smile tugs at Dagan's mouth. "I don't hate you, Kodo. Just quit stalling."

Kodo trembles. "I ran into- her sister. After school. She said… a lot of things. I let her. I… she was right."

"You mean Bo-"

"Please don't say her name," Kodo blurts out. "I can't- not like-"

"You can't pretend like she doesn't exist," Dagan says, frowning. "You understand that, right?"

"I know she exists. I think about her all the time. It's like- like she never leaves me alone."

"Then say her name. Her full name, not one of those lame nicknames."

"Dagan, I-"

"Kodo, you have to. You dated her. You kissed her. You proposed to her. You killed her. She wasn't nothing, and acting like she was isn't going to make her go away."

"None of it was real."

"If that's true, then why is this so hard for you?"

"I- I don't know!"

He tries to look away, but Dagan is right there, and Kodo is paralyzed under his gaze. The other boy is close, too close, but he won't move away. "You can't unkill her. You can't erase her. She's always going to be there."

And he's not wrong – she lingers behind Kodo's eyelids every time he closes them, finds her way into his dreams when he lets his guard down, and he sees her siblings everywhere. It's not fair. Shouldn't she leave him alone by now? Can't she understand that he's fucking sorry?

"She tried to kill me, too," Kodo manages. It's the first time he's said such a thing aloud. He saw the blade in her hand after he stabbed her, knows that the only reason he's alive is because he acted first. "It's not- it wasn't just me-"

"Kodo."

He squeezes his eyes shut. "She hated me, too. She punched me after I proposed to her, you know that? And we fought and she twisted her ankle and I don't know how we didn't kill each other sooner. I'd do it again, and I know she'd do it again – sooner, if she knew – and I just… I stabbed her and suddenly all I could think was that I didn't hate her at all. I was just scared. And so was she. But I couldn't take it back, and I can't take any of this back, and who the hell is gonna believe me now, after I spent the whole Games lying? Why shouldn't everyone else hate me, too?"

"Kodo-"

"And maybe I should've hesitated longer, like she did. But I don't know why she would do that – I had already ruined her life just by being in it. She had things to go back to, and I stole that from her. I used her. And- fuck, Dagan. What's wrong with me? What's so messed up in my head that I just let all this happen? How am I supposed to go onstage in a month in front of every District when I can't even-"

He opens his eyes enough to catch a glimpse of Dagan's face, concern written all over it. Kodo thinks he sees pity lingering as well, and it makes him nauseous. "Hey-"

Kodo pushes himself backwards harshly, stronger than he intended, and he ends up landing hard on the floor. His elbow twinges from the impact, but all Kodo can do is laugh as he cries, his hysteria ramping up even further.

Fuck. She'd think it was funny too, wouldn't she? Poor little rich boy, crying over the wealth he practically stumbled into.

He rips off his glove, letting his silver hand glint in the light. "She'd wish she did this," Kodo says through laughter. "She'd be jealous it wasn't her. Maybe I wish it was, too. She deserved to do a lot more than tell me how similar I am to my dad. She doesn't even know the half of it. Fuck. Bourbon."

From there, the laughter dissolves into tears. His hand aches from the attention. Kodo tries to claw at it, tries to rip off the prosthetic to free himself, but then there's a head of blond hair in his way. Kodo struggles valiantly, scratching and writhing with every bit of energy that he has, but Dagan won't let go.

He never has. Kodo still doesn't understand why.

Dagan stays like that until Kodo settles, until the fight leaves him, until the only thing he can do is cry into his friend's shoulder and cling to him like he never wants to let go. Kodo's well aware that he doesn't deserve this – any of this – but that doesn't make him want it any less.

He just never thought he'd get this far. And Kodo hardly knows what to do with himself now that he has.

---

all the world's a stage

The gentle swaying of the train is enough to make Kodo feel nauseous. It's familiar. It's haunting. He's hurtling towards his death all over again, plastered against his seat as if leaving will kill him. To his right, out the window, brown fields turn into grey mountains piled high with white snow. To his left, lounging on a couch without a care in the world, Ariadne has her nose buried in a book.

Kodo has no idea what he's supposed to do during this Victory Tour. He doesn't know most of these children. Doesn't particularly care to find out anything about them. He doesn't understand why he has to suffer through this spectacle. He doesn't know this… this Jasmine whatever, or this Lark something. It's purely a waste of time. Kodo has nothing of interest to say regarding these tributes whose faces he can't even recall.

"Please, sigh a little louder," Ariadne says, turning the page of her book. "I haven't figured out that you're irritated yet."

"I'm not irritated," Kodo snaps back, with perhaps a bit of irritation coloring his tone. "I am… inconvenienced."

The expression on Ariadne's face briefly turns ugly, and she sets her book down. "Alright, then. Please do tell me how you're so inconvenienced by… what? The burden of being alive?"

Kodo feels, stupidly, like a petulant child. He crosses his arms. "No. I just… don't know any of these people. I have no comfort to offer them, and I don't think they'd want any from me, either."

"Perhaps not," Ariadne admits, "but that isn't up to you. It's all part of the role you now play. That's something you can understand, isn't it?"

"You keep saying that," Kodo says. "My 'role.' But I still don't know what that is."

Ariadne hums. "Have you not figured it out yet? Quite inconvenient, considering you're about to show your face to all of Panem yet again."

"Do you have anything helpful to say as my Mentor, or are you just here because you have nowhere else to go?"

Ariadne's lips flatten into a thin line. "Do you have any interest in using your supposed charms to gain allies in the Capitol, or are you content to continually isolate yourself?"

"Well, do you-"

"Listen," Ariadne snaps. "If you need it laid out for you plainly, then here you go: your role is simple. You love and support the Capitol above all else. You are grateful and humbled to be their newest Victor. You acknowledge the bravery and honor of your fellow tributes and their sacrifices that led to your victory. Someone will give you a speech to read. No matter what, you will not deviate. Until you get back home, it is not your place to ask questions. Understand?"

"I-"

"Yes or no, Kodo. Make my life a little easier here, won't you?"

He feels like his teeth are going to crack if he clenches them together any harder. "Yes."

"Good." Ariadne leans back in her seat once more. "You didn't know most of these kids. You should have it pretty easy."

There's something about her tone that makes Kodo bristle. Before he can think twice about it, he blurts out, "What's your problem with me?"

The look Ariadne gives him is wholly unamused. "I'm sorry?"

"You act like you don't even want to be here with me. Like I'm the inconvenience. But I didn't ask for a babysitter, and I certainly didn't ask for you."

"I certainly didn't ask to be shackled to you, either," Ariadne says coolly. "But I'm fulfilling my role. I'm doing what is asked of me. You'll have to understand that sooner or later."

"Understand how? You never tell me anything. How am I supposed to trust what you say?"

Ariadne pinches the bridge of her nose. She looks out the window as the train begins to slow. Kodo wishes he could say he's gotten better at reading her since waking up in the hospital months ago, but she's only gotten more vexing.

"Because you're already in way over your head," she says quietly. "You don't see it yet, but you will. And if you listen to me, you'll be fine. That's the only thing I need you to trust me on right now."

Kodo doesn't like how serious she's become, how he – strangely – does trust that there's something far bigger going on, something that he should stick close to her for. But there are about a million more reasons why he isn't exactly inclined to trust one Ariadne Valade, and half of them are clearly outlined in the way she conducted herself during her Games.

"And if I don't?" he asks.

The corner of her mouth crooks up into a half smile. "Dying isn't the worst fate you can find in Panem. Unless you want to test your luck, I suggest you don't go sniffing around."

---

Twelve, Eleven, Ten. All easy enough. Kodo doesn't even recognize their faces. He has no memory of them from the Games, can rest easy knowing that he had nothing to do with their tragic demises. The people serve him bland food, and Kodo tries not to shrink away from their prying eyes. He knows the question they're all trying not to ask: Are you like us? Or are you like them?

Not for the first time, he thinks about Bourbon. She would've fit in well here. They wouldn't have looked at her like an outsider, a threat. She'd find some way to enjoy herself, genuinely enjoy herself, and the first leg of the Tour would fly by.

It's not that the first few Districts are bad. It's that they're boring. The people look either half-dead or brainwashed, and there's no spark of life in them. Kodo looks out at the families of the tributes that died in the Games, and they just look resigned to their fate, like they never expected their children to make it out alive anyway.

Kodo wants to leave more than anything. He's swiftly growing exhausted of looking into gaunt faces, of seeing sacks of skin and bones light up at the banquet when they're confronted by more food than they've ever seen in their life. It repulses him, but only because Kodo can barely do more than pick at his own plate, and here they are… indulging. Because for once, they can. And Kodo, who has always had access to more money than they can ever fathom, feels like he's chewing sawdust.

It's only partially a relief that they get to skip over Nine. Kodo knows that they'll have to return at the end of the Tour, that he'll have to confront what he's done all over again, but for now they head to Eight. Ariadne's home. Where two of the finalists were from.

One of them could've won just as easily as Kodo did. They probably deserved it more.

When Kodo gives his speech, no one stands for the boy. His sullen expression is accompanied by nothing more than an empty stage. The girl, the one that made it until the very end, has two people representing her. They cling to each other, and one weeps while the other does his best to act brave. They look like perhaps they're related somehow — not necessarily to the tribute, but certainly to each other. And regardless, they clearly cared for her. Kodo supposed that's more of a courtesy than anyone is giving the boy.

His speech flies by, and Kodo is relieved to step behind the curtain once more. He pulls at the collar of his silk shirt, instinctively seeking out Ariadne. She never so much as calls him over — no, she always waits for Kodo to find her. Only then does she lead the way towards their next destination.

Every prior District included a lackluster banquet, and Kodo assumes that's their next stop. He made sure to eat plenty on the train, so he won't be starving until the end of the night when he's safely tucked away once more.

Ariadne barely acknowledges him as he finally finds her, leaning against a table in the farthest corner. She hums along to something, and that's when Kodo realizes she's on the phone. He can't make out any snippets of conversation, and based on the look on Ariadne's face, he doesn't want to.

Several tense moments pass before Ariadne hangs up. She raises a brow at Kodo. "Ready to go?"

"Sure. Another banquet?"

"Not quite," Ariadne says. "We're eating dinner elsewhere tonight."

"We are?" Kodo tries to ask, but she's already out of earshot. He has to jog to catch up with her. "Wait- where?"

Ariadne is frustratingly vague at the best of times, so Kodo shouldn't be so surprised when she doesn't answer him. She just heads into a dark alleyway with the confidence of someone that knows a little too well that nothing bad will happen to them back there.

Eight is a densely packed District, the streets dark and damp. Looming factories spill dark smoke that chokes the sky, and Kodo can taste ash and oil on his tongue. If he was anywhere else, he would expect to see a thunderstorm pop up, but he suspects this is just how things are in Eight.

Kodo isn't sure how long they walk like this, but the buildings begin to thin out, and he finds himself in more of a suburban area. Houses begin to pop up, and Kodo swears he sees people peeking at him through the windows. Each house looks more rundown than the last; Kodo wants nothing more than to get out of there quickly. If Ariadne senses his discomfort, she doesn't let on. Instead, she stops in front of a modest home that at least looks like it's seen some repair within the last decade.

"Where are we?" Kodo asks, the back of his neck prickling.

"I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight," Ariadne says. "But you'll be on your best behavior, won't you?"

He's starting to feel like a scolded child. "... Sure?"

"Great." Ariadne's lips stretch into a smile. "I'm counting on that."

She doesn't even get the chance to knock on the door. A little girl with strawberry blonde hair throws it open and squeals so loudly that the whole neighborhood could hear.

"Ari!" she cheers, throwing herself into Ariadne's arms. "You're finally home!"

"Hey, Meli," Ariadne says, hoisting the kid up on her hip. "You okay if I catch dinner tonight?"

"Dinner!" the girl echoes, then she catches sight of Kodo. Her luminous blue eyes seem to peer right through him. "Who's that?"

"Uh," Kodo says intelligently. He takes a step forward and offers his hand to the child. "I'm Kodo. Nice to meet you?"

The girl stares at him with impossibly huge eyes. Ariadne has to nudge her. "C'mon, it's your turn."

"I'm Melita," she says, then grabs Kodo's hand with her own smaller, clammier one. "You're like my sister."

"Yeah, I guess I am," Kodo says. He looks to Ariadne for help, but she's determined not to meet his gaze. Kodo supposes he can't blame her for that.

"Hey, love," an older woman says from the doorway. "It's good to see you again. Nine treating you okay?"

Ariadne's entire expression softens. She sets Melita down and wraps her mother in a hug so tight it makes Kodo think of Aana. He averts his gaze. If he didn't think he was intruding before, he certainly knows he is now.

"You must be Kodo Hotakim," the older woman says kindly. She has the same green eyes and red hair as her eldest daughter. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard so much."

If that's true, then Kodo wonders how much of a pleasure it really is. He pastes a smile on his face regardless. "The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for… inviting me into your home."

"You two must have many stories to tell," she says. "Come in and share them with us, won't you?"

---

Seven, Six. The largest family Kodo has seen yet stands on the raised platform for Aleksei. That is the first and only speech he falters his way through. Each time his gaze flicks upward, Kodo makes eye contact with a different family member, and all of them look devastated by their loss. Kodo wonders if he could've made it in time, if he could've caught the boy. If he would've tried at all.

They look at him like they already know he wouldn't. Kodo can't disagree.

He can turn that decision over in his mind a million times over and it still wouldn't make a difference. If Kodo tried to help Aleksei up, he would've left himself horribly exposed to that Career's blade. She wouldn't have hesitated. There wasn't a choice, not if Kodo wanted to keep surviving.

And time and time again, didn't he prove that's all he wanted?

Five. Four. Cramped cityscape to balmy beaches and blue skies. Kodo just wants it all to be over. He hates every new outfit they shove him in, the ones that are supposed to reflect the District and all of its dead children. The flowing blue cloak he's wearing now makes him stand out wherever he goes, making it nearly impossible to slip away.

Kodo expected Four to be one of the hardest, if only because he knows full well that the Career had just as much of a chance at standing here as Kodo did. The only reason he's alive is because he outlasted her. There's no telling what minute difference in their broken bodies made Kodo's eke out ahead of hers.

Nothing prepares him for the way the girl's family just stares at him. There's no rage in their eyes, not like Kodo expected. The parents just look so disappointed that it isn't their daughter up on the stage. The mother has her hand on the shoulder of a young boy with wooden posture. His mouth keeps twitching up into a smile, and he's having a hard time keeping from leaning into his mother's touch. Next to him is an older girl, likely a couple years younger than Kodo, who won't look at the stage or her family. Tears glitter on her cheeks, and from the looks of it, she's barely holding herself together.

He has to get out of here. Kodo can't see any more of these people. When he finally makes it backstage, he tears the cloak off and practically begs Ariadne to let him get away for a while.

For once, she's perplexingly distracted. She doesn't even insist on going with him like she always does. Ariadne escorts him to a pier where he can look across the ocean, and then she just… disappears. Kodo is too high-strung to be properly relieved by her absence.

Slumping against the railing, Kodo heaves a sigh. It's been over a week since he left Nine, and he's starting to wonder when he'll ever get to go back. He misses Aana and Kosa and Dagan so badly that his chest aches. He can only hope that they miss him, too.

"Hey," someone calls from a few feet away. Kodo stiffens at the threat of being perceived. "Hey- wait."

He grips the railing so tightly with both hands that his wrist aches where it connects to the prosthetic. Kodo wants to rip it off, fling it into the sea, be done with it forever.

(He can't do that, can he? He's such a fucking coward.)

The girl that appears in his periphery is small, pallid, and leaning heavily to one side. Her hair is just as pale and limp as the rest of her, her eyes a clear blue. All of her weight relies on a cane clenched in her hand, and she looks purely exhausted just from attempting to catch up with Kodo.

She looks familiar somehow. It takes him too long to realize why. Bile creeps into the back of his throat, and Kodo doesn't really want to know the specifics of why she's sought him out. He just wants this godforsaken tour to end so he can go home. He keeps his gaze firmly locked on the horizon, as if that will somehow save him from the fate he ultimately knows he deserves.

"Okay," the girl pants. "Okay. I didn't… okay. I didn't think I'd get this far. I didn't think this through. That's funny, isn't it? That's what- that's what Thess would say."

Kodo visibly flinches at the fond nickname for what he assumes must've been the Career he faced in the finale. The one that was all too pleased to shred him into so many tiny pieces that he would've been unrecognizable to anyone back home.

"Wait- I'm sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm… I'm Euna. I was- I am her sister."

Kodo does a double-take, surveying Euna's significantly more… fragile appearance. It's hard to imagine the Career and Euna being in the same room together, much less being sisters.

"You don't look anything like her," Kodo points out.

Euna smiles, but her expression is strained. "I know. We're not… we don't share any blood. But she'll always be my sister. I- that's not the point."

"Okay." Then what is?

"I know… I saw what she did. All of it. I know you did, too. Whether it was in the finale against you, or watching the recap… it was awful. It frightened me, and I wasn't even there, I didn't have to witness her up close."

"... Right."

"Look, I-" Euna falters, and there's a brief, horrifying moment where Kodo realizes she's about to cry. "I don't have anyone else to go to about this. I'm sorry it has to be you. But I saw the reapings. I know you have a sister of your own-"

"That's not the same thing."

"Then tell me how it's different." Euna trembles in place, holding the railing just as tightly as Kodo is. Wind whips through her hair, threatening to carry her out to sea. The smell of salt stings Kodo's nose and makes him think of the steady flow of tears of the girl next to him. "Tell me how, without coming to any of your own conclusions about me or my sister."

He clenches his jaw. "Just make your point."

Euna nods once, sharply. "The only point I mean to make with that comparison is that you have a sister. You love your sister. You may even hate her at the same time. That's Thess for me. She's a little bit of everything, all at once. And I… at the end, that wasn't her. Not the real her. I know what she looked like, and I know she was awful, but… I'm begging you to believe me."

The ocean below them glitters. A single seagull caws as it flies across the surface of the water, drawing Euna's teary-eyed attention. She watches it until it disappears into the horizon, and her fingers extend like she wants to reach out for it.

"I don't understand what makes this so important to you," Kodo says quietly. "I only knew – really knew – one of those tributes. And your sister…"

Blade slices through flesh, a sickening squelch ringing in his ears, and then a twist of the wrist and he writhes as pain blossoms in his gut. Eyes so dark and cruel that Kodo feels like nothing more than an obstacle standing in her way. Life is a fragile, fickle thing, and despite his determination to hang on as long as he can, this Career is hell-bent on ripping any chance he has away from him.

As gently as she can manage, Euna says, "Technically speaking, you killed her. And I… I don't necessarily forgive you, but I can understand. I'm just asking for you to believe she's more than the villain you can so easily picture her as."

Kodo bites his lip, wraps his arms around himself. He feels very small as he asks, "Why are you asking me to do this?"

"Because I hoped you of all people would understand that perception doesn't have to be everything. The Games are good at turning you into something you're not. That doesn't have to be all you ever are."

He sighs. Thinks back through the speech that he didn't write, the words he didn't feel. He spent the entire time staring at the Career's photo behind her family, her brilliant smile unsettling without any malice behind it.

It would be so much easier if she was just some obstacle to overcome. If Kodo didn't have to acknowledge that he's alive because she slipped away inches before achieving the victory that she'd probably been after her whole life.

If she didn't have a sister, right here, begging for Kodo to see her as something more…

"Thessaly," Kodo says softly. Her name feels strange in his mouth – unnatural, but not unwelcome.

Euna's responding smile brightens her entire face, so radiant that Kodo has to look away. "That's it! That's- that's her. Thess."

"Why do you care?" Kodo asks before he can stop himself. "I got in the final blow. She'd still be here if it wasn't for me."

He shouldn't know the answer. Doesn't need to. Doesn't want to. And yet…

"I…" Euna looks away from him, tears sparkling in her eyes. "It's my fault. All of it. She wouldn't have- none of that would've happened if I had been born right."

Kodo's brows furrow. The girl cries openly now, weeping into her palms. He has no idea what she's saying, or what any of it is implying, but her grief reminds Kodo suddenly of his own sister.

I wasn't in the Arena with you, but I killed that girl just as much as you did.

"I'm sorry," Kodo says hollowly. He isn't sure what exactly he's apologizing for, but he's never meant those two words more.

"I just wish it could be different," Euna whispers, barely audible. "I wish I could've been enough. I love her too much to lose her like this. But then… wouldn't it have been worse if I never met her at all?"

Kodo doesn't know what to say to that. There's no comfort he can offer her. It feels wrong to leave her like this, but it feels just as wrong to stay here and witness what should really be a private moment. The best he can do is turn his gaze towards the endless expanse of ocean and pray that serves as enough of a distraction.

No more than twenty feet from him, a flicker of movement catches Kodo's eye. He can hardly breathe as a dolphin crests the water's surface, sunlight gleaming off its grey flippers. Kodo could swear it waves at him before disappearing below the surface once again.

---

dear brutus

The Capitol is, at first, a welcome reprieve from the Districts and their unified dissatisfaction. Everyone Kodo encounters appears utterly enraptured by him. They titter and bat their eyelashes, as if gaining Kodo's attention is one of the most gratifying things in the world.

This time around, Kodo is the party. A crowd follows him wherever he goes. The raised stage where he proposed to Bourbon lingers just out of eyeshot, a constant reminder of how many lifetimes have passed.

His hand aches. Kodo flexes the mechanical joints, wincing as metal grates against bone. The capitolites don't seem to notice his discomfort, and instead take it as a sign to coo over his silver prosthetic. One even insists on touching it, and while Kodo is glad he can't feel their sweaty hands on his skin, he is petrified by the threat of someone approaching him so casually, inviting themself into his space. He shrinks away not long after that, and manages to hide out on a balcony for a while.

The city shines below him, and Kodo has never felt further away from home. He misses the darkness of nighttime, the solitude of his house. Never before has he missed the simple joy of loneliness, of being out of the public eye.

It can't last forever. As always, Ariadne somehow knows where to find him. She's the only one who passes through those heavy balcony doors, her familiar head of bright red hair instantly giving her away. She at least knows to give him some space, at least for a bit.

"Kodo," she says stiffly, once several minutes of tense silence have passed. "Kodo, there's something I need to tell you about."

"Is it time to leave yet?" he asks, trying not to sound too eager. "I was hoping-"

"I need you to listen to me," Ariadne says sharply. She gravitates over to where he is, her expression so frighteningly sober that Kodo doesn't know what to make of her. "You wanted to win, didn't you? To survive, above all else?"

He wrinkles his nose at her. "What are-"

"Just say yes or no."

"Fine- yes."

"Okay," she says, breathing out steadily. "Okay. You'll do whatever it takes, right?"

"Haven't I already done that?"

Ariadne rubs her temples. "Shit. Shit. You- Kodo, this has all gotten out of hand. I had no way of knowing the extent. But when we get there, you have to say yes. Do you understand me?"

If Kodo didn't know any better, he might think that was a flicker of fear on Ariadne's face. It's gone before he can question it further.

"Of course," Kodo lies through his teeth. "Whatever you say."

---

Before the night is over, Ariadne escorts him down a convoluted series of hallways that make Kodo forget where they even came from. He couldn't escape this building if he tried. They stop outside an office door, and before they get the chance to knock, a voice calls from inside.

"Come in!"

Ariadne tilts her head, a gesture for Kodo to go first. He obliges, stepping into a too-bright office, where an older man sits at a desk opposite two chairs. The rest of the room is shockingly bare, like this capitolite man has never heard of decor. Kodo tries not to wrinkle his nose as he takes a seat.
"Congratulations, Mr. Hotakim," the man says. He offers a smile that somehow reminds Kodo of his own father. "You made quite a name for yourself in that Arena."

"Thank you," Kodo says, his response sounding more like a question. "And you are…?"

"Ah, that's right! My apologies for not starting with that. I'm Maddox Henbane," the man says, his clear blue eyes staring straight into Kodo's soul. "But you can call me President Henbane for now."

Unbidden, Kodo's gaze flicks over to Ariadne. She's staring straight ahead, ignoring all of Kodo's unspoken questions. The sight makes Kodo's spine prickle with needles. There's something going on here, something has been going on, and Kodo wasn't privy to any of it.

"What happened to President Emerson?" Kodo asks, a little too late.

Henbane smiles at him pleasantly. "A tragic accident," he says, with all the nonchalance of a man who might've orchestrated that 'accident' himself. "She will be missed, I assure you. And in her stead, I have taken her burdens upon myself until someone more… suited for the role makes themself known."

"Okay," Kodo says. He keeps looking at Ariadne for help, but she has nothing to give. It's as if she's been drained of every bit of spirit she possessed, a limp and useless puppet for the man before her. "I don't think I understand why I'm here."

"That's quite alright, Mr. Hotakim. This has been quite a year for you, hasn't it? Losing your beloved girlfriend- sorry, fiancée – in the Games was a tragic blow. You have my condolences."

"Thank you," he replies stiffly. "Now-"

"Ah!" Henbane cuts him off, holding up a finger. "I almost forgot. Before we continue, I have something to show you."

Ice slithers down Kodo's spine, settling in the pit of his stomach. He sits up even straighter. "I'm sorry, I don't-"

The monitor in front of Henbane is soon turned to face Kodo. He has no choice but to go completely speechless when he sees what's on the screen: his own face, as well as Bourbon's. Under the tree.

Kodo feels as if he's back there all over again. He lurches out of his chair, hand raised, some sort of plea on his tongue, but-

"Sit down, Mr. Hotakim," Henbane says coolly. Any sort of friendly pretenses are over. "I need you to watch this and tell me what you think."

The camera is more focused on Bourbon than it is Kodo. He wants to turn away from the pain and fear reflected in her eyes, but he can't. Not with Henbane's knowing gaze pinning him in place. Not when this is a side of Bourbon that Kodo hasn't seen in months, something that the general public wasn't privy to. Whatever camera this came from, it didn't get filtered into the official recap of Kodo's Games.

…

Bourbon presses a hand against her abdomen, hissing through her teeth in pain. Kodo managed to help her all the way to the shade of this tree, but he doesn't know what to do anymore. There's nothing that can help. This is the sort of injury that people don't come back from.

The thoughts swarm him again. It would be better. It would be kinder. It would be Kodo's only chance at getting out of here alive. He has to cut her loose, let go of her like she's nothing more than dead weight.

"Bourbon," he manages. Her name feels strange in his mouth, like a promise he's about to break.

She smiles up at him then, prettily. He wonders if he's dreaming, and then one of her hands reaches for him, and he knows it's time. He has to do this.

"Kiss me," she whispers. "Kiss me, Kodo."

It's all a show. It always has been. Kodo is grateful for the reminder that there's nothing between them, that there never has been. The knife is cool in his hand, and Bourbon's mouth is warm on his, and all it takes is one sharp movement-

She gasps, and he tears himself away. Kodo stares at her, horrified. Not by his own actions, not by the fresh blood staining her dress, but… the glittering knife in her hand. The one that wavers, now that she doesn't have the strength to wield it anymore.

Bourbon screams something at him, but her words fall on deaf ears. Kodo doesn't know why he's so surprised – what right does he have? He made the first move, he's the one that won.

Why does that victory suddenly feel so hollow?

…

Kodo stares at the screen wordlessly. Henbane rewinds it, and then plays it again. By the third time, Henbane at least has the decency to pause the video, right on a frame where Kodo can see Bourbon fumbling for her knife before she asks to kiss him.

His chest feels tight. It takes everything in him not to outwardly react.

Henbane appears smug about this. Like he's pleased Kodo doesn't have the strength to speak up first. "I have always been particularly fascinated by the impact perception has on the outcome of the Games, Mr. Hotakim. Wouldn't you agree?"

He forces a smile. "Perception lends itself quite well to the overarching storyline."

"I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me." Henbane folds his hands on the desk. "Was any of your relationship with Miss Jaque real?"

Kodo swallows. He risks a look over at the Bourbon on the screen, the conflicting feelings displayed on her face. It takes every bit of acting talent he possesses to keep his voice level. "I'd never met her before the train."

"Even though your father paid her to volunteer for your sister?"

He flinches – hard. "How did you-?"

"I am going to be quite frank with you here." Henbane sighs heavily and shakes his head. "You were supposed to die in the Games."

"I-"

"Your father has been… an inadequate Head Peacekeeper for quite some time. You and your sister were meant to teach him a lesson. I hope you can understand my frustration regarding this whole… situation. Not only was your father abusing the system he is being paid to protect, he has lost nothing of value. In fact, he's been rewarded. He can claim one of his children is a Victor. Do you see how this puts me in a difficult position?"

"Yes," Kodo whispers. His head is reeling. He feels as though he may be sick.

"Luckily for both of us, I have prepared a solution. You see, I find myself a President with few truly loyal allies. Miss Valade is one of them, and I was thinking you could be another."

He blinks rapidly. "Me?"

Henbane's smile never falters. "Indeed, Mr. Hotakim. Miss Valade acts as my eyes and ears in places I cannot be. She has vouched that you would be well suited for the task ahead of you."

For the first time during their conversation, Ariadne flinches. She makes eye contact with Kodo for one, two seconds, and then turns away.

Coward.

You have to say yes.

"What task?" Kodo asks.

Pleased, the other man nods once. "I cannot give you all the details, but I need someone with your skills to vouch for the Capitol, to make the Districts see that falling in line is their only option. Unrest is close at hand, and I cannot allow our great country to fall victim to such a fate."

Kodo opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He doesn't know what to say. There are a million questions he wants to ask, but he doesn't even know where to begin.

(Ariadne is still no help. She stares resolutely at her fingers, content to avoid Kodo's silent plea for help.)

(A boy pleads for him, his screams lost in the wind. He'll fall if he isn't saved. He'll kill them both if he is. Kodo doesn't even give the boy hope by reaching out. That's far too cruel, even for him.)

"Of course, you wouldn't have any issues with that, right Mr. Hotakim? From my understanding, you have no qualms regarding your ability to do what it takes to prolong your own life." Henbane's eyes are frigid, boring holes into Kodo's skull. "Not to mention… I would hate for the Capitol to know the truth, to know you lied to them to take advantage of their goodwill."

You have to say yes.

Kodo's breath stutters in his chest. He manages a smile anyway, certain that it looks more like a grimace. "There's no need for that. I would be happy to play any role in uniting our nation."

"That's a good boy," Henbane croons. "I knew I could count on you."

---

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

April seventeenth arrives without much fanfare. Turning eighteen doesn't feel like the life-altering event it should be. Kodo expected to wake up and feel rejuvenated, to gain a new lease on life.

Instead, he wakes up to a suffocatingly silent room.

Kodo goes through the usual motions of his morning. He takes the extra time to stare at himself in the mirror, examining his features to see if anything is different. Eighteen means adult. One final year of the reaping bowl for his twin. And now, Kodo just has his whole life ahead of him.

(That… was supposed to be reassuring, once upon a time. Kodo isn't sure when exactly that changed, only that it did. He isn't sure what his future is supposed to look like. He's only just learning how to be relieved that he still has one.)

When Kodo finally heads downstairs, he's jumped by his sister, who slaps a party hat on his head. The sight of her is a shock – not because she's there at all, but because she waited for him. He's so used to sprinting just to catch up with her…

Kodo wrinkles his nose at her, but doesn't have it in him to protest, not when this is a birthday she almost celebrated alone.

"Since you just got down here, does that mean I get my three minutes of being older before you catch up with me?"

"If that'll keep your ego intact for the next year, then sure."

Kosa punches his shoulder, and Kodo pretends like it hurts. "Shut up! I've gotta have some way of keeping up with my Victor brother. You can't blame a girl, can you?"

"I can definitely try. You're wasting your three minutes, by the way. This only happens once a year."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Kosa waves him off. "Just c'mon! Aana just finished the cake."

"Cake?" Kodo perks up, trailing after his twin into the kitchen.

Their step-mother is hunched over a cake, her tongue sticking out of her mouth as she concentrates. Black icing drizzles across the top of her creation in delicate loops, and Kodo is touched by the fact that for once, Aana is making their cake. It may prove to be the worst thing he's ever put in his mouth, but Kodo wants nothing more than to try it.

"Hang on," Aana says, squinting at the top of the cake. "Hang on…"

"She's been working on it all morning," Kosa whispers in his ear. "Wouldn't even let me help! Said she wanted to do it herself."

Kodo's ears burn at the thought. He can't keep the smile off his face. "Wow."

"All done!" Aana says, stepping back. She wipes something off her cheek and leaves a streak of dark icing in its place. "It's nothing like the past few years, but… I hope you guys like it anyway. Happy birthday."

"It's great," Kodo says, and is delighted to realize that he really, genuinely means it. "Thank you."

He surges forward and wraps Aana in a hug, and then pretends he doesn't notice the way her eyes water when he lets go. Kodo gives her a moment by focusing on the cake, which reads Happy birthday, Kodo and Kosa! in careful, decorative writing.

It only takes a few moments for the three of them to get set up at the table. Freshly lit candles burn on the cake, illuminating their smiling faces. If any of them notice that they're one person shorter than every year prior, no one says a word. No one else needs to be here, anyway.

"You can blow out the candles this year," Kosa says. She throws her arms around Kodo's shoulders and smashes the side of her face into his. "C'mon, make a wish."

Kodo closes his eyes. Smiles to himself, and dares to think of a future he's happy to live in. When he blows out the candles, it's the first time he can truly feel glad to be alive.

---

3. Guinevere Solomon, killed by Thessaly Akaste.

i'm okay. i'm… i can do this.

2. Thessaly Akaste, killed by Kodo Hotakim.

don't look so unhappy. it would be my pleasure to fix that for you.

Kodo Hotakim. Victor of the 124th Hunger Games.

---

Kill count:

Thessaly: 6

Kodo: 3

Saccharine: 2

Nolan: 2

Theo: 2

Akira: 2

Svelte: 1

Nerissa: 1

Bourbon: 1

Guinevere: 1

Ibai: 1

Arena: 1

---

hey. i'm putting the stupid ass classic sappy a/n on this chapter instead of the last one. i wanna end this shit cleanly, you know?

thank you to all my submitters: brooke, will, mae, goldie, nell, linds, em, rb, birdie, ty, linds x2, art, silver, lumi, phobie, erik, dyl, brooke x2, logan, firefly, and para. phew that's a lot of you. i really cannot emphasise enough how much i dearly loved this cast of characters, and how truly honored i am to have been able to bring them to life (and death). i'd love to see you all back for the final act if you're up for it.

a special shoutout to erik and rb and birdie for (unwillingly) tolerating my slow ass writing to discover the demise of your kids in particular. guinevere's voice was something i'll never stop raving about. i love the way she saw the world, the way she wanted to show it to other people. exploring her relationships with akira and svelte was nothing short of magical. there's certainly a world out there where she got to go home, reunite with shay and jericho, and bring hope to the people around her all over again. i'll mourn that she never got a chance to do that.

and then my dearest thessaly… oh, how i loved your entire concept. it was so cleverly woven together – your different components were certainly not the most unique concept ever, but the way they came together was. you were quite literally a perfect storm, ready to be unleashed on the games the second everything inevitably came crashing down around you. nothing can last forever for you, can it? there's certainly a world out there where she got to go home, bask in her newfound victordom and become something worthwhile to her parents in a permanent fashion. the only thing better than a daughter is a victor…

biggest thank you of all to logan for my belovedest victor! kodo wormed his ratty little way into my heart a little over a year ago and i never really managed to kick him out of the running as victor. i actually just committed to the bit harder as time went on. I FUCKING LOVE YOU KODO HOTAKIM! MY MOST EMBARRASSING SECRET IS FINALLY READY TO BE SEEN BY THE WORLD! but umm ya… this is my son i love him pls be nice i know he is highkey a deeply shitty person but can we all agree he's a based ass character… pls… for meee…

oh god this just keeps going. thanks to literally anyone who helped beta over the course of this fic! i believe the main ones were goldie, logan, brooke, erik, and linds – sorry if i missed anyone! i promise i appreciate any and all contributions.

okay. okay. okay. let's all take a deep breath together. thank you to anyone and everyone who read this silly (not-so) little fic. i love all of you deeply, and with one last chapter left to go, i'm looking forward to the future (and ending) of my silly little verse with the final installment.

let's make this last one a good one, huh?

~de laney is out