Falling into Love, Falling into Forever

by dyloccupy

But maybe that's the thing about love: you don't have to deserve it. It's just there, waiting for you to finally see it. And in the end, that's the only kind of love that really matters. (—a victor tie-in).

1. Part I

Part I.

---

"I won't apologize for love
the way it looks when I wear it
cheap
ill-fitting
and loose at the throat."
—Keetje Kuipers, from All Its Charms

"I want to bend in a thousand directions like the sun does. Like love does."
—Andrea Gibson, from The Madness Vase

---

Perhaps the most surprising thing about Jasper Morrissey is the way he is simultaneously the easiest and the hardest person to love.

J is from the tenderness of his mother's loving heart and the rough calluses on his father's hands. He is from the salty ocean water and the burning flames of bonfires. He's from long nights and sore muscles, from District Four and nowhere else.

J is from Jiles Brooks, and Paz, and Kaveri, and Cyarah, and Saina, and the way he feels about all of them.

He is from the coast, born and bred. Nobody can take that from him. From them.

Love is a curious thing.

He never thought he deserved love. Not the kind of love people talk about in songs or drunkenly at the bars in Havenside, the kind that feels soft and steady, like the sun setting over the ocean. No, J's love has always been more like a storm—wild, unruly, crashing against everything in its path. It's messy, chaotic, and J always thought it made him unworthy. People can't love something like that. It isn't love, it's a disaster waiting to happen.

J tried, though. But it was like holding onto water, like watching something beautiful slip right through his fingers. He didn't know how to do it—how to be the kind of person someone would want. How to love without making a mess of things. Every time he cared too much, it felt wrong. Like J was taking too much or giving too little. Like he didn't belong.

He didn't know how to love without it being all-consuming, without it pulling him under, without it leaving wreckage in its wake.

But then, in the quiet moments, when J stopped running, when he wasn't trying so hard to fix himself or be something else, he saw something he hadn't before. It was in the way his friends would stay late, just to talk or laugh or sit together in silence. It was in the way they made space for him when he thought he had no one left. They didn't want the perfect love, the kind J thought he was supposed to give. They wanted him—messy, broken, and unsure. They wanted J just as he was.

It hits him, too late to say it out loud, but Jasper feels it deep in his chest: that is love. The way they stood by him, the way they never asked for more than he could give, the way they just...listened. Maybe that was the love he had been searching for all along—the kind that didn't need to be perfect, the kind that didn't need fixing. It was always right there, in front of him.

Real love, he understands now, isn't about being perfect or clean. It's about showing up. About holding someone when they can't stand on their own. About forgiving the mess and being okay with the storm. J's friends, they loved him like that—without asking him to be anything other than himself. Maybe that's the truest love of all.

J wishes he'd known earlier. He wishes he hadn't spent so much time thinking he wasn't worthy of it. But maybe that's the thing about love: you don't have to deserve it. It's just there, waiting for you to finally see it. And in the end, that's the only kind of love that really matters.

Breathing deep, breathing hard, drowning in his own blood, J is happy that he's come to this realization before he closes his eyes and drifts off into the endless abyss of ocean waves, the faces of his friends—his family—circling above him.

I loved you all. I'm sorry.

x

Jiles Brooks Rousseau is an only child, but he has J and that's the closest he'll ever get to a brother. It's the next best thing. Maybe even better, considering you typically can't choose your siblings. And he definitely chose Jasper.

He will continue to choose J, until they're both old and wrinkly and too decrepit to make it out to the docks anymore. He promised.

Even then, when one of them eventually kicks the bucket, he will choose J as his brother. Because on the coast, when you're a Pogie, family actually means something.

And Jasper Morrissey will always be family, no matter how badly Jiles Brooks wants to punch him in the face sometimes. Especially now, after the mess he's gotten himself into. Watching the screen in the night market, waiting for the opening ceremonies to begin, as nets are thrown around and bodies drift past each other like schools of fish, Jiles Brooks can't help but think: Brother, please, make it home.

x

In typical Four fashion, Jiles Brooks first meets J on the beach.

He is ten years old, and he is down by the water again, the sun barely up but already burning his skin. The smell of saltwater and sand sticks to everything, and the sound of the waves crashing is like the world's background noise—always there, but never really in the way.

Jiles Brooks' dad brings him to this spot all the time. It's their little place, just them, where they'd look out at the ocean and imagine all the adventures they could have if they were brave enough to go farther out. His dad—or, 'Big Jiles' as he is better known—always says, "The sea doesn't care about your age, Jiles Brooks. You just have to be ready."

But today, he isn't with his dad. He is alone, left to his own devices while Big Jiles is off picking up a job with one of the trawlers that's always looking for extra hands. Jiles Brooks never minds being alone on the beach; he likes it, actually. The ocean feels like it understands him.

He has no idea today is going to change everything.

Jiles Brooks is building some dumb little sandcastle, trying to make something that will last. He is trying so hard to pack the sand right, but it keeps falling apart. It's frustrating.

Out of nowhere, a loud crash pulls him away from his sad misshapen creation. It sounds like someone has just thrown something into the water. Jiles Brooks looks up, and there is another kid jumping off one of the rock formations further down the shore, arms spread wide like he is about to take flight. He lands, sending a huge splash of water everywhere and causing gulls to flee in all directions. He doesn't even care that the water soaks him completely, shoes and all.

He sees Jiles Brooks staring and gives him a wild, toothy grin. "You think I can jump higher than that?" he asks, voice full of challenge.

Jiles Brooks vaguely remembers him from school, but he can tell right away he isn't like the other kids from the Southern Banks. He looks...different. Or at least, more unkempt. Coasters are by no means clean, especially by Four standards, but this boy seems to have several layers of sand caked on skin. Messy hair, old clothes, a scuffed-up face like he's been in a hundred scraps. He is the kind of kid you notice, even if you don't want to; demanding attention and always causing a ruckus.

Not that Jiles Brooks minds—he'd take another Pogie than a stuck-up inlander who thinks they're too good to ruff it up with the rest of them.

Jiles Brooks shrugs. "Probably not." He doesn't want to admit that he's impressed. The kid is fearless. Uncaring. As much as he tries to convince himself, puffing out his chest and practicing his 'Big Jiles' walk, Jiles Brooks isn't sure he can compare.

"Bet you a dollar I can." He steps closer, like he has something to prove. "Come on, you're just gonna sit there all day building sand stuff?"

He doesn't know why, but Jiles Brooks follows him. Maybe it's the way he acts—like the world is his playground. Maybe it's the fact that, at that moment, he doesn't want to be alone anymore. With his dad away, usually out until the sun dips below the horizon, there's nobody else for Jiles Brooks to stand by; if anybody asks, he can't tell you where his mother is. He hasn't seen her in years, there one day and gone the next, as if she never even existed.

Big Jiles does not like to talk about her. He only says she went for a walk down the river and never came back.

Jiles Brooks follows the boy over to where he is setting up for the next big jump, and he isn't sure if he is about to break his leg or pull off the craziest thing he'd ever seen. He cheers him on anyway. "Don't chicken out, man!" Jiles Brooks yells, even though his heart is in his throat.

The kid doesn't hesitate. He runs, and then he jumps. Higher than Jiles Brooks thought was even possible. For a second, he is just a blur of energy in the air, flying over the water. When he lands, he doesn't just land—he crashes. Sand flies everywhere, and he rolls, laughing as he stands up and shakes himself off like he has done it a hundred times. He looks like one of the mangled mutts that beg for rubbish by the docks.

"Ha! Told you," he calls, wiping sand off his face.

Jiles Brooks can't help it. He laughs too. There's something about this boy, about how reckless and fun and challenging he is, that makes him feel like he can do anything. Like maybe, if he followed him, he could jump too.

This is the moment. They don't even have to say anything, but they both know. The way he looks at Jiles Brooks, like they are in on some big secret now. "Come on," the blonde says, "we're gonna have the best summer ever. Are you with me or not?"

It's the way he says it—like it's already decided, like nothing can stop it—that makes Jiles Brooks say, "Yeah, I'm in."

"I'm Jasper. You can call me J."

"Jiles Brooks."

And that is it. A handshake and a pair of matching grins. Just like that, they are best friends. From that day on, there is no turning back. They make their own rules. The Southern Banks is their playground. And it feels like, no matter what happens, they'll always have each other.

Jiles Brooks has no idea how much their friendship is going to mean, or what kind of trouble they'll get into. But at that moment, he isn't thinking about anything else. He just knows he'll never forget the first time he met J.

x

Jiles Brooks quickly finds out that both their mom's ditched at various vital developmental stages, leaving them to rot in their shantytown with grief-stricken fathers. But once the boys become inseparable, Big Jiles drags them up around the ears with early morning fishing trips and day hikes around the coastline on days off from school or work. He is constantly rolling his eyes at J, but Jiles Brooks knows he is utterly resigned to the boy's consistent presence around the house. J is always joining them at the table or by the beach and Jiles Brooks knows his dad's gaze catches on the smaller boy a lot—hears him talking to his friends about the Morrissey kid.

Jiles Brooks doesn't like the way he speaks about J's dad. Or maybe, he doesn't understand it. Not yet, anyway.

But he will.

Sometimes, he suggests hanging at J's house, but the other boy wrinkles his nose and usually dismisses the idea quickly. "Yours is closer to the inlet, and your dad can cook."

Jiles Brooks knows how people speak about J at school. How the canteen staff keeps a keen eye on the scrawny blonde, having caught him slipping things into his pockets more than once. He always packs extra for his lunch but J never accepts it, always determined to find a quick meal to shove down his gullet before anyone notices.

J stares out of the windows during class, or jerks his leg so his desk shakes, or taps a rhythm into the wood with his pencil. Sometimes his head is on the flat surface, unmoving, asleep until their instructor slams down a book or ruler with little care. Teachers complain about him, snapping for him to, "Sit still! Jasper Morrissey, please pay attention!"

It's fair to say, but their time outside of school is where Jiles Brooks sees J thrive; it's where they don't have to worry about anything other than being free.

x

J is thunderous and the reason behind most of Jiles Brook's injuries over the course of the next few years.

There's the broken arm from constructing the flimsy boogie board. And the black eye from the first scrap they ever got into with some inlanders behind the market. Sometimes J drags him out of bed in the night to go adventuring and they end up sitting at the top of the tower of the abandoned lighthouse, or sitting on the end of a jetty. More often than not, J jumps into the water just to shake his hair out all over Jiles Brooks.

All of his most daring stunts have been set up by J. Whether it's the zipwire they attempt to create, or scaling all the trees in the Southern Banks—even the ones with flimsy branches that catch Jiles Brooks in the face as he follows J up higher and higher.

Time passes in increments. It's like watching the tide shift, endlessly moving from one idea to the next, as predictable and inevitable as the ocean's pull. Every few steps, Jiles Brooks finds himself drawn to a new expedition, a new direction—almost like waves constantly reshaping the shore. It ebbs away, and before he can even realize it, another wave of possibility pulls him forward.

It feels like he's riding a high, the rush of the current, the thrill of the new.

Jiles Brooks can't pinpoint the exact moment he realises that J doesn't always sleep at home. Maybe it's when J comes to school in the same outfit three days in a row and smelling less than fragrant, or when he finally accepts the extra food Jiles Brooks always brings. Possibly, it's when his dad's eyes flit over the blonde and he says, "You need a wash, kid," in a blithe tone, and J stares blankly back, shoulders tense.

J goes home that evening and doesn't come to school for a week. When he comes back he's limping. He tells Jiles Brooks that he slipped down the stairs with an easy sigh, and then gets sent to the principal's office later on for telling a teacher to, "Leave me the fuck alone!"

It's the beginning of many more swear words to come.

x

It's when they're twelve and getting changed for their athletics class that things really fall into place. J is always moving, limbs never still. So when his movements are slow to pull off his tank, it catches Jiles Brooks's eye. As his shirt pulls up his body Jiles Brooks sees the bruises all along his torso. They're all different colours—some deep purple, some yellowing and faded.

"Fall down the stairs?" he asks, tone casual.

J looks at him with the dead gaze he usually reserves for teachers and any adult who tries to assert their authority. "I'm a real lubber."

His best friend is perhaps the opposite of a lubber. He moves so much that he knows the limits of his own limbs. J knows exactly when to snap his board around in the water, knows precisely how to cut through the surf the fastest. He can balance on tree branches for hours without even trying. Jiles Brooks envies how J can jump from land to boat without staggering, moving easily with the movement of the sea.

The boys stare at each other. J gives in first, looking away.

He's learnt some things about handling Jasper Morrissey, so he leaves it alone for a few days before J drags him out of bed at midnight for another walk through town in the opposite direction of the Morrissey household. "You can crash at mine, if it's closer."

J refuses to look at him, but he does follow him home. Jiles Brooks quickly converts the couch into the pull out, throws a blanket on it, and doesn't watch as the blonde stands next to it. He looks caught on a fisherman's line, pulled out of the water and ready to accept his fate.

The next morning, the blanket is folded neatly in one corner and J is sitting on the porch with a bowl of leftover gumbo.

J doesn't talk about the bruises. But the one time Jiles Brooks tries, his best friend storms off and doesn't show back up for a full two days. When he does turn up at his house late at night, his arms are listless by his sides and he stares into the distance. It scares Jiles Brooks. The blood still dripping from J's nostrils makes him look like a stranger.

Jiles Brooks doesn't know what he was expecting when he saw J walk up to his door, but it sure wasn't this. He'd seen him banged up before—he's tough like that—but this? This is different. His lip is split wide open, like he'd taken a punch, and his eyes—hooks and sails, his eyes—they're empty. There is nothing in them. No fire, no spark.

He moves forward, taking the steps one by one, trying to hide the shock in his face. "Dude, what the hell happened to you?" Jiles Brooks asks, even though he knows full well what happened. Maybe not the details, but he knows enough.

J doesn't answer at first—just stares past him into the house like it doesn't matter either way. Jiles Brooks can tell he doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to seem weak, but he's standing there anyway. It's a victory; a small one, but he'll take what he can get.

"Hey, you should come inside." He motions behind him, to where Big Jiles is undoubtedly hovering in the doorway. "You know my dad makes all this food. We could just hang out."

J doesn't move.

He tries again, voice a little softer this time, not wanting to push J too hard, but also not wanting him to slip away. "You should stay over. Like, for real. Stay more often. You're always welcome here. It's better than...whatever's happening at your place, right?"

Again, J shifts his weight but still looks anywhere but Jiles Brooks' eyes. "I'm fine," he mutters, but Jiles Brooks can hear the emptiness in his voice, the way it doesn't match the words.

This is not my brother, he thinks.

Jiles Brooks shakes his head. "No, you're not. You think I can't see it?" he gestures to J's face, blood still fresh, the bruising starting to show. "Come on, man. Don't be stupid. You're welcome here. You can sleep in my bed, I'll take the couch, whatever. You don't even have to talk. Just…just stay. It's different when you're here. It's like nothing else matters."

J looks at him then. It isn't with the usual spark of mischief or the silent understanding between them that has existed since the day they met. It's something dull, something distant, like he can't connect to what is being said. But he still nods, just barely, like he is giving in to something—maybe the idea of a place where he can forget for a little while.

Jiles Brooks steps aside. "Come on. Please. We'll figure it out. But you have to stay."

J slowly walks past him, not really looking at Jiles Brooks or his surroundings, just walking because it's easier than standing in the cold. He wants to say something more, but he doesn't know how to make his best friend believe any of his words.

At the end of the day, Jiles Brooks just doesn't want to see him like this anymore.

So they sit, side by side, not talking much, but knowing it's a start. And that's enough for now.

x

The air smells salty, thick with the brine of the inlet, and the sun dips low, casting long shadows across the porch. He can feel the faint hum of the tide rolling in, just beyond the old wooden rails. Jiles Brooks' fingers feel weird, like they aren't his own, clumsy as holds the cigarette.

His dad is away at sea for the first trip longer than two days, which means it's the perfect opportunity to share his first cigarette with J. The smoke sticks in Jiles Brooks' lungs and he sputters, not used to the nicotine, but J inhales and exhales smoothly, his knee stilling as he takes deep drags.

He takes a long, slow pull, exhaling a cloud of smoke that swirls in the fading sunlight.

"Come on," he says, nudging Jiles Brooks with his shoulder. "It's not gonna bite."

The other boy's usual grin is stretched wide, relaxed and easy.

He takes another drag and smoke burns the back of his throat, and for a second Jiles Brooks thinks he might choke, but he holds it in. The sky is stretching into a mess of pink and orange, the sun starting to drop beneath the trees.

J lets out a laugh. "You're supposed to breathe it in, not just hold it there."

Bodies loosen with each breath, like they could sink into the porch; it's just the two of them watching the view of the inlet that curves away into the sheltered islands. The water looks almost glassy, reflecting the fading light, and Jiles Brooks wonders if his dad has ever seen it like this. Out there, somewhere in the cold of the ocean.

J taps his cigarette against the wooden armchair, the ash falling into the dirt below. "Don't let anyone catch you doing this, though," he says. "Especially not your dad. He'd have your ass for sure."

Jiles Brooks smiles at that, because he knows it's true. There aren't many rules he has to abide by, but Big Jiles has always been a stickler about waiting until he was old enough to partake in grown adult habits. As if he didn't use spliffs to gamble with his friends down at the bar.

He can't stop wondering how different everything might feel once his dad comes back, once the world is right again. Just for tonight, though, it feels like the earth has slowed down, like he can hold onto this moment—on the porch, with J, out here in the quiet—before everything speeds up again.

Jiles Brooks is turning thirteen and his dad is on another job. It seems there's less fish to catch near the shore nowadays, causing crews to go farther and farther out to meet the Capitol mandated quotas.

But at least he has J.

They get high off a joint J's cousin gives him for his birthday, and J rounds up all the stray dogs in the area and tries to race them. Jiles Brooks lies on the couch and watches, calling out encouragement.

"Don't upset the neighbors," he calls out, and J salutes him lazily.

Once he's worn himself out he collapses on the couch next to Jiles Brooks, one arm thrown over the back. He tips his head back and his neck touches J's warm arm. Neither of them move, and the sun sets in a haze of pink and purple over the water.

"Love you, man," Jiles Brooks mumbles quietly, because his mind is fuzzy.

J looks at him sideways. "You're so fucking high."

"Maybe," he concedes. "But it's still true."

J smacks a kiss to his cheek and they grin at each other, smelling of salt and sea and sun.

Jiles Brooks's not surprised when he wakes up and J is asleep on the floor, arms wrapped around a pillow.

He leaves his window ajar most nights, which is a potentially risky venture in the Southern Banks, but after that night when J finally took the first step in accepting help, Jiles Brooks decided he'd always leave it open in case the other boy needed a place to crash. J comes and goes as he pleases, stealing Jiles Brooks' bucket hats and wearing them on salt crisp sun-bleached hair. Jiles Brooks doesn't mind, especially once his dad stays out on the water longer and longer.

x

Some of the other kids at school ask him why he's friends with J. The question floors him, snatches all words from his mind. But all they see is Jiles Brooks talking J down from fights, or getting drawn into them because of him. Sees Jiles Brooks negotiating with yet another shopkeeper, as J stands behind with an apprehensive look in his eyes. All they see is a wild dog on a leash, dragging him every which way.

"He's my best friend," he informs them as though that explains everything.

They don't see the other versions of J—the one who does all the laundry when Big Jiles goes missing a few months after his fourteenth birthday. The one who pushes Jiles Brooks into a chair at the kitchen table and insists he's not moving until he's eaten all of the twice reheated and slightly congealed mush J's scrounged from somewhere. The one who understands the need for Jiles Brooks to go to the Boneyard and drink cheap alcohol until he can't walk without a stagger. It's J who loops his arm around his shoulders with a sigh and drags him all the way home.

It's also J who says, "Maybe you should talk about it," in a hesitant voice, when Jiles Brooks lies in bed and stares at the ceiling because he's much too young to be thinking about paying bills and avoiding being sent to the Community Home. He's not even sure his dad's alive, yet J sticks around, right there to assist with every half-baked plan to find any evidence of Big Jiles' whereabouts.

Jiles Brooks also suspects it's J who contacts his uncle. Uncle Trent swings around every other day, and J seems relieved but wary of the new authority figure. His uncle moves to Bluport after he gets another job, but leaves Jiles Brooks a generous amount of money to get by until he can find some stable footing.

Loyalty means everything to J. When you grow up with extremely little in the Southern Banks, you tend to hold onto intangible concepts. Jiles Brooks never has to worry that he'll be heading into anything without backup.

He sees the looks, the concern written on his neighbors' faces when he makes his way around town. He's the boy without any family—a dead father and a mother that might as well be dead too.

What they don't know is that he isn't alone; family isn't simply about blood, it's about who you can count on. And Jiles Brooks knows he can always count on J.

He just hopes J knows that he can depend on him too.

x

The glow of the holoscreen lights up the room, but Paz Hébert's eyes aren't really on the action. He can barely focus on what's happening—not with Jasper up there, fighting like he's got a death wish. Every time he swings a punch or takes a hit, Paz can feel it like it's happening to him.

It should be happening to him.

The room's too quiet, too tense, and his chest feels tight, like he can't get a full breath.

Paz never thought he'd feel this way. Jasper's always been...well, Jasper. The guy who's reckless, the one who dives in without thinking, without worrying about the consequences. But this? This is real. He's on screen, in the Games, fighting for his life, and Paz's just sitting at home, watching.

It should've been him.

Paz should be the one out there. He should be the one taking the hits, the one getting the glory. It should've been him and Kaveri. He worked so hard for it. Not him. Not the idiot who can't ever stay out of trouble.

There's been a burning rage inside his heart; he's furious at the universe for putting him in this position. Furious that J put him in this position. He made sure Paz would be stuck in Four, powerless, just watching him throw himself into danger for nothing. He's just one more thing Paz can't control, one more thing he can't fix.

He doesn't want to lose him. Fuck, he can't lose him. He's...he's everything.

Gripping the edge of the couch, knuckles tense, Paz wants to scream at Jasper like he did after the reaping, yell at him to stop being so stupid, so rash. But he can't. He's already made his choice. He's already done it—sacrificed himself like some kind of hero. And Paz is just here, watching, wishing he could be the one in his place. But no. It's him. It's always been him.

For the past week, he's felt this ugly mix of anger and fear, twisting together inside his guts. The anger is easy to hold on to—Paz has always had it. He's had to scrape by for any inch of what he wanted his whole life. Training was no different. But Jasper never had to prove anything—he just did whatever he wanted, and people followed. But now, that same arrogance, that same reckless bravery, is making Paz want to scream.

But the fear? That fear is the hardest part to swallow. Paz hates it. He hates feeling helpless. He hates knowing that he could lose him, the idiot who never listens, the idiot he's been trying to protect all these years.

Paz wants to make it stop, make the broadcast rewind so he can pull Jasper out of the screen, tell him they're leaving, that he's not meant to be a martyr. He's meant to be alive. He's meant to be here, with Paz and the rest of the crew, doing stupid shit on the beach and making dumb plans. He wants him here, beside Paz, where he belongs.

But the worst part is, he can't even say any of this. Because no matter how angry Paz is, no matter how hopeless he feels, none of it will change the fact that there's nothing to do but sit with these stupid feelings and watch two of his best friends fight for their lives.

He has to watch his dream be stolen all over again.

Jasper's done nothing but get back up and fight during his time in the arena, and Paz isn't sure if he's relieved or more terrified. Because he knows what that means. It means Jasper's going to keep going. He's going to keep risking it all. And Paz will keep watching, and hoping, and wishing that he makes it out alive. Paz isn't sure he can handle it if he doesn't. Even if Kaveri makes it home, Paz knows nothing will ever be the same.

Jiles Brooks has been running himself ragged ever since two of their own left, trying to gather enough money from the community to send something to the Pogies from the Southern Banks. And Paz has let him. Because he'd rather have his friend feel like he's making a difference over being faced with the cold hard truth: no amount of sponsorship support will save Jasper or Kaveri. If the Capitol wants them dead, then they're already ash scattered on the waves.

It's both a blessing and a curse being the logical one. It means Paz has already accepted the impending hurricane coming their way; at least this time, he's prepared to weather the storm. In the aftermath, the rest of the group will have to lean on somebody. This go around, it's his turn.

Watching. Waiting. Hoping. It's an endless, vicious cycle that will never end.

And yet, despite it all, Paz sends out a prayer to the ocean: Jasper, please. I need you.

x

Jasper and Paz are polar opposites.

Paz has his sights set firmly on the Games, whereas Jasper expresses doubts he will even make it past his next birthday. Truly, Paz is only associated with him because of Jiles Brooks. If he is going to be completely honest, he would've never dared to go near the blonde if not for the other boy.

He's never been one for distractions.

From the moment he turned twelve, Paz knew what he had to do. His father made it clear: this is bigger than himself. This is his shot. Their shot.

Paz has spent every waking hour since that day training, pouring every last ounce of his energy into becoming a victor. He knows the odds are stacked against him. His family isn't wealthy, owners of a simple market stall in the Southern Banks. But that's just fuel. Every hour spent swimming, running, learning strategy, thinking ahead, is an hour Paz gets closer to his goal.

The other kids at the Center? They can laugh and joke around. Act like hooligans. It's why One and Two don't take them as seriously. But Paz doesn't have time for that. They'll fall behind, he'lll rise. Simple.

But then, on the first day of Fourteens, they show up. Two boys—obviously from the south. You can tell by their clothes, their posture. The way they walk like they're too cool for this place, as if it's a massive joke. Why the Center allows anyone off the street to join is a mystery to Paz, but it's just more noise to tune out.

It's not like he's jealous. Paz doesn't have time for jealousy. But after a few weeks, he can't help but notice how…how easily they fall into the rhythm of things without even trying. They're not serious. And that's a mistake. The Games are not a joke. They're not some kind of vacation. They're not something you can just stumble through like a lazy summer day.

But they don't seem to get that. Instead, they laugh, goof around. It's like they're in their own world, living a life far removed from the hunger, the struggle, the training. It grates on Paz's nerves. Even more so than the rich, inland kids that act like they're so much better than everyone despite the low probability of one of them growing big enough balls to actually volunteer. It's not like they have to worry about a scholarship or stipend—they already live in Bluport. The Center is only a hop, skip, and a jump away.

So he buries himself in the physical and mental routines—more pushups, more sparring sessions, more everything. Paz can't let those two pull him away from his path, as much as they remind him of home. He can't. Not now, not ever.

Except…he finds himself watching them.

At first, Paz thinks it's just curiosity. What do they think they're doing? How can they be so carefree when there's so much at stake? But then, slowly, despite himself, he starts to notice them. He notices how they somehow—somehow—manage to get away with skipping drills and still not fall behind. He notices their strange charisma, the way people gravitate toward them. Paz notices the way they make everything seem effortless, almost like they're playing some game he doesn't understand.

And they pack it all up at the end of the day, walking to the train station for a long trek to the backwater islands he knows all too well. Paz wonders every morning if he'll see them again; hopes it's the day that they decide the journey is too much to justify getting batted around by trainees that have more experience.

Yet, when he ends his self-isolation in his assigned room that his scholarship barely pays for and walks down to the mess hall before morning classes begin, two freckled, sunburnt faces greet him.

And that's when it starts—like a crack in a dam.

They don't pull Paz in. Not at first. But somehow, they are there. Their antics, their jokes, their challenges. They have a way of showing up at the edges of his focus, tugging Paz from his concentration just enough to make him lose track of what he's doing.

Paz tells himself he'll ignore it, that he'll stay in his lane and keep pushing forward. And yet…he's suddenly laughing at one of their dumb jokes after an afternoon spent on the mats. It's stupid, he knows it's stupid, but it's there, pulling him in.

Just one laugh, that's all it takes.

And then one of them, J-something he thinks his name is, challenges Paz to a duel. And he doesn't back down. Paz doesn't ever back down. Not after dealing with Roden or any of his shiny friends for the past two years. A shit-stirrer from the Southern Banks is a piece of crabcake compared to that lot. He's the louder one of the two, disrespectful and rude, and after one too many mornings dealing with his disregard for what the Center stands for, Paz finds some semblance of satisfaction in the fact he'll finally be able to beat him into the ground.

Paz knows he's faster, he knows he'll win. But when the spears clash, he feels something unexpected. The thrill of competition, the exhilaration of just swinging for the sake of swinging. He pushes himself, and for the first time in a long while, he remembers what it feels like to…not think so hard. To just do.

He wins, of course. But something's changed. The shorter boy is laughing beside him, his smile contagious. His friend stands above them and offers them both a hand, kindness in his eyes. Even though they're still ridiculous and uncommitted, there's something about them that's pulling Paz out to sea. They're a riptide and it dawns on him later that night staring up at his ceiling that he doesn't mind being pulled into the current.

x

A day later, Paz is sitting with them at lunch, just talking. They don't talk about training, they don't talk about the Games. Instead, they talk about the ocean, about their dreams—or rather, their weirdly carefree versions of them. They talk about the Southern Banks and compare notes on all the best fishing spots and reminisce about the fish stew Paz's mother sells at their stall. And for once, he doesn't feel like he's grinding away alone. There's other kids from remote rivertowns and unheard of coastal enclaves, but they aren't from home.

Paz finds that he's not calculating every move, every meal, every hour when he's with Jiles Brooks or Jasper. For the first time, he feels like he's…human. Maybe even a little bit free.

But there's a problem. The problem is, he can't afford this. Paz doesn't have time for friends, especially them. They are distractions. And he needs to focus. He needs to follow his plan. He needs to get better.

Paz tries to pull back. He tries to remind himself of his scholarship. Without it, he wouldn't be able to stay in Bluport, he'd have to commute which is out of the question. It's either maintain or go back home and help out his parents, who are depending on Paz to pull through.

Winning is bigger than this. His future is on the line. But every time he tries to pull away, they somehow find a way to pull him back. Jasper shows up at his door when he's studying, knocking and laughing. Jiles Brooks challenges him when he's exhausted, just to see if he'll crack. Encourages Paz to explore the city outside of the Center. Pushes him towards spontaneity and recklessness. They're never serious, and yet—somehow—they make Paz serious.

Paz hates it. He really does. He hates that he's falling into this trap. But he can't help it. They make him want to be more than just the logical, studious boy training to survive. They make him want to live a little, too.

Especially Jasper, who isn't half as bad as Paz initially thought, with his obnoxious grin and a heart that is good, though he tries to hide it.

It's madness. He's so close to being ready. But for reasons he can't explain, Paz is now a part of something he never planned on. A trio. And as frustrating as it is, he knows one thing for sure—no matter how hard he tries to resist, they've made themselves part of his world.

And if Paz is honest? It's harder to keep them out than he thought it would be.

x

Jasper is perhaps one of the smartest people Paz knows. Definitely not in the way conventional intelligence is measured. He thinks the kid has read precisely one book in his lifetime, and that's only because Jiles Brooks forced him to.

But his quips are razor sharp. He has the memory of a dolphin, remembering things like how Paz doesn't like pickles on his burgers. Jasper's always reaching for them whenever they manage to bag a free meal from a place outside the Center. He can recall details from recordings he's watched years after, and he's surprisingly sound in their survival classes once the trainers recover from the initial trepidation of Jasper being allowed near inflammable objects.

When he is able to make it back home when the Center gives them time off after their tributes are killed in the Games, his father tries to drag him away from the association.

"That Morrissey boy is good for nothing," he glowers at him. "Just like his daddy."

"He's not like that."

"You're not around here, son. While you're in Bluport, these boys cause a ruckus. I don't know how they have the energy after what they got you doing all day. Especially him. He's a tempest, Paz, and I want you far away from him."

"You don't know him."

"I don't need to."

Paz tucks his board under his arm and makes a dash for Jasper's bike, leaning against the outside deck, right where he left it. His father calls after him, but Paz doesn't want to hear it. Not today. He told Jasper he'd go surfing after months and months of begging—Paz doesn't want to deal with the dramatics if he doesn't follow through.

x

Jasper is cavalier about injuries and wounds. Paz falls off his board, wax failing him, and it hits him over the head. The world goes black and he wakes up on the beach, the blonde crouched over him. Jasper says, "You'll be fine, just don't fall asleep for like an hour," as Paz's head lolls to the side, muscles loose.

Jasper takes him back to Jiles Brooks' house and it's his hand on Paz's knee that stops him from falling asleep before the arbitrary deadline he's decided on. It's Jasper who wakes him up after three hours, just to make sure he's, "Not dead or some shit."

"I definitely think he should get it checked out," Jiles Brooks frets when he returns from wherever he was all day—and if this exchange isn't the epitome of the pair, Paz doesn't know what is.

"Paz, yo, Pazzy—how do you feel?"

His head is still groggy, licks his lips twice before answering. "Fine."

Jasper's triumphant, standing up and brushing sand from his palms. "See? There we fucking go."

Paz slices his thumb on a knife when they return to the Center for the start of Fifteens. Jasper inspects it briefly, then throws him a towel and tells him to stop being such a fucking pussy. It annoys Paz, who has to sit in the infirmary and breathe deeply for a while. The nurse fusses over the wound, shooting Jasper an annoyed look as she unwraps the towel. It's stopped bleeding, but she smooths gauze over it anyway. Jasper watches them from the corner of his eye.

Roden plays dirty and catches Jasper in the ribs with a dulled blade during what's supposed to be an easy sparring session between the age groups. Even Roden's younger sister who just joined training winces when Jasper falls to the ground struggling for breath. The blonde lies on the floor for a good minute before he jumps up, hobbling back over to the benches.

"Piece of shit," he spits, one hand pressed to his side. "Dude, did I bust something? It feels like my spleen just exploded."

Paz rolls his eyes. "Wrong side, Morrissey."

There are a number of bruises littering Jasper's torso when he lifts his shirt, all at various stages of healing. He's referring in particular to one spot, fingers light on the skin, but Paz has a hard time focusing with miles and miles of skin out in the open. The black and blue and yellow that mars tanned skin isn't just from training. Paz pushes his pointer finger into where Jasper is inspecting, and the other boy turns away, breath hissing out. Before he can retaliate, Jiles Brooks sits down with a thud next to Jasper, sweaty and grinning and sporting a bloody lip.

"Don't worry, J," the third member of their shoddy trio says simply. "I gave that snobby fucker a nice ol' shiner just now as a thank you."

Jasper drops his tank top and stretches his arms over his head. He laughs and offers a fist-bump. Paz knows the two are lax about personal safety, so he knows better to recommend that they make their way to the infirmary; their brain damage is already irreversible, Paz thinks.

"Thanks, man. But you know I've had worse," Jasper says lightly after their knuckles glance off each other, easy as breathing.

"I swear you have like nine lives or something."

Jiles Brooks snorts. "J's probably used all of them by now."

"You have a better survival rate than rats," Paz decides, and Jaspers' switched to look at him. His stare is intense and for a moment, Paz is blindsided by the sudden change behind the blonde's eyes.

Time seems to stretch on forever until Jasper's features morph into something recognizable: sharp and full of mirth. "Definitely better looking, though." Jasper arches an eyebrow and begins to flex his biceps, much like the older trainees do in the weight rooms. "And rats are super clever anyway, so thanks for the compliment!"

Paz throws a nearby towel at his head.

x

Paz turns fifteen in September, a month after Four brings home another victor and a new president takes office. The district is required to watch the funeral for Zelgius Eltair the day after Paz celebrates his birthday with Jiles Brooks and Jasper. He tries to hide his hangover from his parents, but judging by the angry glances they shoot his way in the town square, Paz doesn't think he's too successful.

Thessalia Eltair takes office in front of the entire country the next day. She's young, not even thirty, and has a long legacy to live up to—her grandfather brought an end to the Dark Days and her father served close to forty-five years before suffering a heart attack the week prior. Not that Paz thinks anyone is too upset over his death; the man was feared for a reason, even in Four.

He bikes over to Jiles Brooks' house afterwards, assuring his father that he'll finish up the rest of his chores around the stall when he returns.

Jasper pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and lights it, blowing the smoke right into Paz's face as they watch Jiles Brooks drunkenly dance in his yard. The anniversary of his dad's disappearance was a few days ago and Paz isn't surprised that his friend is using any opportunity to drink.

He hasn't been to the Center for the past two weeks—not that the instructors care much. They know it'll never be Jiles Brooks in the Games. He's just another dumb coaster that the more serious trainees can beat up on.

Jasper's free hand briefly rubs a small circle into Paz's back. It's quick and lazy and doesn't mean anything but it doesn't excuse the way his spine tingles for minutes after.

Paz has noticed that Jasper either likes to touch everyone, or no one. He either flings his legs and arms around or over people, curls his hand behind Paz's neck, or on his cheek so his thumb is on his jawline, or he moves away when anyone reaches for him.

Watching Jiles Brooks navigate the nuances of their shared friend with ease and familiarity did something to his stomach, so Paz worked extra hard to learn how to read Jasper. To understand him.

They play slaps after Jiles Brooks eventually crashes out on the hammock, hands held in front of each other. Paz takes immense pleasure in seeing the other boy become more and more frustrated by his inability to slap the backs of his hands. It's the most fun Paz has had in weeks, where he doesn't have to worry about what's next. Maybe he should've, because Jasper tackles him on the deck until he's pushed Paz's face to the worn planks. Jasper smacks a loud kiss to Paz's face, a far cry from the flinch when Paz brushed past him in the doorway earlier.

Eyes lock once more and there's that intensity in Jasper's gaze again. Paz thinks something will be said, wants it desperately, but of course Jiles Brooks uses the silence as a cue to begin violently throwing up.

The tension breaks and Jasper laughs into Paz's shoulder, tickling his nerve endings. He's still braced over Paz, too close in the boundaryless way Jasper is known for, the smell of salt radiating from his skin. Danger. Paz pushes him away with a smile and untangles their limbs.

"You've known him longer, Morrissey. That means you clean him up."

x

Jiles Brooks goes on the most dates out of the three of them, always wearing one of his stupidly patterned shirts. Paz doesn't know what to make of the feeling in his chest whenever he listens to his friend talk about what he did with the latest girl from town. It's not like Paz has the time to date, not with training and schoolwork and helping out his parents whenever he has time to make it back to the Southern Banks. He's not interested in anyone. At least, that's what he tells himself.

Jasper invites him to stay at Jiles Brooks' house whenever he's out on his latest escapade or Paz sneaks him into his room at the Center. Sometimes they do extra training, or watch reruns of the Games and rank them in order of preference. They take Jiles Brooks' skiff out and Jasper teaches Paz how to crab properly. Paz likes it most when they drift through the water and scout out a new island to set up camp for the night.

Out of bits of leather and fishing line, Jasper makes Paz a bracelet and ties it around his wrist before stealing his bucket hat.

They get paired together for a demonstration the Center assigns their class, and Paz writes it, but Jasper presents. He's a bundle of energy, bouncing across the front of the room, arms wide. They get an A, which is Jasper's first ever, and he doesn't stop grinning all day. Paz wants to bottle it and cast it off to sea: Look, here lies the tale of one Jasper Morrissey and how out of everyone, even Jiles Brooks, Paz Hébert was the one to make him smile like that.

It's dangerous and wrong, but like a moth to flame, Paz finds himself drawing closer and closer. He's not sure what it means—there's too much emotion and uncertainty, things Paz has always traversed with a wide berth. It would be too important. Nothing meaningful will ever happen, he will make sure of it, but it's an intoxicating dance—knowing someone might think of him as something more.

He can't afford to give in to temptation, not when diving into the waters of Jasper Morrissey means he would never surface again. Not when Paz knows he could hurt him—will hurt him—once he enters the arena.

Paz isn't built for anything long-lasting. Nobody deserves the pain and indifference he can inflict. He's worked too hard to make it out of where he came from to allow a boy that is tattooed with memories of the Southern Banks to hold him back. They want different things.

Paz knows that Jiles Brooks considers himself the de facto leader of their merry band of misfits. But it's obvious who the soul of the group is—it's Jasper who drags Paz off on some misconceived plot when he can tell Paz is becoming overwhelmed with the stress of finals. It's Jasper who listens to Jiles Brooks' theories about how his dad might have survived the hurricane that wiped out his crew.

It's definitely Jasper who would jump off a cliff for them. Jasper who would dive into the unknown if it meant protecting his friends.

And he does.

x

Kaveri Cevallos sees red.

She can't even look at him right now. Her chest is tight, her hands are shaking, and she's so pissed she could scream. J—of all people—decided he should volunteer. Not Paz. Not anyone else. Him.

She can't wrap her head around it. They were supposed to be a team. Paz was the one who'd been putting the pieces together. Even though things have been strained since she blindsided the Pogies by accepting the Center's volunteer spot, they had a plan going into the Games. He's smart, methodical, the one who should've been first in line for this. But no—J had to step in. Like always. Like he always thinks he's the one who has to save the day. The one who has to be the hero.

In the past, Kavi has found it endearing.

But now, all she wants to do is scream at him. It seems like that's all she's been doing lately—fighting with the people she loves. J especially.

She should've known, Kavi guesses. J always thinks he's invincible, like he's got some kind of death wish. But this? This is different. This is real. This isn't some stupid prank or a harmless joyride. This is life or death. And he just volunteered to put himself in the line of fire. To take Paz's place.

Kavi has shut him out since departing the Justice Building. She hasn't even given him a chance to explain. Not on the ride over to the train station, not waiting for their mentors, and especially not now, as J knocks on her door. She doesn't want to hear it. She can't. The thought of Paz being left behind—of J just marching into something he doesn't even fully understand, with that cocky grin on his face like he's untouchable—makes Kavi's blood boil.

She hates that she's mad. She knows it's hypocritical, considering she was the one that pissed off all her friends recently. After all, Kavi's the one that told them for years that she never wanted to volunteer. She's the one that has made the past few weeks awkward; everyone knew Paz would enter the Games, but the thought of two Pogies volunteering has been tough for the crew to swallow.

And now it's not even the two people everyone expected.

Kavi hates that it's J of all people who's making her feel like this. But she can't help it given their history. Her thoughts are all over the place, running in circles like she's trapped in some kind of nightmare. How the hell is she supposed to trust him now? How is she supposed to count on him to survive this?

She knows she'll have to rely on him, though. If Kavi wants to make it out of the arena, she doesn't have a choice. They both know it. That's the worst part. Kavi can't even storm off like she wants to. Because she needs him. She's always needed him, despite how rocky things have become between them. And no matter how angry she is right now, Kavi knows the next step is to get her act together and focus. They're both going in, and there's no turning back.

But hooks and sails, how can she look at him when he's already taken Paz's chance away? When he's so damn reckless, and she's the one left holding her breath, waiting for him to screw up like he always does?

Maybe her parents were right to warn her against getting involved with the boys.

Kavi doesn't even care what J says. She doesn't want to hear it. But she can't leave him to do this alone either. They were best friends. They were more than that once. And now everything has become so murky and horrible. So Kavi will do what she always does: put aside her own anger and put it all on the line. Because in the end, if she doesn't, Kavi might not have a chance.

But that doesn't mean she's gonna let him off the hook. Not now. Not ever.

The knocking persists but Kavi chooses to sink deeper into the comforter, watching the cliffs and shorelines of Four speed by, all the while thinking one thing: How is she supposed to kill the boy that she loved?

x

J Morrissey has been on her shit list for a good while.

She's known of him since he started causing a bit of a mess in Bluport a few years ago with Jiles Brooks. His reputation precedes him.

He is brash and obnoxious and definitely a dumbass. Every time he walks through her part of the city, he reeks of cigarette smoke, or weed, and is often covered in a fine dusting of sand. The shopkeepers and politicians and community leaders have tried to isolate his shenanigans to the Center, but like an eel, Jasper slips through their hands time and time again.

Kavi even heard from some of the kids at school about how he had one-night stands without a second thought. Bluport is where all the rich inlanders reside, away from the marshes, and bayous, and islands that make up the coastlines. It's no wonder why her classmates both hate and simultaneously want their own shot with J and his equally tempting friend.

Objectively, he seems like a mess.

Subjectively, Kavi is reserving judgement.

x

It's not like she wants to go through training; the whole idea of indoctrinating children from Four to get them ready to kill other children has never sat well in her heart. The district has mandatory after-school programs and athletics classes that everyone goes through, a safety net for anyone reaped, but it's nothing as regimented as the Center.

Though, if Jiles Brooks and J were accepted, then Kavi has her doubts about the institution.

On her sixteenth birthday, after years of fighting her parents tooth and nail, Kavi is finally given an ultimatum: join the Center or be sent away to the Naval barracks in Cape Peligro up north. Becoming a Peacekeeper is the only thing worse in Kavi's mind than training for the Hunger Games.

She goes to the Center between serving at Tide and Table, and the instructors welcome her with open arms. Kavi thinks it's only because they want a discount at her parent's restaurant. It's easy for her to acclimate to training, which both inflates her ego a bit but also makes her question her own morals. She's not exactly friends with the other inlanders that attend the Center, nobody is a stranger, but they're all assholes that have teased her for acting like a Pogie her whole life.

It's only natural she begins to hang out with them.

A few of the trainees outright show their discontent when she cracks the top five female trainees within her first three months. It's mostly the scholarship kids that actually need the money that training at the Center brings, the ones that are serious about volunteering, but they don't need to worry.

Kavi has no intention of raising her hand so that some gaudy Capitol freak that doesn't care about what their fishing quotas do to the environment can escort her to her death.

J snaps his fingers in her face and leans over the counter in the mess hall and talks a mile a minute.

"Kavi! Kaviiii. What are your thoughts on these fuckers downgrading to sardines?" his complaints echo. "Who would even eat these? It's not like they can't afford a better fish. Fuck, they're the worst. I know your parents wouldn't pull this shit!"

Kavi is more friendly with Jiles Brooks and Paz than J. "Then why are you here, J?"

He's waving around the subject of his latest rant in both hands. Kavi would be tearing him a new one if they were alive. Just watching him wave around his lunch makes her feel dizzy. "To keep you company, dearest. It's not like you have many other takers."

Kavi makes an annoyed noise. J grins and bites off one of the fishes' heads, which he immediately regrets based on the bulge of his eyes and the way his face begins to turn green.

J spits into a napkin and scrapes his tongue with a fork. Kavi looks on, openly amused. "You're also invited to come surfboarding with us tonight," the boy says once he deems his palate successfully cleaned.

"Count me in."

Once their last class ends, Kavi rides on the back of J's bike with her board under one arm, clinging onto the boy's shoulders.

The bike is another sign of the blonde's carelessness. It's funny how everyone in Bluport knows to lock their doors and shut their windows when they see it speed by. Though, Kavi knows some of her patrons at the restaurant would happily take the chance to knock J off his bike, to, "Show that coaster trash where he belongs."

Though, if there's one thing J isn't, it's non-confrontational. The boy would pick a fight with a paper bag.

She thinks she knows him, watching him goof around in the water with Paz and Jiles Brooks, hair sticking up at various angles, but she's caught small moments since meeting the three boys. Like how it's more often than not Jiles Brooks who gets himself into compromising situations, whether he's made a move on the wrong inlander girl, or made some casual comment to the wrong deckhand. Sure, J usually throws the first punch—but only because he's rushed to his best friend's side, ready to fight off anything thrown his way.

Or, in her more careful inspections, Kavi watches how J brings Paz out of his shell when they're all together. A question directed his way to loop him into the conversation, or a forceful knock on his door to drag him out of his room during a heavy week of testing. Even knows when Paz's courage is starting to fail, whether to bait him into continuing on with whatever scheme they've led the boy down, or whether to shrug and back off.

There's some semblance of a moral code somewhere. One that only J knows and abides by.

He's definitely unconventional, a strange mythological sea creature that her nana used to tell Kavi stories about. And he's most certainly rough around the edges. But now that she's figured him out, learned how loyal and caring he is, J is vying for the top spot of being her favourite Pogie.

x

Her parents blame the Pogies for everything that starts to go wrong. They're not exactly a great influence, but Kavi defends them anyway.

She's always been too stubborn and independent—Kavi knows her parents wish she'd follow their every order, but they should know by now that she'll choose her own path.

J constantly surprises her—when she joins them on the train over to the Southern Banks one weekend, it's J who bends his head over his lap and works quickly, constantly looking up to Kavi while they laze on Jiles Brooks' skiff, making sure she can't get a look at what he's working on. He gives the finished bracelet to her when they dock outside Jiles Brooks' house and Kavi can't help but grin at the green thread.

When she returns to Bluport, her parents forbid her from seeing the boys outside of training, especially with the news of more and more dissent within Four. In the past year, some of the Peacekeepers that are regulars at the restaurant have mentioned riots in the outer districts, but the idea of them taking place in Four is eye-opening. There's always been an undercurrent of resentment, but the thought of it being displayed so openly makes Kavi pause. Being associated with troublemakers at this time doesn't look good, or so her parents say.

Kavi doesn't listen, of course. She continues to hang out with the boys during training and visits the Southern Banks. But after being caught sneaking out for the seventh time, her parents officially put Kavi on house arrest.

She misses the crew more than she expects. The loss stings like a brush with a jellyfish.

It's when Paz waves when they're on the same stretch of beach outside Bluport, that Kavi has an idea. J sits in the sand, board propped next to him, sprinkling tobacco onto a paper. He looks up towards her, then dismisses her instantly.

Kavi invites Paz to come along to Tide and Table; her parents always liked him best and made it clear they don't mind if she keeps him as a friend. "We miss you," Paz finally admits after taking a sip of water. Her father fails to be inconspicuous from the serving hatch.

"Not sure J does," the words stick in her throat, and she has to look away from him. "Don't think he'll ever forgive me."

Paz sighs and fiddles with his utensils. "Probably not," he replies honestly. "He's kind of super into loyalty and all that shit."

It's precisely what Kavi expected. "Listen, it's not like I want to stay away. I'm surprised my parents have waited this long to lock me away."

"I know that. But Jiles Brooks and J take everything personally."

Kavi waits, scans over Paz's elegant features. He stands in contrast to the other boys in almost every way; you wouldn't expect them to be friends. Yet, here they are. He ducks his eyes after a beat, lifting his fork to his mouth. She knows he finds her attractive, same with the other boys, has caught the prolonged stares on multiple occasions. It's why they have a "no Pogie-on-Pogie macking" rule. But Kavi also knows he's pragmatic and out of everyone, Paz will appreciate her plan.

Plus, it's not like they have actual feelings for each other.

Paz swallows and looks back up. "Listen, Paz. I know this is a lot to ask, but I have an idea that can get my parents off my back and allow things to go back to normal." He raises his eyebrows in question, but gestures for her to continue.

She gives Paz a free slice of milk cake when her dad's not looking and tells him to keep an eye on the boys for her until they put the plan into action. Paz's lips press together and he looks shifty for a moment, so Kavi waits next to him, because it never takes long for him to break.

"J and Jiles Brooks—they're uh," he pauses, staring at his hands. "Not going to be happy about this."

"It's the only way," she tells him, and Paz sighs and nods.

Kavi returns to training the following week, and when everyone loiters around the main gymnasium before classes begin, she finds Paz and plants a kiss on his lips.

Their fingers remain tangled all day, and when they have to separate for drills or class, they make sure to exchange what's supposed to be romantic glances. She can tell everyone is confused, considering they've been distant as of late.

J and Jiles Brooks watch on with concern in their eyes.

She's woken up the next day by something rattling persistently against her window. At first, she thinks it's the rain. But then the sound becomes more annoying and she knows that can only mean one thing. When she yanks the curtains open and pulls up the window, she almost falls out as she sees a familiar mop of blonde hair curling from underneath a likely stolen hat.

J says, "Get your ass down here," and she's tempted to snap at him to shut the fuck up, but her heart's already beating double time and she's taking the stairs two at a time, grabbing an umbrella on the way.

J's on the front step, looking as casual as can be. "I'm really glad I got the right fucking window—figured your parents wouldn't have plants."

She can't quite get over his existence, in front of her, wearing a shirt she thinks is Jiles Brooks', his classic black boots, and board shorts. "You could have waited until we got to the Center," she tells him because there's not much else she can think of to say.

"With Roden and his goons hanging around? No way," he explains breezily.

"So…is there an emergency, or…?"

J tips his head to look at the dark, overcast sky. It's disconcerting to go from being dismissed at every turn for the past few weeks to having him on her porch. "What the hell are you doing with Paz?"

Kavi has come up with a hundred explanations but having J stand in front of her, his gaze fierce and earnest, they all taste like brine.

"We've been hanging out recently. I think the distance made me realize that I liked him more than a friend."

"Bullshit," J argues. "You really expect me to believe you just randomly woke up one day and had an epiphany that you wanted to slobber all over him?"

"J, I don't expect you to have the emotional capacity to understand, but I do really like Paz. He's a great guy."

J crosses his arms and clenches his jaw. "He is. And that's why I want to make sure you aren't fucking with him. Especially after ditching us! You know he doesn't deserve that crap."

Kavi tilts her head then, gaze moving from his face to the sky above his shoulder, and sighs. She knew J would give her push back, Paz warned her, but to be on the other end of his ferocity is something else. It makes Kavi feel guilty ten times more. It makes her truly realize how deep J's friendship runs. He and Jiles Brooks don't need to be lied to, but it's what's best so that her parents will leave them all alone. It's what will convince them. "He doesn't. So it's good that I do like him. And not that it's any of your business, but we've talked about what might happen if we start to lose feelings for one another. We'd be cool. Go back to being friends."

There's a silence, and Kavi thinks that J will storm off and gladly ignore her forever. She's not sure how that makes her feel. Everything has been so confusing lately.

"And what about us?" he prompts. "You're going to keep ignoring Jiles Brooks and I?"

"Well, it's not like you make it easy for anyone to miss you. Not only are you both loud, but you smell too." A smile cuts through J's face and he swings her into a hug. She grins into his neck. "Besides, being a good girlfriend means that I'll have to hang out with Paz's friends. Nothing my parents can do about that."

The rain falls, bringing a chill in the air. But all Kavi feels is warmth.

x

Kaveri's interview goes off without a hitch. She looks gorgeous and the crowd clearly has fallen in love with her—it's hard not to. Saina Cresswell has seen it happen up close and personal.

And then J takes the stage and everyone in the room holds their breath. Paz paces behind the couch. Jiles Brooks begins to bite at his nail beds. Cyarah begins to roll a joint. Myrcella comes out guns blazing, asking about the dramatics at the reaping. J makes a joke about wanting to steal the spotlight, the crowd laughs, and then they're off to the races.

Why did you volunteer? Who was that boy you elbowed in the gut? Rumor has it that you have caused quite the ruckus in District Four. Oh, and a little birdie told me that you and Kaveri have tension! Is there any merit to that? How will that impact your strategy in the arena? Are you prepared to kill her, if it comes to it?

J does better than Saina's wildest expectations. It's clear his mentor has done everything in their power to wrangle him into understanding the importance of playing nice. On screen, he's the laid-back, surfer from the coast that has a devil-may-care attitude. J grins, he laughs, he even winks at the camera at some point. Of course he throws in a few quick witty retorts filled with expletives here and there, because he's J Morrissey after all, and who is J without dropping an f-bomb on national television?

And right when it seems the coast is clear, that their boy has slayed the beast that is Myrcella Vardell, she asks one final question: Jasper, you have been quite the surprise tonight! Before we bid you a farewell, I have one final question. Reports say your mother hasn't been seen in the Southern Banks since you were a boy and that your father is less than…fatherly. If your parents are out of the picture, then who do you have waiting for you back home?

J's loose smile tightens instantly, and there's a familiar look behind his eyes that only appears whenever he's about to curse someone out or throw a fist. Paz swears behind Saina and Jiles Brooks leans forward, fingers squeezing her own. They all can tell the question hits J like a punch to the gut. On the holoscreen, anger rises like a storm waiting to break.

"Don't let them get to you, J," Jiles Brooks begs. "Just keep your cool."

J takes another breath and speaks, his voice low but steady, through gritted teeth. "My parents?" Saina can tell he's forcing out each word, as if there's acid in his mouth. "They're nowhere to be found. Don't need them. Blood doesn't determine family, alright?" J pauses again, finding the camera. His eyes are cyclones. "Family's the ones who stick around. The ones who don't leave when things get tough."

Saina lets the words sink in for a second, letting the truth settle in the air. She stares at the screen, though the past two years circle in her mind. J's right—her own family abandoned her the second she chose Jiles Brooks and the Pogies over them. For so long, Saina believed that family meant sticking by the people who treated you like a puppet. The people sitting with her, cramped together and watching their friends try to win sponsors, showed her the truth.

J helped pull pack the wool from her eyes.

"My family?" J continues, the words coming more naturally now. "The Pogies. They're the ones I fight for. They've got my back. I've got theirs. I'll do anything for them. And I know they'd do the same for me."

Saina feels her chest tighten, but it's not just worry and anger anymore. It's something else, something deep and protective. "I don't care what happens out here. I swear, one of us is making it back to them. Either me or Kaveri—we'll get back to the crew. And when we do, we'll make sure everyone is safe too."

J's words hang in the air. He doesn't make promises lightly. Saina learned that fact very quickly after becoming involved with Jiles Brooks. He means it.

Applause sounds through the speakers and the interviewer moves to raise J's hand in the air, looking impressed. J is escorted off the stage and the screen shifts to a view of a panel of commentators gushing over his performance before the next tribute is ready to be called for their turn.

Jiles Brooks cries into her shirt. Paz all but runs out the door and Cyarah gets up to go after him. In her head, so her boyfriend won't hear, Saina pleads with the image of J flashing a shark tooth smile on screen: Try not to do anything else stupid.

x

Saina's seen them all before. The Pogies. Always in the back of training, or sitting by the bay, or hanging around the outskirts of town like they don't care about anything or anyone.

They're nothing but trouble—at least, that's what her father says. He calls them trash, the kind of people who drag you down. And Roden...well, Roden says the same thing. "Stay away from them. They're beneath us. They don't belong in the same world as the Cresswells."

He makes sure to take every opportunity to make his opinion of them clear. Saina isn't a fan of his aggressive methods, but he won't listen to her; no one ever does.

But tonight, she finds herself at a kegger on one of the islands hidden away by the coast, surrounded by the usual group from the Center. Music is blaring, everyone is drinking, skiffs bob in the waves. And then Saina sees him. Jiles Brooks.

He's standing by the campfire with his usual crowd, looking as out of place as he ever does at a party like this. The other Pogies are hanging back—Kaveri and Paz cuddling by the fire, while J sips on some whiskey in the sand nearby—but there's something about Jiles Brooks that makes him different. Saina can feel her gaze lingering on him, even though she knows she shouldn't. She's heard all the rumors. He's the one with all the stories, all the conquests. Her friends talk about him like he's some kind of myth, the boy who doesn't follow the rules, who makes the girls swoon. And Saina can't help but feel like she's being pulled into that orbit.

Saina tries not to stare, but she can't help it. He's got that scruffy, careless charm, the kind that makes you wonder if he even knows how good looking he is. His messy hair, the slight tan from all that time spent on the water, the easy grin that always seems to be there, like he knows something you don't.

She doesn't know what makes her do it, but she finds herself walking closer to the fire, drawn to the boy in a way that she can't explain. It's stupid, Saina knows. She can almost hear her father's voice in her head, his warning about people like him. And Roden...well, he would lose it if he saw her talking to Jiles Brooks. But something about tonight feels different. Like maybe it's the one chance to do something for herself, something outside of their rules, their judgments.

"Didn't think you'd be here," Jiles Brooks' voice cuts through the noise, and before she can stop herself, Saina looks up at him.

He's smiling, that cocky yet easy grin of his, but there's something disarming in it. Like he's not just the bad boy everyone says he is. Maybe there's more. Maybe he's just...him. Her mother always says she's too trusting. Too naive. Saina pushes her voice underwater.

"Yeah, well," Saina says, trying to play it cool, even though her heart suddenly beats a little faster. "Didn't think you'd be here either."

He laughs, the sound low and warm. "Guess we both got good taste then."

Saina rolls her eyes, but there's a spark of something there. It's not just his looks or the way he talks—there's something about him that makes it hard to walk away. Something that makes her want to stay.

"So, what's the deal with you and your crew?" she asks, trying to keep her tone light, like she's just asking casual questions. But deep down, Saina can feel that pull again, that curiosity that wants to know everything about him. The things people say about him and his friends are less than shining. But standing here, looking into his eyes, Saina can tell it's not what it seems. Not entirely.

Jiles Brooks shrugs. "We just do our thing. Don't bother anyone unless they bother us. Simple as that."

A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. There's a raw honesty to him, something that feels real in a world where Saina is constantly expected to be something she's not. Something proper, something that fits into the world her father built for them. But with Jiles Brooks, everything feels...untamed. Like there's room to breathe, to be free, to escape for a second.

"Sounds easy enough," she says, feeling a little bold now, like the heat of the fire is creeping into her veins. "You don't care about what people think, do you?"

He smirks, leaning in a little closer. "Not really. I mean, if I did, I'd be living a pretty miserable life. I like my life the way it is. And, well...if I cared about what people thought, I wouldn't be talking to you right now."

That gets her. Saina laughs, even though she knows that she should pull back. This is stupid, a voice screams. Don't get involved with him. He's a Pog—

But before she can finish that thought, he's already talking again, leaning in a little closer. "You're not like them, are you?"

His words freeze her in place despite the summer humidity. Saina doesn't know what he means, but there's something in the way he says it that makes her feel like he's seeing her in a way no one ever does. Not her family. Not even her friends.

And just like that, Saina knows. This is the start of something she might regret. But there's a part of Saina that doesn't care. Because for the first time in a long time, she feels like she might be doing something for herself. Something real.

Saina doesn't pull away. She just lets the moment linger, feeling the heat from the fire and the weight of everything she's been told to avoid. Jiles Brooks' smiling again, like he knows exactly what's going through her head. And Saina hates to admit it, but she thinks he's right.

Maybe, just maybe, she's going to regret this. But she also knows that right now, at this moment, Saina doesn't care.

x

The next few months pass in a blur.

Her father becomes more and more agitated, since his businesses are beginning to feel the brunt of the recent demands of the Capitol in the wake of strikes out in Ten and Eleven. Fish seems to be on the menu now that other meats and vegetables are harder to come by. She still isn't one hundred percent sure what he does exactly, but Saina believes it has to do with shipping.

Saina doesn't mind though. It gives her more time to spend with Jiles Brooks without worrying about her father finding out.

They spend more time together. Just talking, laughing, sometimes walking along the riverfront. At first, it feels thoughtless—dangerous even—but there is something about him. Something she can't ignore. He makes Saina feel like she can be herself, not the perfect daughter or the rich girl everyone expects her to be. Jiles Brooks makes her feel alive in a way that she hasn't in a long time.

Soon, it isn't just Jiles Brooks. Even though she's a year younger, Saina finds herself spending more time with his friends, especially at the Center. Kaveri, the girl who seems to have an answer for everything and is surprisingly down to earth. Paz, her boyfriend who is smart, intense, and the kind of person who knows how to speak the truth without saying too much. And J...J is a whole different story.

His energy is wild, unpredictable, and it's like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet he always acts like he doesn't care about anything. He makes her laugh, makes Saina question everything she's ever known. But there is something about him that makes her wary—something deep underneath that is raw and maybe even a little broken.

She knows Jiles Brooks considers him a brother. In time, she thinks she might too.

The more she spends time with them, the more she realizes she is falling for Jiles Brooks. It isn't just the way he makes Saina feel when he is near, but the way he sees the world. His dreams, his desire to get out of the Southern Banks, to make something better of himself, to find his father—it's intoxicating. He believes in the impossible, in the things Saina isn't allowed to believe in.

Everything comes crashing down after she gets back from a celebration for the Pogies making it to Seventeens.

It's a quiet night. But when she gets home, Roden is waiting for her. His face is hard, tight with anger, and Saina knows immediately what he is going to say. He grabs her arm, pulling her aside before Saina can even get into the house.

"I know what you've been doing," he spits with disgust, his voice low and threatening. "I know you've been hanging out with them. Him."

Saina doesn't have to ask who he means. The venom in his words is enough. Jiles Brooks.

"Roden, I—"

"You need to stop," he cuts Saina off. "They're nothing but trouble. And Jiles Brooks? He's just like his dead father. You're going to get yourself hurt if you keep this up."

Saina shakes her head, trying to stay calm. "You don't understand. Jiles Brooks is—he's different. He's not like you think."

Roden's eyes darken, and he steps closer, his grip tightening on her wrist. "You don't get it. I'm trying to protect you. You're better than them. You always have been. And with everything going on now, it's not good to be associated with rebels."

"Rebels? Are you joking? You and I both know that's not true," Saina scoffs. "I don't need you to protect me. I'm not a kid, Roden. I can make my own decisions."

His expression twists with rage, his voice rising. "Then you're making a huge mistake. And I won't let you make it."

Saina pulls away from him, but the damage is done. Roden won't back off. The secret she's been keeping—her love with Jiles Brooks—isn't going to stay hidden forever. It's just a matter of time until the rest of her family finds out.

And if standing by the Pogies means risking her relationship with them, risking everything she knows, then so be it.

Saina is starting to realize that sometimes, you have to let go of everything that's been holding you back in order to live the life you're meant to. J told her something like that, right after she visited Jiles Brooks' childhood home for the first time. He might put on a facade, but the blonde always knows when to give her the advice she needs to hear. It's stuck with Saina since, especially as she considers her future more. Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something she can't turn away from.

Saina finds that she's more than okay with that.

x

A final cannon sounds. A victory song is sung. And all the Pogies can do is weep, unable to look away from the screen.

Tears stream down Cyarah's face, down the back of her throat, choking down any words that she might want to say. Jiles Brooks sprints out the door. Paz hasn't moved from his spot on the couch. Saina collapses to the floor.

All Cyarah can do is focus on the one word that rattles around her brain: Fuck.

x

Cyarah has never stayed in one place too long. Never had the chance to, really.

Growing up on the coast with no parents, she hopped from crew to crew, always making her way from one town to the next, avoiding being thrown in the Community Home. It's a life she's gotten used to—no roots, just the salt air, the waves, and the promise of a paycheck at the end of the day, no questions asked. Odd jobs at wharfs, boat docks, worker's towns, wherever she can get in where the tides are high.

But something about Bluport—it's different. Bigger. Chaotic. Richer. There's the coastline to the west, and the entrance to the bay to the east. The climate's different too. It feels more lush, with actual forests along the coast, a change from the hotter, more arid landscape in the south. And anything north of the district's capital, like Salt's Neck or Seal Rock, is too cold and rocky and depressing for Cyarah's liking.

For the first time in ages, Cyarah actually feels like maybe she can stick around for a little while. Not that Captain Taras would be happy about that, considering he saved her ass from her last boss man down in Maravista. If anything, Cyarah is happy that they've earned enough cash from their last job to take a break and see what else the city has to offer, even if it is just for a few days.

It's always good to be back on land after months on the water.

Though, she never expected to run into him. J Morrissey.

It's a late afternoon, and the sun is starting to dip low in the sky, casting the beach in golden light. Cyarah is heading toward the port, minding her own business, when she hears the shouting.

"Come on, you little bastards! I swear, if you don't get off me—!"

She raises an eyebrow. Hm. Moving closer, Cyarah sees the source of the expletives. A mess of limbs and wild hair, practically cursing at a bunch of crabs that seems to have decided to claim the boy's spot on the sand. Cyarah can't help but laugh. The whole scene is ridiculous—him flailing around, trying to shoo crabs away from his towel like they are going to listen. But there is something so…magnetic about it; almost like standing on wet sand, watching a huge wave approach, but doing nothing to move out of the way. It's like the boy doesn't care about anything, even if he looks ridiculous.

"Need some help there, buddy?" Cyarah calls out, her voice full of humor.

He halts for a second, staring at her with wide eyes. She swears, it is like he has no idea she'd been standing there the whole time. Typical.

The blonde straightens up, wiping sand off his hands. He isn't embarrassed, though. Seas, if anything, he looks like he is trying to act like he'd been in control the entire time.

"Uh, yeah. Sure, if you want to risk getting pinched by these demons," he says, with a smirk that makes Cyarah roll her eyes but laugh anyway.

"Demons, huh? They look pretty chill to me," she remarks, walking over, before carefully grabbing a crab by its back legs. "You're doing it all wrong. You gotta—"

Before she can finish her sentence, the crab snaps at her. Cyarah yelps, dropping it in surprise. The boy bursts into laughter. "Ha! See? They are demons." He claps his hands like he is impressed. "I knew I wasn't the only one they were gunning for."

Cyarah shakes her head, laughing along with him. "Alright, alright. You got me. Maybe they are a little feisty." After a few more minutes of messing around, the crabs finally scuttle off, and the beach is peaceful again.

"Feisty is my middle name! J is my first, if you were wondering." He picks up his towel and starts to shake it out. "So, what's your deal? You just here for the crabs, or you got more skills than that?"

She looks at him and shrugs. "Cyarah. I've been bouncing around for a while. You know—deckhand gigs, fishing crews, that kind of thing. I was just passing through, but the crabs here…" She motions to the spot where the crabs had been earlier, "...seem a little more trouble than they're worth."

J chuckles. "Yeah, they do that sometimes." He wipes his hands on his shirt, finally calming down. "You need a new crew, though, Cyarah? I'm guessing you're not just here for the crabs. We got a crew. You'd fit right in."

Cyarah raises an eyebrow. "What crew's that?"

"The Pogies," he says, like it is the most natural thing in the world. "You know, the best crew in town. We've got it all—fun, freedom, and a bunch of crazy, wild adventures. Alcohol and weed too, if you're so inclined."

Cyarah laughs, thinking it's just another one of his wild claims, but something about the way he says it makes her pause after a bit. Captain Taras has been the only person that she's grown to trust, but otherwise, she doesn't have much in the way of stability in her life. The idea of a group of people who stick together...that is something she hasn't had in a long time.

A family, of sorts.

She studies J for a moment, trying to decide if he is worth the trouble. He doesn't seem like someone who would steer her wrong, and, hell, he doesn't look like he takes anything too seriously. So she figures, what the hell? Why not? And if it's a pot of shit, then she knows Captain Taras won't skip town without hearing from her.

"Alright, J. Show me what you've got," she says, smirking. "But if the crabs are involved again, I'm out."

"Well, you know what they say." J wiggles his eyebrows, backing up towards the boardwalk. "Stupid things have good outcomes."

And just like that, she's in.

Cyarah isn't sure what she is expecting, but when she meets Jiles Brooks, Paz, Kavi, and Saina later that night, she feels something stir inside her. It isn't just the chemistry or the banter—it's more than that. They feel like the kind of people she can trust. People who, despite their chaos, have each other's backs. It isn't a perfect family, she can tell that right away, but it's a family, and for once, she doesn't feel unwanted.

It feels like she might not have to keep moving.

x

Spring in Four—there's something about it. The weather starts to truly warm up, the salty air feels fresher, and there's a sense of change. It's like the season is slowly waking up, stretching out, ready for whatever the summer is going to bring. And as much as Cyarah's grown to love her district, she still doesn't think she'll ever get used to the heat. But whatever. The sun and salt are in her blood.

She never planned to stay in Bluport for long. But something about the Pogies made her want to stick around. And once she told Captain Taras she was jumping ship, he just patted her on the back and wished her luck. It isn't like Cyarah abandoned the life she knew. Shit, it's still in her. The sea's always in her bones. But the Pogies? They've become her new tide. They've got this messy, loud, chaotic rhythm that somehow works. Even though they're all different, they're together.

It's the first day of April, and everyone else is stuck at the Center trying to get through Eighteens. Cyarah doesn't mind. Training has never been her thing. She never had the time for it; she was too busy trying to survive.

She tried it once, back when she was younger and still trying to make it to school anytime she wasn't on the water, but even the basic afterschool programs felt like a cage—a place where you have to prove your worth through examinations and combat. They couldn't care less about how good Cyarah was with knots or fishing or any of the real skills that make up the life she lived. So, she ditched that nonsense. Now, she's the one working the docks while the others deal with learning how to cut a person one hundred different ways without killing them immediately.

It's peaceful at the docks. The boats creak, the water laps gently against the pylons, and Cyarah can just...breathe. She doesn't have to fake it. She doesn't have to hide what she really wants. Cyarah gets to work, gets her hands dirty, and feels the sweat on her skin as she lifts nets and sorts fish, getting the job done with her own two hands. And it's just her, the sea, and the quiet for most of the day.

That was the plan today—work in peace. But, of course, things never stay that way for long.

Kavi comes down to the port just as Cyarah is finishing up a long stretch of work. She is pacing, her eyes a little wider than usual, and the calm coolness she normally has is gone, replaced by something Cyarah can't quite place.

"Cy!" she calls, waving her down.

Wiping her hands on her pants, Cyarah squints at Kavi as she gets closer. "What's up, Kavi?" she asks, trying to keep it casual. Ever since she met her, it's been hard staying collected around the other girl, considering she finds a swimsuit more comfortable than real clothes. Cyarah can tell something is off. The air is different around her.

Kavi hesitates for a second, biting her lip. "I...I need to talk to you."

Cyarah raises an eyebrow, setting down the rope she had been coiling. Something in Kavi's voice tells her this isn't just casual girl talk. Saina is better suited for that anyways. "Alright, spill it," she says, leaning against the crate behind her, crossing her arms.

Taking a deep breath, Kavi slumps down onto another crate next to her. "I broke up with Paz last night."

It takes Cyarah a second to understand what she is saying. Out of all the Pogies, Paz seems to be the one guy you'd want to stay in a relationship with—especially Kavi, considering he is the only one from the group that her parents allow into Tide and Table.

To be fair, it's not too surprising. Cyarah could see the cracks in the picture as soon as she saw the two interact as a couple. It never really looked like they were that…involved. Paz just never seemed to be Kavi's kind of speed.

Cyarah nods slowly, watching her. "That's...big. How was the breakup?"

Her shoulders relax a little. "No. It was easy. He understood. I didn't feel it anymore. We talked about it when we first got together. And...I didn't want to keep leading him on, you know?" She pauses, like she is still searching for the right words. "But that's not what's bothering me, Cy."

"Okay, then what is it?"

Kavi's eyes flick away for a second, like she is trying to summon the courage to say what is on her mind. She looks back at Cyarah, her voice a little quieter now. "It's J."

She blinks. "J?"

Kavi's hands twitch, like she doesn't know what to do with them. She runs a hand through her hair, looking a little torn. "I...I've been trying to figure it out for a while now. But I think...I think I have feelings for him. J."

Brain struggling to process the words. J. The same J who is always the wild card, the one who never takes anything too seriously, the one who causes trouble, makes messes, and is just...J.

"But you and him...that's a lot," Cyarah says slowly. "I mean, I know you two have been through your stuff—"

"I know, I know," she interrupts, her voice soft but firm. "I don't know how it happened. It's just everything has felt different recently. He's different. And I don't want to mess things up between us, you know?"

Cyarah leans back against the crates, thinking it through. Kavi and J? The idea of it feels so strange, yet...it doesn't not make sense. She lets out a long breath. "You two are complicated, you know that? But hey, if you're sure about it—"

"I don't even know if I'm sure about it," Kavi's voice cracks slightly. "But I couldn't ignore how I felt. Cyarah, I feel horrible. Not just because I broke up with Paz, but—erm, well, because…"

Realization dawns on her. "You went to him last night, didn't you? After talking to Paz. Something happened."

"I'm such a bad person. I know." Kavi drops her head between her knees, long hair hiding her face. A horn sounds nearby, meaning a ship is due to arrive soon. "Especially because I ran away after."

"Hey," Cyarah says, stepping closer to the other girl, "you're not alone in this, Kavi. You've got this crew. And whatever happens with J, it won't change that. We're here for you."

She gives Cyarah a small smile, one that is both grateful and sad at the same time. "Thanks, Cy. I just needed to get it off my chest. I don't want to make things awkward, but I can't hide from it either."

"You're gonna figure it out. Just be honest with him, alright? And with yourself."

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Kavi raises her chin and begins to stand. "I will. Thanks for listening." Cyarah opens her arms and squeezes tight when Kavi accepts the hug immediately.

As the other girl walks away, Cyarah lets her mind drift, playing around with the fingers of her gloves. She is starting to realize just how messy things are going to get with the Pogies. J and Kavi are about to make things a whole lot more complicated. And that's not even considering how the Quarter Quell announcement might impact Paz's chances of making it to the Games. But the thing about complications in Four? They have a way of working themselves out—one way or another.

For now, Cyarah has her job. The sea. And the understanding that no matter what happens, she's in this for the long haul. Even if things get crazy. Especially if they do. And maybe, just maybe, it will all lead to something better. Because in the end, it always does.

x

Cyarah has always lived off the ocean's pulse. Most in Four do; it's a rhythm that runs deep in the bones of its people—a stubborn, quiet resistance to anyone who tries to control them. Even the people in Bluport, though wealthier, are tough, resilient, used to surviving against odds. They don't need much. They don't want much, but damn, they fight for what they have.

And that's what has Cyarah worried now—because the fight is different these days. Something has changed in the past few years. She's seen it, traveling with Captain Taras. Bluport, the center of the district, is no longer immune.

She's been around enough coastal and rivertowns to know that the tension is growing, building up behind the weathered faces of the fishermen, stall owners, and dockhands who barely scrape by. The quotas have been increasing, the government breathing down their necks. More men have been dying out at sea. More families are losing their livelihoods, while the power players up in the Capitol stack their pockets.

Cyarah's heard the grumbles in dive bars since she was a child, heard the quiet muttering about the oppression the coastal people faced, but it was always just that—whispers in the back of the room, voices drowned out by bottles and the hum of the jukebox. No one dared do much about it. Not in Four. Not until now.

Now, you can feel the anger. It's been building, like a wave about to crest.

It starts small—just the occasional protest, one or two fishermen throwing their weight behind their own voices. But soon, it becomes clear that this isn't just some passing moment. People are starting to push back. The men who had long risked their lives at sea are now dying faster, their boats less reliable, their catches fewer. Food is running low. You can't feed a family on scraps forever. And all the while, the government keeps cranking up the quotas. The rich keep getting richer, and the rest of them? They are drowning.

Hostility is everywhere. In the eyes of the men working the docks. In the muttered curses under breath in the market. In the way people now avoid eye contact with the Peacekeepers, like they are afraid they'll see the rage on their faces and start investigating.

Like a wave ready to break, it feels inevitable.

And then it happens.

It's one of those late nights where the rest of the Pogies crash at the small room she rents down by the port, everyone gathered around the fire, just killing time, throwing in their own cracks of jokes and half-hearted banter. Cyarah isn't thinking about anything bigger than the heat of the fire on her skin, the comfort of being surrounded by her chosen family. It's the middle of April, so there's still a chill in the air. But as the crackling of the fire fills the air, the glow of the holoscreen in the shack is ominous.

It's three months before the reaping, which means the Third Quarter Quell announcement is tonight. Cyarah knows Paz is nervous—while she secretly wishes he'll wake up one day and realize there's more to life than entering the Games, she knows he's worked harder than anybody to win the volunteer spot. If the announcement takes that away…

Cyarah knows the Pogies would support him, try to offer comfort, but they've shared enough conversations without Paz to know everyone would be thrilled that their friend wouldn't be leaving them. At the end of the day, it's still a one in twenty-four shot at winning.

Her heart drops the second she sees the headline flash across the screen. Trumpets blare and everyone becomes quiet. The words seem to cut through the noise.

The voice of President Eltair is calm, detached—like this is just another press release, something to be easily brushed off. But for the people out in the districts, it's the final nail in the coffin. It feels like someone has ripped the air right out of the room. The world has already witnessed the horrors of the Hunger Games, year after year, but each Quell brings something new. A new layer of pain. A new way to break their spirit.

"On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels of their willingness to sacrifice everything for their misguided cause that brought destruction to Panem, the male and female tributes will volunteer themselves at each district's reaping."

Applause echoes from the speakers, there's one final shot of the president standing behind a podium in the Capitol, and then the screen turns dark. Cyarah turns to gauge everyone's reactions. Jiles Brooks' face twists in disbelief, Saina rubs a hand up and down her boyfriend's arm but doesn't seem to be too shaken up, and Kavi...Kavi just looks broken for a second, her shoulders sagging with the weight of it all until she takes a deep breath.

Paz leans back into her second-hand chair. And then a tiny smile of relief spreads on his mouth.

To the outer districts, Cyarah knows this must be devastating.

Four must not be the only one that's been bogged down recently. The Capitol has demanded more and more, and if they couldn't keep up, the government had gotten their piece by taking everything. Now, they're tightening their grip.

But this will be like any other year for the district. Much the same for One and Two. It's why the Center exists—why the district leaders set up a fail-safe back in the late Twenties. Paz will be able to volunteer like he planned. Cyarah is happy for her friend, but her stomach still twists at the thought of him running off to kill in cold blood.

She can see it in the eyes of the Pogies sitting around the fire. The same thing she feels: mourning. J is the first to speak. "Well! All that build-up for nothing, I guess. Classic case of blue balls."

Cyarah isn't so sure that nothing is a good word to use to describe the situation. Unlike the rest of the crew, she's explored every part of the district. She's been to enough places, seen enough of this shit to know exactly what this was. This isn't just a random move. This is the government cracking down, trying to squeeze the life out of its citizens, to make sure the power stays where it belongs—in the hands of people who don't even understand how hard it is to survive outside of the Capitol.

Four is lucky. But for places like Eight, and Six, or even Twelve, where kids try to run away from the Justice Building at the reaping, Cyarah can't imagine someone volunteering. In the districts already rioting, they're not going let it happen. Not without a fight.

And she knows, deep down, that things are about to get a whole lot worse.

x

The salty air of the Southern Banks feels good on Cyarah's skin, like it always does, but tonight, it isn't enough to drown out the gnawing tension in her chest. Fuckin' messy Pogies.

Standing outside by the bonfire in Jiles Brook's yard, she tries to feel the usual calm of the flames, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, but it isn't working. The usual rhythm of the Pogies—the laughter, the easy camaraderie—feets off tonight. It has for the past two weeks. Cyarah can feel it in the air. The weight of things unsaid. The quiet undercurrents of frustration and hurt.

Kavi's decision to accept the volunteer spot this year has thrown everyone off.

Ever since Cyarah has known her, Kavi has been adamant about not going into the Games, saying her parents were the only reason why she joined the Center, but now…she's the designated female tribute. They've all been preparing for one Pogie raising their hand tomorrow—two of their own standing on the stage has thrown everyone for a loop. There are too many questions about her change of heart. Too many unspoken things hanging in the air between her and J. Between her and Paz.

Cyarah tries not to let it bother her. She isn't exactly the type to get wrapped up in other people's drama. She's spent enough time dodging drama to know that it never ends well. But with this crew? It's impossible not to get caught up in it.

And that's when she hears it.

At first, it's faint, like a soft buzz in the distance. Cyarah thinks it's just the wind. But no, it isn't the wind. It's a fight.

J's voice, louder than it should be for a late-night conversation, cuts through the quiet. He sounds furious—unhinged even. Cyarah's feet roots in the sand, the firelight flickering at her back. She wants to turn around and pretend she doesn't hear it. Pretend that nothing is happening inside the house. But the sound of J's angry words brings her closer, pulling her toward the door.

Jiles Brooks and Saina are too busy on the other side of the bonfire. Paz went for a swim to clear his head after his own words with Kavi. Saina told her that they've barely talked during training, which isn't a good sign for their odds.

"Are you serious, Kavi?" J spits, his voice harsh, jagged with frustration. "You've been lying to us this whole time, acting like you weren't going to be part of this. And now you're going in? Just like that? After everything we've been through?"

Her throat dries as she hears Kavi's softer, but no less determined response. "J, I didn't lie. I just wasn't sure. This whole thing—it's...it's complicated."

"Complicated?" his laugh is bitter, filled with disbelief. "You love that word, don't you? Do you even hear yourself? This has always been Paz's dream, Kavi. His. And you—you're just gonna swoop in at the last second and make it about you? Blindside us all? Cut me out? You don't get to do that."

There is a long, charged silence, like the air is thickening with the weight of his words. Cyarah can almost see him, pacing back and forth in the dim light of the living room, probably gripping the back of a chair or the edge of the counter, desperate to make sense of the mess they are in.

Kavi's voice trembles now, her words sharp, though she is trying to stay calm. "That's not fair, J. This isn't just about Paz. We're a team. I'm not trying to ruin his dream. I just think...I think this could be important for me too."

"But you are going in with Paz!" J snaps. "You broke up with him, remember? And now you're just gonna waltz into the Games, and expect him to pretend like it's not weird? You think that's gonna make everything go back to normal? You're putting each other in a position where you can't even rely on trust."

"I didn't mean—"

"I don't want to lose both of you." His voice cracks on the last words. It isn't just anger anymore—it's something deeper, something raw. Something that feels like betrayal. Something that feels like he is being shoved into a corner, left with no way out. "Did you mean it? Us? Or was it some sick plan to throw Paz off his game?"

And for a second, Cyarah understands him. She understands that feeling. The way Kavi's sudden change of heart was like a door slamming shut on everything they'd been planning. She lied, whether she meant to or not. She chose a different path, a different side. And now she is forcing them to adjust to a reality that feels foreign. It isn't just about volunteering—it's about trust. And when that is broken, everything else comes crashing down. She's seen enough crews be torn apart by it.

But then she hears Kavi, and Cyarah can hear the pain in her voice even though she is trying to keep it together. "I didn't ask for any of this, J!" she yells. "You think this is easy for me? You think I want to make things more difficult for you? For Paz? I don't. But you don't get to act like I'm just messing with you. This is hard for me, too. You and Paz...you have this thing, and I'm stuck in the middle of it, trying to figure out where I belong. And then I was offered the spot and my parents heard before I could tell them and–and..."

Sobs wrack the shack. J doesn't say anything for a long moment, but the silence stretches between them like an ocean.

"Whatever," he finally mutters, his voice quieter now, tired. "You do what you want. You're gonna mess things up for all of us, but hey, you're doing it for you, right? Or, should I say your parents?"

Cyarah exhales, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Part of her wants to storm in there, tell them to stop acting like babies, to grow up and fix this. Another part of her wants to leave them to it—to let them sort out their own mess. But the truth is, things had been strained for weeks. And this…this is the breaking point.

Leaning against the doorframe, Cyarah listens to the silence that has settled inside the house. Kavi and J's voices have gone quiet now, and she can feel the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air. Everything is shifting, and she isn't sure how it's going to end.

Cyarah pushes the door open slowly, stepping into the dim light of the living room. They don't even look at her at first, too wrapped up in their own worlds. But she can see it—see the hurt in their eyes. See how badly they are both trying to hold it together.

"Is everything okay? Done with all the dramatic shit yet?" Cyarah asks.

Neither of them respond right away. Then Kavi sighs, rubbing her face, before meeting Cyarah's eyes. "It's just...complicated, Cy." J snorts. "Everything is complicated right now."

Nodding slowly, glancing at J, whose eyes are hard, Cyarah sits down on the couch next to the other girl. "I get that," she says, voice steady. "But if you're doing this tomorrow, we need to have each other's backs. All of us. Whatever's going on between you two—" Cyarah pauses, glancing at both of them, "—it can't be the thing that sinks us. We're supposed to be a team. Especially you and Paz. So let's act like one."

The silence stretches again, but this time, it feels a little less oppressive. Nothing will be fixed overnight. But maybe, just maybe, there is a chance Kavi and Paz can pull through. The stakes will be raised this year; there will be bigger productions, and even more dangerous tributes. Riots and strikes probably have made the Gamemakers eager to take out their frustrations on those stupid enough to volunteer.

One last time. Maybe if they can fix what is broken between them, they'll have a chance. Maybe one, or hopefully both, of them will change their minds. Four isn't so strict with volunteering as One or Two—it's why every child goes through rudimentary training. It's why volunteers are designated so close to the reaping; it's why any trainee deemed proficient is allowed to volunteer if somebody backs out. Getting cold feet is more common than you'd think.

But she isn't sure. Cyarah isn't sure of anything anymore.

Tomorrow is going to be a lot harder than any of them had expected.

She just hopes that instead of two coffins, only one returns to Four this year.

---

For Momo.

I don't know if this qualifies as a fix-it-fic, but I tried. ❥