Sylvia Reeves stared at the slender girl in the dirty, grime-covered mirror of the pub bathroom. She ran her fingers through her long, wavy brown hair, which framed her oval-shaped face. When her parents were around and when they visited friends, they always said she was pretty. Her long lashes and full, red lips — not to mention her body — made her a lot of money now. Not that she was a prostitute or anything, or her aunt would kill her, but it sure was helpful for tips at the pub. There was a sharp knock on the shaky wooden door that had probably been around when this was still Pluribus Bell's nightclub — before the building had been converted into a pub and hotel, of course.

"Hurry it up, Reeves! Orders are waiting!" Called her boss.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming!" Her voice sounded odd as it echoed around the tiled space. High and smooth, so different to her boss' gravelly voice.

She patted down her plain white shirt — that wasn't too small that it made it look like she was showing off, but not too large that it hung off her impractically, just right so that the neckline was below her collarbone — and adjusted her short black skirt as she walked out the bathroom into the familiar bustle of the pub.

It had been ten years since the war ended, which meant people were finally able to come out and pay for dinner again. There had never been more customers, but more importantly, there had never been more men who'd give her just a bit more for the food service.

As she picked up a simple yet hearty bowl of cabbage stew for table twelve, she was pleased to see the man sitting alone at the table in the corner. He was hot. No denying it. Sylvia felt a small flurry of excitement in her stomach. His curly blonde hair sat just above his wide blue eyes, his head resting on his hand, the shadows in the room emphasising his chiselled jawline and perfectly shaped nose. He was definitely no Peacekeeper.

Sylvia took a deep breath. Her job was brilliant. Honestly, it was a win-win situation. The boys would get a little enjoyment, and she'd get a little extra and, though she'd never admit it, some much-needed attention. It was always fun watching their eyes wander or seeing them in the window reflection, staring as she walked away.

"Hey blondie, here's your cabbage soup," she said over the hum of the pub, setting the food down on the old scratch-covered wooden table, the pale yellow light reflecting prettily off the white bowl. In the corner of the room, a small television played a recap of the reapings. "You enjoying the tenth Hunger Games?" She asked, watching his eyes sweep up to her face as she set down his cutlery.

"Yes, it's quite interesting, with the new mentors and structure and all that," he said casually, his smooth, deep voice flowing over her. "You have a favourite tribute?" He asked as he leaned back, fixing her with those deep blue eyes speckled with silver.

"Oh, yes," Sylvia replied, placing her hand delicately on her chest and giving a small smile. "I do love Lucy Baird. Her song at the reaping. That was amazing." Wait. Why had she said that? Her cheeks warmed when she saw his eyes were still fixed on hers.

"Really? I don't think I remember that," he said. "Maybe you could sing a verse or two? I wouldn't be surprised if you were a great singer."

"Oh, well, I guess I could try," Sylvia said with a practised giggle and a bat of her eyelashes. She did sing her little brother to sleep pretty much every night. In a small, quiet voice so as not to disrupt the tables nearby, she sang:

You can't take my past.

You can't take my history.

You could take my pa,

But his name's a mystery.

Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.

You can't take my charm.

You can't take my humour.

You can't take my wealth,

'Cause it's just a rumour.

Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping.

Thinking you're so fine.

Thinking you can have mine.

Thinking you're in control.

Thinking you'll change me, maybe rearrange me.

Think again, if that's your goal,

'Cause...

She trailed off, her cheeks burning. She rarely sang for an audience. Let alone a boy like this. Her heart fluttered as he beamed at her, his clean white teeth glinting as he clapped quietly and finished, "Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping." He paused, those beautiful blue eyes staring deep into hers. "Do you believe those words?"

"Yes," she blurted. When she had first heard the song on the large screens on the streets, it had felt made just for her. Being seventeen, Sylvia had lived through the Dark Ages, where food had to be fought for, and nowhere was safe. Even now, she still had nothing. She and her aunt combined only made just enough to pay the rent at the old apartment and look after her little brother.

She really did have nothing. "Yes," she repeated quietly. Then, with a smile and a casual shrug, she said, "Sorry, but I got nothing worth keeping."

He smiled. "Your voice is beautiful, by the way," He said seriously. "You should consider performing."

"Oh, I'm quite alright with my current job," she said smoothly, though she'd never show it; she was flattered. He was much nicer than the usual type. "And talking about my job, I'd better go now," she said, brushing a lock of loose brown hair from her eyes.

As she turned to go, the boy said, "Do the others really just let you walk away?" Sylvia paused. This boy knew what she was doing. He's smarter than he looks. With a small grin, Sylvia turned around and leaned forward as if to tell a secret. She bent just enough for her shirt to hang down — nothing too much, just a peek, some cleavage and probably the edge of her bra.

"I usually get a tip," she whispered, her smile widening when his eyes flickered down ever so slightly. Then, with a sweep of her hair, she stood back up and spun away. Guys like this usually didn't tip anyway. Then a strong, calloused hand closed around her wrist. A cold sweat broke out as her cheeks flushed from the sudden contact.

Sylvia turned slowly to find him standing quite close to her. His broad shoulders and sculpted arms filled her view. She could feel his breath on her neck as he said in a smooth, lyrical voice, "Come with me, I want to show you something. In my room upstairs." Sylvia's heart pounded in her chest. This wasn't normal.

"I-I have a job to do," she said.

"No, no, it'll be quick," at Sylvia's hesitation, he added, "Come on, be brave. Don't worry. Be like the tributes you know, strong and brave. I promise I won't hurt you."

It couldn't be that bad, could it? She had to admit she was curious. What did this handsome young man want to show her? She could handle herself anyway. Girls like her had to grow up quite fast post-war. She was allowed a half-hour break on her shift so she wouldn't get into too much trouble anyway.

"Well, only if it's quick. And my name's Sylvia by the way."

He flashed that innocent, happy smile as he led Sylvia to the stairs. "I'm Kasslian, but my friends call me Kaz," he paused, looking down at her as they began up the stairs "and you can too."

Sylvia's heart skipped a beat. He was so kind, so loving, she could say.

Their feet clopped on the scratched and battered wood of the stairs. An old yellow lamp dangled from the ceiling above. Kaz's hand still clutched her wrist, almost possessively, as they made their way around and around, up the stairs to the second level, Sylvia feeling like she would explode from the suspense.

"What're you doing all alone in the pub, anyway?" She asked into the echo-y stairwell.

"Oh, nothing much. My girlfriend left me and I needed something to wash it down," he said casually.

"With your looks, surely you'd have girlfriends lined up around the block," Sylvia said with a laugh.

"I could say the same about you," he said with a smirk and a cunning side glance, his eyes crinkling from the smile.

"Oh, you're too kind."

"Here's my room," Kaz said with a smile as he pulled out the keys to room zero-two-four, and with a quick insertion of the key and a satisfying turn, the door swung open, and Sylvia was gestured in.

It was a small room, but one of the more expensive ones, as it had a bathroom attached with its door ajar, revealing a small sink and toilet. The rest of the small space was filled with a double bed covered in a thin, white bed sheet, and beside it, a simple metal bench, which acted as a cheap table. This cosy space was all illuminated by a dull yellow light that buzzed in the silence.

As Sylvia stepped into the room, she could see the lights of the Capitol outside the window. The lights of people's apartments and public propaganda screens on the streets.

When the door closed with a thunk behind her, Sylvia turned around, asking, "What was it you wanted to show me?"

Then Kasslian stepped forward and his hands wrapped around her waist, and she was pushed against the wall beside the door, and his solid body pressed flush against hers, and his lips engulfed her lips in a delicious, fiery kiss.