Chapter Text
The cool wind blows against a quiet brick home. It's nothing special, really— it's just like every other home in the district. Red brick against the dull grass of the even drier land. It’s a nasty place with its yellowing grass and humid air, even more-so in sweltering heat of the summer like now.
Nicholas knows it could only be described as that and nothing else. He can’t focus on the feeling of wanting to scrape his skin off from the inside out on such a detested day. July first– it sends chills down his spine every time the date comes close. He knows he’ll want to throw up every time the day passes, and the year after that and even after the years after he ages out of the system. He’s eighteen now, he won’t have to worry about the games after this– he’ll only have to worry about Harua. Harua, his sweet baby brother who he only ever wants to keep safe forever. Nicholas can't guarantee that but even so, his heart thumps loudly in his chest at the thought of his brother ever entering those sick games.
“Nicho,” he hears a pout interrupt his quiet anxieties, “I can’t get this button to work.”
Nicholas turns from where he's sat on his bed, scratching at his now red nail bed to see Harua with a pout on his lips. The top few worn out buttons of his pale blue, nearly gray colored collared shirt is unbuttoned as he steps into Nicho’s room.
Nicholas laughs as he stands to fix Harua’s shirt. Running his hand down the wrinkled front of Harua’s shirt, smoothing it out. He huffs with a laugh hidden in between his sorrowful thoughts for the potential future. It feels a bit ridiculous to be laughing in the midst of it all with both he and Harua having a chance at being chosen for such a horrible game, but Nicho doesn’t care.
“You can’t button it?” Nicholas chuckles as he watches Harua shake his head pitifully like a puppy. His warm brown strands shake in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision from Nicholas’ pitiful look. Nicholas sighs as he takes one of the silver buttons within his fingers to pull it into the fabric of Harua’s shirt. Nicholas smooths down Harua’s shirt once more, staring at it quietly before looking into Harua's bright, shining round eyes that still haven’t seen the horrors that the world would gladly provide to him.
“It’ll be okay,” Nicholas comforts him, knowing Harua’s body probably wanted nothing more than to collapse into his big brother’s arms and sob from the pure anxiety hunting him down like a deer.
Harua shakily inhales, looking back into Nicholas’s round eyes that they both share, reflecting his own flesh and blood.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” is all Harua says back to him. They both know that’s an impossible task for Nicholas.
The heat burns impossibly warm on Nicho's skin as he stands underneath the blaring heat sun with the other boys and girls of the district around him, anxiety and fear filling the crowd. Nicholas inhales shakily as he looks ahead at the crowd, pointing Harua out to himself and taking note of his spot. He doesn’t need anything happening to Harua especially not now, not ever.
“He’ll be fine,” Nicholas hears a gentle whisper next to him. Nicholas glances at the man, or boy, he supposes in this situation- Euijoo. his soft, warm brown hair falls against the edges of his face with his squared glasses resting on the highest point of his nose bridge.
“He’s fifteen now, Euijoo,” Nicholas reminds him, as if they could ever forget, “One more entry into the games. He can’t survive, he won’t.”
“And you will?” Euijoo huffs as he watches Nicholas cross his arms at Euijoo's claim that felt more like an attack rather than a sick joke. He’s right, though. He always is.
Nobody from their district had ever survived long enough in the games to make it through the first few days. They're a weak district- District Nine was always known to be the first ones to be picked off in The Hunger Games. Everyone was used to the jokes and poking fun that the announcers and host of the games always told about them. Their district was an easy target, it was no secret. Everyone knew that.
The only participant that had lasted long enough to even make it past the fourth day was Heejin. She’d survived solely off of water from a lake and nutrients from a plant. She wasn’t strong, everyone who knew her knew that– but she survived long enough for their district to not be known as weak and stupid to others. They’d finally shown they were something other than those harsh words. Nicholas doesn't remember how she died, truthfully, even though he always wished to know but the reruns of her games were rare. His mother had turned him away from the television and covered his ears, but he remembers she'd whisper around with her friends about how unfortunate it was that such a thing had happened to a girl as sweet as she was. But that was a long time ago, it’d been over ten years since then.
It's different now.
“I might.” Even Nicholas doesn't believe himself but he so desperately wants to because then he’d have to admit to Euijoo that he's not smart enough, not strong enough or even witty enough to make it out of those games and he's better off not admitting that to Euijoo.
Nicholas uncrosses his arms, letting them fall at his side. Euijoo slips his hand into Nicholas’s quietly, intertwining their fingers together. “Maybe,” Euijoo whispers to him, a sense of melancholy filling the warm air as he speaks, “maybe not.”
“Don't test yourself,” Euijoo says, a final plea to Nicholas. He's not sure Nicholas will even take his plea into account. He knows what he's like. He just hopes Nicho thinks about it, even if it's for a mere millisecond.
Nicholas doesn't say anything. It's a quiet understanding between them, they take in the silence filled with gut wrenching pain as it could be either of them. Euijoo doesn't have to speak to let Nicho know what the possibilities for himself would be if he was called.
Euijoo rubs his thumb against the back of Nicholas’s hand as they both watch this year's announcer walk up the creaky stairs of the arena, many nervous eyes watching her walk up as calm as a flowing river.
“It's our last year,” Euijoo mutters so quietly that Nicholas almost mistakes it for a last second prayer. It's not though, it's a plea to God. It's a plea to not let it be either of them– they can't lose their lives when they're so close to the end of this horrific time of their lives when they both feel so much anxiety that they both know they'll feel the pain when this time comes around once they're older.
Nicholas squeezes Euijoo’s hand one last time, reassuring him as he hears his soft, mumbled prayers underneath his breath.
The microphone squeaks out as a woman stands on the stage– she smiles brightly even as she stares down at everyone’s nervous, anxiety ridden faces. This doesn't matter to her. Whoever they choose, she won't care about them even after she calls their name out.
Nicho's familiar with her bright, colorful face. Too familiar at this point that he’ll be happy after he ages out of the system and never sees her sick face again.
“Welcome to the 47th annual Hunger Games!” an ever too happy voice for this horrible event breaks through Nicho's thoughts. His anger burns through his skin as he keeps his eyes on the stage. Euijoo rubs his back of his hand with his thumb one last time, leaving him with one last piece of humanity before dropping his hand at his side.
She introduces herself, Effie Trinket. Her bright clothes and makeup echo through the district. Nicholas can't possibly forget her name or face no matter how hard he tries. It would haunt him until the end of time.
She explains the games rather quickly for the children whose first year of being thrown into the gamble of playing such a horrific game. Nicholas remembers the first time he had stood in his very spot, he was frozen with fear as he had listened to the rules of the game, unable to make a move as he’d listened to Effie dig her hand deep into the large bowl full of names. He’d almost cried with joy as he listened to her call out a different boy's name. He’d later felt horrible when he’d seen the boy– a boy his age perish on live television. It was worthless feeling that way, it's not like if Nicho's name was called then that he would've survived at such a young age. He would have rotted away just like him.
“Let's begin, shall we?” Effie’s high pitched, joyful voice scratches through Nicho's ears, breaking his thoughts into pieces. He watches as she digs her hand into a clear bowl full of names on the left– the girls’ names. Ladies first, how kind. She pauses once she has a grip on the very piece of paper that will ruin someone’s very life, their families' lives and even the people that come after them.
“Well, ladies first, as always,” Effie chuckles gently into the microphone. Maybe it's a way to ease everybody's tense and drawn up body that doesn't seem to loosen up for as long as she draws out this horrible decision. Maybe it's her odd way of comforting others in such an odd and strange situation. Maybe it's none of those. Maybe Nicholas just wants to comfort himself into thinking that sometimes people from the Capitol care about them, despite what they do to them every year.
The crinkling of the small sliver of paper being unfolded from her hands sends jolts of shivers down his spine as he looks up at the large stage. His eyes even glancing at the large screens that display her neutral expression as she names the very girl that will soon meet her demise. Nicholas knows how this goes.
Effie inhales, reading the characters on the piece of paper before breaking the earth shattering news to both the girl and the district.
“Kim Minjeong!” Effie smiles brightly as she announces the name despite hearing the choked out gasps that echo throughout the entire area. He hears Euijoo gasp quietly next to him– everyone knows her, she's a sweet girl with a smile that would go on for miles and miles. For a girl like her to get called for such a brutal game feels like a mistake.
Nicho wasn't close with Minjeong– Winter, as most people knew her by. He’d only ever had a few conversations with her despite their friend groups overlapping.
It was raining then. the rain beat down against his porch as all he could do was stare at the dry, dead grass in front of his house. His shoulders shook with grief, his tears flowed as he sobbed into his hands– unable to face his emotions head on. Of course he couldn't, he was young, younger than he is now. She’d sat beside him silently, glancing at Nicholas every now and then. Her eyes would dart between the pouring rain that beat down against the land and the sobbing boy next to her.
“I’m sure you’ve heard it enough today,” her sweet, gentle voice had broken the silence between them, “but he was a good man. You should know that.”
Nicholas looked up from where he had been sobbing into his own hands, “Why should I know that? I’ve seen it myself.”
His voice was thick with tears, his voice scratchy as he'd replied to Winter snappy, with little care for how she’d felt about him.
Despite his harsh words, she had shrugged, scratching at her cuticle, “You hold the same kindness he did. I hope you don't lose it.”
Nicholas watches as she stands impossibly still, her body frozen as the cameras stay on her. He can see her shakily inhaling as she processes the news. Her lips tremble as she breathes– she has no idea how much more time she has left to do that. Nicholas can't erase the sight of her tearful eyes looking up at the screens that reflect her image right back at her, practically confirming her fate then and there.
“Minjeong, come on now,” Effie speaks. Nicholas doesn't have to look at her to know she's grinning cheek to cheek as she speaks, “Don't be shy.”
Minjeong walks out of the row she was lined up in, her legs shaky as she walks away from her home, her life.
She stands on stage, her tears have now fallen down her cheeks and even so, Nicholas can't tear his eyes away from her sorrow.
Effie doesn't even give Minjeong a full minute to process her grief before moving on, “And now for the boys!”
Euijoo's hushed prayers echo in his ears as he stares ahead at the screens where they display Effie digging into the bowl of names. Nicholas can't think about anything except for a plea to anyone, anything for it to not be Harua. His eyes plant themselves on the rows far ahead of him and Euijoo, practically glaring into the back of Harua's head. His eyes stay stuck onto Harua's chocolate brown strands even when he hears the crinkling of paper over the microphone.
His heart slows as he listens to her clear her throat into the microphone, hoping that one of Euijoo's many prayers work. He exhales as she opens her mouth to speak.
“Wang Yixiang!”
His heart stops. He hears people gasp around him– he can't erase the ache in his heart that drops when he hears Euijoo's wet gasp from beside him. His heart thumps loudly in his ears, the blood rushing through his body as his mind processes his fate.
“I… I can–” Euijoo stutters through his tears, attempting to help Nicholas escape his death. But it's not meant to happen to Euijoo, of course not. It was always going to be him.
“Don't.” Nicholas mutters, his eyes only trained on Euijoo's despite the many eyes of the others in the district that stick to him, “You have to take care of them.”
His eyes glance at Harua and Maki in the rows far ahead of them, two of the many pair of eyes on him but they're the only ones that matter. He watches Harua's round eyes shine as they fill with shiny tears, he almost looks like Euijoo now. As his round eyes fill with his sorrow, he can't help as he makes the connection. It's the same look Euijoo has as he’s praying. A quiet begging as he tries his hardest to keep himself calm and alive even if God never answers him. He's used to it– the look of fear and exhaustion that Euijoo wears. He's not used to it being directed at him instead of a holy being.
Nicholas can hear Effie calling his name out and even the murmurs of the other people around him but he doesn't care. He can't care when he feels Harua's sorrow swallow him whole from the ground up, his heart heavy as he glances at the two young boys. He hopes this never happens to them.
“You have to go.” Euijoo breaks the silence between them, his eyes darting from Nicho to the stage and back at the Peacekeepers behind them before landing back on to Nicho, “Please.”
Nicholas can feel Euijoo's fear radiating off of him as he watches Euijoo eye the Peacekeepers behind him. “If I don't come back–”
“Stop.” Euijoo says sternly, more demanding than he’d ever heard the boy before, “Keep it to yourself because you will come back.”
“Euijoo–” Nicholas begs, wanting to scream his final message to him without him being so goddamn stubborn.
Euijoo doesn't let him finish his last words to him, despite the fact that they could never see each other again and instead glances towards the stage, “Go.”
Nicholas shakily inhales, following Euijoo's demand. He can feel so many pair of eyes on him as he walks up the stage to stand beside Minjeong but only three pair of those eyes matter. He has to make it through for them.
Euijoo isn't sure what to do after the reaping. He’d watched Nicholas and Minjeong get ushered away only a few minutes after Nicholas had walked up there, confirming his spot in the games. He stands still for minutes– watching the empty stage as if Nicholas and Minjeong would magically appear again.
A warm hand brushes up against his own, their fingers tremble as they pass him. Euijoo's head darts to look down before realizing who it is. He can't look Maki in the eyes as tears well up in his eyes, it's almost embarrassing for Euijoo to act like this when Harua is right beside Maki. Harua who had just lost his whole world.
“What am I supposed to do?” Harua utters out, his gentle voice pushes through his forming tears. Euijoo doesn’t know. He's not that much more experienced than Harua is– they're both still kids.
“He's all I have.” Harua says, pushing his words past the thick knot that forms in his throat. His shoulders tremble even as he feels Maki interlocking their fingers togethers, a quiet warmth filling the space between the two.
“You’ll stay with us,” Euijoo offers as he glances at Maki nodding and grinning at the boy, as if he wasn't silently begging for Euijoo to say those few words.
“Are you sure?” Harua asks even though he knows the answer.
“It's fine, Haru,” Euijoo reassures the boy, “It won't be the first time Fuma and Kei would pick up a boy off the streets.”
“Hey!” Maki whines as he hears Harua giggle softly at Euijoo's comment. It's all Euijoo needs to hear to feel relief wash over him. He doesn't need the dread and anxiety to come over him, not yet at least. Nicho's still safe.
The warm breeze brushes through their home as the night falls upon it. It's a shockingly happy home for what had just occurred that same day. Harua's and Maki’s giggles echo through the small house as Euijoo sits quietly at the dinner table. A now cold mug of tea is settled between his hands as he listens to two hosts discuss the tributes and how well they’d fare in the games on the television. It's stupid, Euijoo thinks. They don't know any of the tributes skills yet, they're only going off of how they present themselves.
He doesn't want to know what they’d think of Nicho– do they think he’d die early in the games? It's not odd to think so, their district isn't especially known for surviving long in the games. Heejin was the only outlier of them all. Everyone else died off as quickly as possible. He won't be able to live if he sees Nicho like that.
He stares down at his mug, his own sorrowful eyes looking back at him, as if he could have saved Nicholas. He could have. He could have volunteered but what then? He would die in the games immediately and leave Maki with no older brother, his parents with no child and an emptiness to be filled with guilt for an eternity. This was the better option. There was nothing he could do except pray and hope.
“How are you doing, joo?” Kei’s gentle voice breaks Euijoo's tumbling thoughts of sorrow, “You haven't touched your tea.”
“Fine,” Euijoo says softly, his voice nearly a whisper, “I was just caught up in my thoughts. Sorry.”
“Oh, my sweet boy,” Kei coos, already knowing the truth behind Euijoo's words. Kei's voice is so sweet and kind that it makes a knot grow in his throat just at the sound of his words. He wants to be strong. But he can't, not when his dad crouches down to look up at his tearful face like when he was only just a child– sobbing about something stupid like scraping his knee. It's not something stupid like that now.
Something cracks in Euijoo and his tears break through. A shudder runs through his body as he sobs into his hands, gasping for air as he leans into Kei's warm embrace. Kei's hands run through Euijoo’s warm chocolate brown strands, the usual warmth that radiates off of the boy has hardened. Euijoo shivers as tears melt away and down his cheeks.
In the distance, Euijoo can hear one of the hosts on the television speak, “Wang Yixiang from District Nine?” he hears one of the hosts go through his appearance, laughing hysterically, ending with: “Well, let's just hope he doesn't have anyone at home waiting for him.”
They both laugh.
Euijoo doesn’t sleep well for the next few days. He blames it on the weather, with the heat making it hard to sleep despite the fact that Euijoo has always slept through the heat. He doesn't say that it's because he's up late at night, a small cross held between his fingers as he whispers incessantly to God as the moonlight shines against the thin silver chain.
His quiet whispers fill his own ears as he scrunches his eyes shut as he sees the sun rise over the dry hills. He knows Maki and Harua can hear him through the thin walls of their flimsy house– his prayers repeating through the house like a curse.
It doesn't help that Maki looks at him with such sorrow that it almost feels as if he’s choking him with sadness, a small knot building in his throat. Maki knows what he's doing and he still can't save him. He can try all he wants but it will never be enough to save his big brother. How awful.
The no sleep is getting to him. He's slow and dazed at work, unable to focus on people’s orders as his hands knead at the dough, flour messily covering his hands. He can barely focus on the words his coworker says to him as he stares at the dough in his hands.
“Are you going to watch Nicholas’s interview?” his coworker, Taki, asks him as he glances over to him.
“Oh,” Euijoo says, realizing he hadn't even been keeping track of the time. It feels like an eternity since he's seen Nicho.
“When is it?” Euijoo asks as he kneads the dough tightly underneath his rough, yet firm hands.
“It's tomorrow.” Taki says, almost sounding confused at how Euijoo wouldn't know the day of the interviews. “It's okay if you don't. Yuma doesn't want to either.”
Oh, Yuma. Euijoo was entirely too focused on his entire situation with Nicholas that he’d forgotten about Yuma. Yuma was Minjeong’s little brother, Euijoo had never really seen him around the district– only ever hearing brief mentions of the young boy. It makes sense as to why he wouldn't want to see his sister in such an awful situation, knowing she probably wouldn't come home with the last time he’d see her would be on television.
“I don't know if i’ll make it in time,” Euijoo huffs a little, not enough to be a laugh but too little to be a sigh– something entirely different. “I’m working late tomorrow.”
He wasn't. He’d decided just now he’d work overtime, he’s sure Fuma would appreciate it.
“You always work so hard,” Taki mumbles, a soft sigh escaping his lips, “Fuma would be okay with you going home early. I know he's going to watch the interviews too.”
Euijoo knows he should. It could be the last time he sees Nicholas. He doesn't want his last look of Nicholas being when he's gasping for air or bleeding out but even so, it's difficult to look at him when he knows he could have saved him from this pain.
“Maybe. I’ll see if I’m up to it,” Euijoo confirms. Taki doesn't seem very convinced by his words but he does not press any further.
Taki doesn't speak to him for the rest of his shift, opting to work in silence. Jo’s never been a boy of many words. Euijoo’s glad for it now as he leaves the quiet bakery, Taki’s goodbye lingering on his mind as he locks the now dark and empty bakery.
Gravel crunches underneath Euijoo’s shoes as he walks home. The dark night sky greets him in a sorrowful way, as if it knew he was about to lose his everything soon. It's quiet aside from the dry air that blows gently against his face, warming his skin. He can't help but think about everything that has happened but there's not much else Euijoo can do. It's pointless, he knows, to keep begging and hoping to God that Nicholas will be safe in the arena. He has no way to guarantee that. Nicholas is the only one that can decide his own fate. Euijoo nor God has no hand in that despite how much he wants and wants and wants it to be true. It's not enough.
Euijoo pauses as he turns onto his street. A lone figure stands at the end of it– one he knows all too well. Tall, but not taller than himself and lean stands at the end of the street with familiar features.
Nicholas stands quietly, unmoving as he stares at Euijoo blankly, his eyes cold and dead. His arms are covered in blood, the dark crimson reaching his elbows. He's covered in blood– blood that Euijoo isn't sure is his. Euijoo wants to throw up at the sight of him. His right arm has a large gash on it, effectively still bleeding out from his injury. His eyes still cold and dead did not distract Euijoo from the way blood covered his mouth, the liquid smeared across his face messily. Worst of it all, Euijoo realizes Nicholas is still in his clothes from the reaping. The cold blue color of his collared shirt matches the frozen look on his eyes.
Despite all of his fear, Euijoo wants to sob and run into his arms.
Except it's not really him.
Except Euijoo hasn't been sleeping well.
Except there's something wrong with him.
(Maybe he's not though, his mind tugs at the thought. Maybe tomorrow Nicholas will laugh as he enters his home– clean and full of smiles that go on for miles as he grins and shouts “I’m home!”
And he’ll be lying then. There's something wrong with Euijoo.)
He makes it home quietly, with the door creaking against Euijoo’s gentle hand. The home is quiet but not yet silent. He can hear the soft whistle of the kettle in the kitchen, hushed whispers surrounding the room. The dim glow of a candle in the kitchen greets him warmly as Euijoo steps quietly into the kitchen, watching Fuma and Kei murmur to each other soft words of admiration.
“You're home late,” Fuma says, his low voice rumbling in his throat as he speaks, “When did you close up?”
Euijoo glances at Kei who spares him only a brief glance before he turns to the stove to pull the kettle off.
“Around sundown,” Euijoo's soft voice rings throughout the kitchen, “It took a while to clean up.”
“You should’ve let Taki help,” Kei pops into the conversation and before Euijoo can even argue with Kei despite knowing he very much did not allow Taki to help, Kei continues, “You shouldn't be out so late. I don't want anything to happen to you.”
“Sorry.” Euijoo says quietly, always so quiet. He changes the subject, “Is Maki still awake?”
Kei nods as he looks into the cupboards, not sparing a single glance to Euijoo but still knowing he stares at him.
Fuma nods too, “They fell asleep a while ago.” Euijoo nods, glancing at Kei who pulls out two mugs from the cupboards with an echo of the porcelain. As Euijoo moves to walk to Maki’s room, Kei reminds him, “Don't wake them up.”
Euijoo opens the door slowly with a creak, the dim light from the kitchen peeking into Maki’s small room. He glances at the small bed shoved in the corner of the room, the tan quilt thrown over Maki and Harua’s bodies. They’ve been asleep for a while, Euijoo can tell with their bodies sprawled out over the mattress. Maki’s body stretched out with Harua's face buried into his chest, one of his hands gripping the fabric of Maki’s loose sleep shirt. Their strands blend into each other making a messy mix of brown and black strands. Their breaths move in unison, them becoming one even in their sleep.
He steps into the room, his socked feet moving against the wooden floor. It's weird, Euijoo knows, to stare at his little brother as he sleeps with his best friend, but it's the only thing he knows that is still here. They're both still here, despite it all.
Euijoo runs a finger against one of Maki’s charcoal strands before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Maki’s forehead. He doesn't know why he does it, but it only feels natural now. Maki shifts in his sleep before his eyes bleary as he glances up at Euijoo with furrowed brows. Euijoo almost wants to laugh as Maki grumbles tiredly, his eyes still trying to focus on Euijoo standing above him.
“You're home?” Maki asks groggily, his voice still deep with sleep.
Euijoo nods as he watches Maki’s brain move a mile an hour as he tries to find his next words. Instead, Maki moves his only arm that isn't crushed underneath Harua's limp, sleeping body to pull Euijoo into a sleepy half hug. Maki’s arm wraps around Euijoo's neck loosely as he murmurs, still as groggy as ever, “I was scared. Don't come back so late.”
Euijoo nods throughout Maki’s sleepy, half hearted hug, even after Maki releases his embrace. As if under a spell, Maki slinks back into his bed, Harua sliding his body impossibly closer to Maki as if Maki would disappear if there was even a millimeter not filled between them. Euijoo steps back into the doorframe, leaving one last look for the night. It only takes a second of looking for Euijoo to realize something about the scene. It's familiar– it almost reminded him of he and Nicho when they were kids. Euijoo stares at the mixture of strands and his heart aches. His heart pangs as it burns with sorrow and grief– grief that has not yet come to him in a physical form.
Euijoo shuts the door.
Fuma doesn't let Euijoo work his way through the interviews. He’s never once had to beg someone to stay home from work ever in his life, it almost feels pathetic to beg his son to stay home only to watch the interviews. Euijoo is hardworking, Fuma knows this– hell, anyone who speaks to Euijoo for barely a minute knows this, but Fuma wishes he would stop working for once so he could see Nicho for what might be the last time. He doesn't say that last part to Euijoo but he knows the boy still hears it.
When Euijoo finally leaves home for work, somehow compromising that he can work but only for a few hours in the morning and then coming straight home after. It feels weird, Fuma knows, being so strict on the one son that he’s never needed to be strict on.
Fuma stands quietly beside Kei as he watches the older man turn the stove on, the quiet clicking of gas being the only noise between them. The soft roar of fire comforts Kei as he places the kettle over it.
“I’m concerned for him, you know.” Kei speaks softly, glancing at Fuma.
Fuma sighs in agreement, “Me too.”
They both know Euijoo won't ever say anything outright– always opting to keep quiet and suffer in silence. He’s always been like this, Kei knows, ever since he found him as a young child. So small and fragile and yet he had never said a single word about his life, ignoring Kei’s and Fuma’s concerns.
“I can hear him at night,” Kei says as he watches the kettle, glancing at Fuma, “Praying, I mean. I feel bad.”
“It's all he knows.” It's dumb of Fuma to mention– they both know that. They both experienced the nights Euijoo had as a child with him grasping the thin silver chain around his neck, chanting one of his prayers quietly to himself.
They both know why he does it almost fourteen years later, even though neither Kei and Fuma knew how to pray or what he's even praying to. They’re both clueless to Euijoo’s prayers to this day, a quiet remembrance of where he was once from. Euijoo’s never explained his prayers to the two men, he doesn't know how to explain something natural to him to two people who don't even know the concept of praying. It didn't and still doesn't exist in District Nine– praying to somebody up above them that wouldn't help them even if they screamed and shouted for days on end, it doesn’t make sense.
Euijoo had said that that wasn't the point. It wasn't to wish and beg for something, it was to be forgiven. They both wish Euijoo knew he didn't have to be forgiven for what happened to Nicholas.
“I wish he knew more than just that.” Kei says, his voice soft as he wishes, maybe even prays for Euijoo. Just this once.
Euijoo arrives home a few hours later, just like he and Fuma had agreed on. He can hear voices from the living room, the conversation echoing through the small house. He removes his shoes by the front door before walking to the living room, where everyone was sitting. The floorboards creak under his feet, the sudden noise interrupting the conversation.
Maki gasps as he practically jumps up from where he and Harua were sitting on the floor, “You’re home!”
Euijoo nods as he gives Maki a half hug, glancing at the television that holds an interview on the screen.
“Has Nicho gone on yet?” he asks, his eyes still glued on to the television as Maki leads him to sit on the floor with Harua.
“Not yet,” Harua huffs, his impatience leaking through his words, “I don't like this guy.”
“Hey,” Euijoo hears Kei scold from the dinner table, “Don't say that.”
Harua huffs, crossing his arms as he mumbles under his breath, “Whatever.”
Euijoo nearly laughs at Harua’s words as he looks up at the television, staring at the tribute.
He's gorgeous. Euijoo can't stop staring at him as he speaks. His brown hair is lightly styled, the brown strands falling on the side of his forehead ever so naturally. His cold eyes stare down the interviewer even as he laughs along with him, as if he was trying to kill him down with only his stare. It was terrifying.
“And how do you think you will fare in these games, Zhang Hao?” the interviewer asks the man– Zhang Hao. His eyes flicker from the audience to the camera and then back to the interviewer.
“Well, I’ll tell you what, Jaehyun,” Hao says with a laugh, “I’ve seen some of these tributes in the training center for the past few days and some of them won't even make it past a minute. Hell, not even thirty seconds.”
“And you will?” the interviewer eggs him on, begging for more. Hao's not exactly in a position to deny him anything.
“I know I will. I’ve been training my whole life for this.” he speaks smoothly, “And who am I to let the Capitol down?”
The audience on the television roars with cheers and applause as Zhang Hao sits silently, soaking in the fame and glory.
“Jesus Christ,” is all Euijoo feels like he can possibly say in this moment.
“I told you he sucks,” Harua says as he looks at Maki, “He's so cocky.”
“Eugh,” Maki exclaims, shivering in pure and utter disgust, “He's so gross!”
Euijoo wants to agree with Maki but he can't help but see right through his flimsy façade. It's funny, he knows, to feel pity for these other people that could possibly end Nicholas’s life. Even so, he can't help it even as he stares at Hao’s cold, unnerving eyes that look into the camera with detest and pure unbridled rage. Even he does not wish to give his life to this event.
The interviewer continues on but Euijoo can't focus on anything except Hao’s anger concealed by his fake laughter and overly practiced words.
More tributes come and go, Most of them looking nervous, some looking fearful, but all have a quiet rage built into their words. Euijoo listens to Harua's and Maki’s commentary on the interviews with most of their comments talking about how weird they were despite Kei's gentle scolding from the dinner table.
Time passes easily with Euijoo almost zoning out from the amount of interviews he had to sit through just to see Nicho again. His brain feels as if it's about to shut off from all the practiced words and concealed sorrow and rage until he hears the interviewers loud, annoying voice exclaim, “And now Kim Minjeong from District Nine!”
He listens to Kei gasp from the dining room before shuffling into the room with Fuma not far behind them. Their eyes are all glued to the television watching Minjeong walk across the stage elegantly as if it was her first nature. Euijoo can't focus on anything she's wearing, only the fact that it's her.
It's the same Minjeong he grew up with– the sweet, kind girl who always put others before herself. She was close to Euijoo when he was younger, helping him get used to his new life in District Nine. She’s still the same as ever, Euijoo realizes as she gives a gentle smile to the interviewer despite the fear balling up inside of her.
He watches her smile as the interviewer introduces her, asking questions that Euijoo knows she will win the Capitol over with her gentle demeanor and kind soul that pours out into her words.
“I heard you have a little brother back home,” the interviewer mentions and Euijoo can almost see the gentle smile on her face fall as she nods along to his words, “How did he take this?”
The interviewer never says exactly what– her fate, this horrific result of something that should’ve never happened. Minjeong nods slowly as she brushes a strand of her hair behind her ear, “Yuma. He– I didn't get to see him after I was called.”
The audience oohs at this, as if it was a piece of juicy gossip and not a pair of siblings getting everything they knew ripped away from them in a measly minute.
“I could hear him calling my name as I walked up.” she smiles, tears forming in her eyes as she speaks fondly about him. “I don't know if I will make it through, Yuma,” she admits as she smiles at the camera– a real smile, this time, just for him. “But I hope I make you proud, at least.”
It's quiet in the room. A sniffle is heard next to Euijoo as the television is playing muffled in the background, his arm instinctively reaches around Maki, pulling the younger one closer to his chest. His heart pangs in his chest as he feels Maki’s hand grip his own.
Minjeong’s interview passes rather quickly with everyone holding their breath as she spoke. Her soft, kind voice echoing through the room. Maki and Harua don't even say anything after the interview, they instead move closer to Euijoo, his comforting presence is the only thing that could possibly make them feel okay about what is going to happen soon.
The interviewer speaks, making unnerving jokes about the tributes he’d spoken to previously. It feels wrong. It is wrong.
A few minutes pass and then a voice wakes Euijoo out of him boredom, “–Wang Yixiang!”
“They're not calling him Nicholas?” Euijoo can hear Harua’s pout in his words.
“It's for the better,” Fuma assures him, “They don't know him so they don't get to call him that.”
Nicholas doesn't even seem phased from the way the call him. He smiles as he walks across the stage, even though his eyes show nervousness as his eyes gaze out towards the audience and the camera filming him.
Euijoo can't focus on anything just that it's Nicholas– his Nicholas. His Nicholas with his round, kind eyes that shine for eternity whenever he's around Euijoo. His Nicholas who’s so selfless that Euijoo feels as if he may meet his very demise putting someone before him. his Nicholas who listens to Euijoo’s worries despite his issues being dumb. His nicholas who makes his heart beat so loudly in his chest that Euijoo worries that Nicho can hear it whenever he's around. His Nicholas who doesn't at all look like himself right now.
Nicholas sits down gently in the chair provided for him, the fabric of his outfit pooling around him. He lets a breath of air out as he looks out to all the people in the audience, the camera panning out to show the crowd.
The interviewer makes some comment about how Nicholas had probably never seen this many people gathered in a single area and he nods, laughing politely.
The interviewer moves on rather quickly, beginning with a soul crushing question, “Nobody from your district has ever won or survived very long with the exception of one. Do you intend on changing this?”
Nicho's brows furrow for a millisecond that only Euijoo could have possibly noticed such a minuscule detail but it's all he needs to know Nicho's feelings behind such a charged question.
“I want to.” Nicholas says, “Not many people have belief in District Nine, it's expected. We don't do well in the games ever but, I feel like this time we have to.”
“We have to?” the interviewer questions him, repeating his words back to him, “There's only one winner, Yixiang and I have no doubt that you’d like to win. You have someone at home?”
Nicholas nods so easily, “My brother, Harua.”
Euijoo feels Harua shift against him at the mention of his own name. His body freezes as he hears the interviewer repeat his name, it almost sounds like a curse coming from such a detested man.
“You have a lover at home?” the interviewer asks, the audience ooh’ing at the sound of Nicholas being taken by someone. An unknown person that the audience does not know but everyone in Euijoo's quiet home knows exactly who.
Nicholas almost freezes at the question but he has no choice but to answer it, “I do.”
“She knows what she's about to see?” The interviewer lifts a brow, the implications stinging Euijoo in his heart, “Are you sure she’ll see you the same after this? If you do win, i mean.”
Euijoo hears Kei’s breath hitch at such a harsh and almost evil question to ask. It's sick to even imply that Euijoo would hate Nicholas after all of this.
Nicholas glances at the interviewer and then to the camera as if he was speaking directly to Euijoo: “They know who I am.”
“I’m sure they do,” the interviewer says, almost as if they were mocking his words, “and everybody else will see exactly who you are tomorrow.”
Those words haunt Euijoo, echoing in his mind as the interviewer moves on. He hears their grating voice speak as his words stick in Euijoo's mind. he spoke as if Nicholas was some sort of monster who wore the skin of an angel, lying and deceiving everyone. That's not Nicho. Euijoo knows him. He knows him.
Euijoo can't stop thinking about the interviewer's words later that night. He sits up in his bed, a candle lighting his bedroom dimly as he thinks again and again and again about his sick words. Euijoo can't do anything about the way the interviewer spoke to Nicholas, hell, even Nicholas couldn't do anything. He had to just sit there and take it.
Euijoo doesn't know what to do with his rage. He's used to seeing others feel unfathomable amounts of rage that make them see red and their minds go blank from the anger they feel, but he is not used to his own quiet rage that builds in his chest.
He sits in his bed inhaling slowly, attempting to calm himself down from remembering the sick, disgusting comments Nicholas had been subjected to just a few hours before. His hand instinctively reaches up to wrap his fingers around the thin silver chain that hangs loosely from his neck.
A soft, gentle knock at his bedroom door breaks him out of his routine. Euijoo's socked feet hit the hardwood floor, opening his bedroom door with a creak that echoes through the small house.
Harua stands at his door– his brown hair ruffled and tired eyes stare back at Euijoo who mirrors him.
“I couldn't sleep,” Harua answers Euijoo’s unasked question, “I was worried.”
“Me too,” Euijoo admits, “but you can't just stay up because you're concerned for Nicho. He wouldn't want that.”
“I… I know,” Harua sighs, his eyes falling to the floor before looking back up at Euijoo, “I was just wondering if you could–”
Harua cuts himself off, “I don't know if you want to do it. I’m sure he’ll be fine without it but, I don’t know. I’m scared.”
Euijoo furrows his brows, “You have to tell me what you want me to do first, Harua.”
“Oh,” Harua realizes, almost chuckling as he remembers, “I wanted to ask you to do that thing I’ve seen you do but I don’t know what it is.”
Euijoo pauses. He can't help Harua if Harua doesn't even know what he wants.
“Okay,” Euijoo nods, creaking open the door slightly more open, “that's alright.”
Harua enters Euijoo’s small room, sitting on the bed as Euijoo shuts the door quietly with a click. Clutching a warm quilt underneath his hands, Harua watches as Euijoo sits on the bed beside him, the mattress squeaking underneath both boys’ weight.
The candle in the room glows against Euijoo's skin, illuminating his round, warm eyes that Harua understands now how Nicholas could be so deeply in love with him.
“You did it at the reaping, I remember,” Harua speaks as Euijoo holds his gaze, his hands edging closer to hold Harua's own shaky ones, “You and Nicho weren't looking at us. But when I looked back, you had your head held down as you held something in your hand. I didn't know what.”
“Oh,” it clicks in Euijoo's head, “you want me to pray?”
“Yeah,” Harua shrugs, his nervousness leaking through his actions, “I think. I don’t know, I've never heard of it before this.”
Euijoo laughs softly, “It's not very popular here, or even a thing here.”
Harua furrows his brows. his words don't make sense to him, “How do you know about it then?”
Harua’s eyes are always so gentle and kind but now Euijoo feels a bit frightened by them with the silence of his gaze. Euijoo usually takes comfort in them but now Harua stares back at his with coldness.
“My parents.” Euijoo admits as he lifts the silver chain outside of his shirt, “They were from District Ten. It’s– everyone there does it. “
“Oh,” Harua says. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't, that's what Euijoo tells himself. The air in the room in tense that it feels like it may as well suffocate Euijoo.
“Does he ever answer?” Harua asks. He must have heard Euijoo’s quiet begging through the walls, his hushed whispers still being as loud as ever.
“Not really.” Euijoo answers warily, his nervousness leaking through his words.
Harua frowns, his lips nearly forming a pout as he takes in Euijoo's voice, “Why would you do it then? If he doesn't answer?”
“I don't do it for answers,” Euijoo’s voice is as soft as a whisper as he replies to Harua. Harua stares at Euijoo as he swallows down his words, the air heavy as Euijoo pauses in between his words.
“I do it to be forgiven, Harua.”
Harua’s brows furrow even deeper as he listens to Euijoo’s words. Harua can tell there's something wrong. He can feel Euijoo’s deep sorrow as he listens to the other boy speak. It feels as if it’ll eat Harua alive.
“Sorry.” Euijoo says before Harua can even muster up a reply, “I don't know why I said that. That's not why–”
“I know,” Harua sighs, “I should probably go to sleep. I want to see Nicholas tomorrow.”
“Right.” Euijoo nods, the quiet flicker of the candle breaking through the tense and heavy air, “You should.”
Harua moves off of Euijoo’s bed with a creak, his feet quietly hitting the floor. He glances back at Euijoo with the door slightly creaked open, “Goodnight.”
Euijoo nods, “Goodnight.”
Euijoo dreams about Nicholas. He wants to sob as he looks at Nicholas. It feels like it's been an eternity since he’s last seen him. It's a memory– the summer before Nicholas was reaped.
Nicholas grins as he stares at Euijoo from the lake, his hair damp with droplets dripping down against the side of his face. The water has set into his skin and hair as the bright sun beats down onto both of them.
Euijoo stares at him from the grass he sits on, the grass poking at his skin. He can feel himself grinning stupidly as he watches Nicholas swim in the water so carelessly.
Euijoo laughs at him, “You're gonna have a sunburn tomorrow!”
“Yeah?” Nicholas grins at him, tilting his head mockingly as if he didn't already know that, “You’re gonna take care of me?”
Euijoo groans before laughing, the air hot and heavy as he breathes out, “You want me to?”
“You know I do,” Nicho teases him, whining as he lifts himself out of the lake, “I’d die without you.”
Euijoo laughs, his face scrunches up as he watches Nicho shake off the water from the lake like a dog with a yelp from Euijoo.
“I’m serious,” Nicholas lays down in the grass. The grass is prickling at his pale skin as closes his eyes, “I don't know what I’d do without you.”
Euijoo stays next to him, the grass poking against his legs, “You’d be fine without me.” It sounds as if they're talking about something else, not Nicholas’s impending sunburn.
“You're sure?” Nicholas whispers, opening his eyes to look at Euijoo's warm brown eyes. His eyes shine through his glasses, the sun shining against them.
Nicholas sits up, leaning his head against Euijoo’s shoulder, his damp strands wetting the fabric of his thin shirt.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Euijoo practically whispers into Nicholas’s mouth. He can see Nicholas's eyes staring at his lips, a quiet form of begging that Euijoo’s oh so familiar with from Nicho.
“Yeah?” Nicholas teases him, lifting his brows as he looks back at Euijoo’s eyes. It only takes a quiet yet ever so dramatic sigh from underneath Nicho’s breath for Euijoo to lean in– his chapped lips move against Nicho’s lips. Euijoo can taste the sweet sugar on his lips that he’d smuggled into the district, the foreign sweetness of strawberry being shared between them.
Euijoo’s heart thumps in his ears loudly as he feels Nicho’s hands cold with lake water trail up his neck, his fingers touching at the thin silver chain that peeks out of Euijoo’s shirt. Nicholas presses himself closer to Euijoo as if he was trying to physically attach himself to him, his cold skin pressing against Euijoo’s warm body that sits underneath the bright sun.
Nicholas leaves the kiss with a quiet gasp that leaves Euijoo wanting. He doesn't want to beg Nicholas to do it again.
The wind whistles against their ears, the breeze blowing through against their flushed bodies. Nicho breathes out, “I know I don't say it enough but–”
Euijoo cuts him off promptly, replying with a smile, “I know.”
Euijoo awakes with tears in his eyes.
It's a busy morning. Euijoo doesn't see how it can't be with such a special day as so. The television plays in the background as he hears the host go over his thoughts about the games– which tributes will go far and which ones will perish quickly. Euijoo is not shocked when he hears Minjeong and Nicholas among the tributes in the latter part.
The television is muffled in Euijoo’s mind. He can only think of Nicholas, on his television with a ridiculous outfit on that the capitol deemed to represent him. His mind is everywhere while simultaneously being in the moment as he watches Maki sit across him at the dinner table, absolutely destroying the food in front of him as if he were some rabid dog.
Kei stares at Maki in disbelief, quietly noting to himself that yes, that is his son and he absolutely adores him. However, he really needs to calm down sometimes.
“Oh yeah,” Harua speaks up, glancing at Fuma before realizing his gaze is too warm on him, opting to glance around the room, “I invited Yuma to watch the games with us.”
“Just in case he wanted company, you know,” Harua adds on before anybody else can get a word in.
“Yuma?” Kei asks, he’s unfamiliar with most of the children in district nine. Too many to keep up with and too many to count.
Maki nods, swallowing down his food, “Minjeong’s brother.”
It's quiet for a beat. It's depressing to think about both Yuma and Harua watching their siblings fight and die on television for the Capitol's entertainment. There isn't anything they can do it about it except be prepared to mourn.
(Euijoo hopes it hurts less on the way out.)
“Okay.” Kei agrees quickly. He can't see a reason why he would ever disagree, “That's fine.”
The house is noisy with constant chatter, clinking of items around their house and the grating sound of the host on the television. The host laughs loudly and Euijoo’s eyes twitch at the very sound of his bellowing laugh that comes from his chest. He wants the vomit at the sound of the television. He wishes someone would turn it off. He wishes they weren't forced to watch it.
Euijoo can hear the door to their home creaking open from his bedroom. He hears a sharp gasp from Maki as the young boy probably runs over to Yuma, practically jumping on top of the shorter boy out of pure unbridled excitement like a dog. He hears the chattering around Yuma, Yuma barely managing to get a single word out between the excited talkings of Maki and Harua.
It echoes through the house and Euijoo shivers at the thought of having to sit in front of the television whilst his hatred swirls around deeply in his stomach, clenching his fists quietly in both anger and anxiety.
Euijoo doesn't know how long he stays in his head. His thoughts jumping around in his mind, all his sorrows and anger swelling up in his mind. His hand instinctively goes up to his chest, the thin silver necklace hanging underneath his thin shirt.
The bedroom door creaks open and Euijoo jumps at the sound, like a frightened cat would. Yuma stands at his door quietly, his sharp eyes holding his gaze– the same sorrow reflecting in his eyes that Euijoo’s holds.
Yuma’s sharp eyes glance at the wall of his bedroom, his eyes scanning the room without a word coming out of his mouth. His eyes fall on the cross on his wall; it's an old thing, Euijoo knows. He’s had it for years and years, the metal of the cross rusting into a dark brown that reminded him of Nicho’s eyes.
“It's not your fault, you know.” Yuma says, his eyes still stuck to the rusting edge of the cross, “I thought it was mine too.”
Euijoo scratches at his neck nervously, “Why?” his voice is smaller than ever.
“I fought with her before the reaping,” Yuma huffs, a breath of air coming out his nose before he shakes his head, “it's stupid now. It doesn't matter now, she's not coming back.”
Euijoo can practically see the hatred swelling between Yuma’s teeth as he speaks. He has no belief in Minjeong.
Euijoo furrows his brows, “She might.”
“She's no Heejin.” Yuma scoffs.
And neither is Nicholas, Euijoo thinks.
“And obviously we have to talk about who the best candidate is for winning: Zhang Hao,” the host speaks, sitting on a comfortable chair chatting with another winner of the hunger games, the thirty secondth Hunger Games winner. They nod along to the hosts words, agreeing with their sentiment, “It's obvious, though. He's from the career districts– trained for it his whole life and has the best scores out of all of the tributes. Doesn't exactly make the games fun, though.”
“It's too predictable,” the former tribute adds on, “and nobody wants that, do we?”
The audience roars with cheers and applause as they watch the host nods along with them with a lifted brow.
“Right. Who do you suppose would possibly win then?” His voice is almost mocking as if a non-career tribute would ever win, “Career tributes aside, of course.”
The former tribute clicks their tongue as they glance at the profiles of the current tributes show up on screen, their sorrow all visible in their faces. They hum before pausing on a boy– Euijoo couldn't remember his name, only his tearful expression as he spoke during the interviews. He was too young for this, not that there was ever a certain age to be okay for participating.
“District Eight,” the former tribute says, “The boy. Park Gunwook.”
“Well, I am glad you’ve made a decision because the games are about to begin!” the host laughs. Euijoo stares down at the countdown in the corner of the screen, as if it were to be celebrated the second it reached zero.
The camera pans over the arena– a large span of land covered in green, lush grass and trees that span over for miles and miles, it almost seems never ending. There’s a river down the middle of the arena that runs wild, the water’s quick and furious. It’s a death trap waiting to happen.
The cornucopia sits in the very left side of the arena, filled with every little thing the tributes could ever use in such a horrific game. A horrific game that was soon to begin.
The camera then pans to the twenty four tributes who stand around the cornucopia– some look nervous, others look confident and the others look like they just wish this was never happening to them.
Nicholas inhales shakily, his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears as if it was about to pop out of his chest. His fingers feel numb, sweat dripping down from his hands as if he was being hunted down already. The loose jacket he wears edges the tips of his fingers, nearly shocking his fingers out of numbness.
A countdown begins to echo through the arena, a monotone voice speaks every number and it feels like this may be his last time hearing it. The wind whistles in his ears as it blows past, the soft breeze kissing him as the numbers stop, a final goodbye to the world he knows.
Nicholas exhales as the loud boom echoes throughout the arena.