Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For the 74th annual hunger games, the first tribute picked from district 3 just happened to be a girl that William knew.

Fresh as a breath of cold air, the mayor's daughter- everyone in her orbit knew her, and adored her- and it was impossible not to. She was smart, and kind- and she was clearly the sort of person that had a bright future ahead of her.

But now, she was being called up to the podium by Mallard Conway- an uppity stranger, sent fresh from the Capitol. His clothes were black and red, adorned with what looked like tiny bones, but were likely just bits of odd jewelry. He had powder white skin, sharp features, impossibly dark eyes, and hair shaped in a way that was impossible to achieve without the help of gel…

(It was odd to think that he was plain, compared to their usual representatives- who adored bright flashes of color, and wigs, and had voices so piercing that the feedback on the microphone was painful- but in comparison to any normal person from a bland place like district 3, Mallard Conway seemed completely alien.)

“Summer Dileo.”

His voice wasn't as drilling, but it still curled around Summer's name in a way that was just as sickly as it was sweet. Strangely aloof, and uncaring- maybe, even, a little curious to see who she was. Sobering.

The marketplace was silent. It’d been silent ever since Mallard Conway initially took to the podium, with every person of age stiffening in anticipation- sweating, and hoping to God it wasn’t them being picked- in the middle of it, as he was drawing the names, William swore that he could hear a pin drop.

But usually, after those names were read out, the silence cleared a path for several girls and boys to sigh quiet breaths of relief. Then there’d be murmuring, and the Capitol representative would end up having to ask a crowd of teenagers to settle down, so that they could get the rest out of the way- but there was no greater high than not being chosen, and some people just couldn’t contain it.

When Summer was chosen, that tense silence remained. 

There was no relief. It was like everyone had held their breaths, and then kept that pause in their throats. And when he looked around for the girl in question, he could see a lot of strangers in a greater state of confusion than he was- looking at their friends, and all likely thinking- really? Summer Dileo? Out of anyone that could’ve been picked this year, it was her?

After a while, William could finally spot her from a distance. Her bright red hair was pinned up in a style so intricate that it was impossible to see where it started, and where it ended- and she was wearing a bright green dress that mostly blended in with the attire of the people surrounding her. Other kids in her status, with her wealth…

Her name had to be put in there only a few times, by then. Seven at most, if William was remembering right. There were hundreds- thousands- of people in their district, with some of them having their names in there at least a dozen times over. 

And yet, she got an unlucky draw in the last year that she was eligible. (And after she was sent off to the Capitol, there would be a wave of girls her age that’d celebrate like their lives depended on it. But, for now, nobody uttered a single word.)

The crowd parted for her, and she walked slowly towards the podium. Less like she was stalling, and more so like she was just taking her time.

There was no crying, or big emotions- several cameras were trained on her face, recording for a replay that the districts and the Capitol would be watching in a few hours- and yet, she was calm. (In the replay, William thought, the cameras wouldn’t be on her for more than a minute or so. Her indifference wasn’t what they were looking for.)

If Summer was picked, anyone could've been picked. Any kid- whether there was a tribute with 40 entries, or one with two- it was a brutal reminder that it was all left up to chance.

It felt surreal. She didn't get more than a minute to breathe, and look out at the crowd before Mallard Conway was moving over to the other side of the stage, and picking out the names for the male tribute that'd be joining her.

The Capitol representative adjusted his tie, and stared at the slip of paper for just a second too long before he read out the name on it.

“William Wisp.” Mallard Conway looked up at the crowd, eyebrows raised, and voice just as pleasant as it’d been with Summer’s.

William Wisp considered himself to be the kind of person that usually went unnoticed. 

And yet, it seemed, every person within a few-feet radius knew exactly who was being called up next. They turned to look at him, not quite as shocked, or respectful- but they similarly parted for him, as he stepped up to the stage on shaky legs.

William hated crowds on a good day. 

He kept his head down, to avoid all of the eyes that were trained on him- eyes from the crowd, and those from the stage. And when he finally reached the stage, William almost started this whole mess by falling flat on his face- but he just managed to right himself in time, so that he could stand stiffly next to his fellow tribute.

William wasn't as calm, or composed as she seemed to be. There weren't any screens displaying a close shot of his face right now, but he knew that they'd be more focused on him in the replays- showing off a pale face that was, no doubt, filled with a terror that he couldn’t seem to shake.

If anyone on stage noticed, they didn't do anything. Instead, Mallard Conway fixed the front of his suit jacket, and spoke calmly into the microphone.

“If anyone would like to volunteer, please speak up now.”

A wave of silence washed over the crowd, after Mallard Conway asked them- as if they'd be picked for making a noise any higher than their own breathing.

It was reaping day. 

William Wisp and Summer Dileo were the tributes representing district 3. And in just a few minutes, after they shook hands and parted ways, they'd have only minutes to tell their families goodbye before they were sent off to the Capitol.

William knew, deep in his gut, that nobody was going to raise their hand, and volunteer to take their places. Because why would they? It was their final eligible year- and anyone that could’ve possibly known them didn’t want to be in their shoes at all.

With no volunteers from the crowd, their Capitol Representative cheerily announced, “Summer Dileo and William Wisp, may the odds be ever in your favor!”

Meanwhile, William swore that he could feel his stomach sinking into his shoes.

-

William didn't know the entire history of the hunger games.

He knew that he should've. It was an important part of their history- taught, and shown in schools all around Prime. It was impossible to ignore. And yet, every year- just knowing the gist, and just hoping not to get picked- he was a little uninformed.

William knew that there was rebellion, and a district that'd been reduced to cinders, and that this game was supposedly repentance for that rebellion. A show of control, and a reminder that any sort of rebellion would be snuffed out just as fast as it’d be started.

Every year, one girl and one boy in a young age bracket were chosen from each district to compete. Each tribute then fought to the death in an expansive arena, with only one winner being crowned at the very end. 

The prize from winning (aside from food and supplies being sent to the district) was fame, glory- and a guarantee that you wouldn't have to compete again, if you would normally be eligible for that year. 

The trade off wasn't impressive, and the system was horrible. If they hadn't been forced to sign up- putting in names for every year that they were eligible, and then some for those that needed the extra support from the tessera- William knew that almost nobody would.

It was the last year he and Summer were eligible for the games. They'd had one year to get through before they were in the clear. 

And yet, at the very last minute, they were chosen anyway. 

Such rotten luck.

-

William paced around the room he'd been ushered into. 

Outside, through a set of thin, white curtains, he could see the plaza that the reapings were held in each year- still crowded with people who must've been overjoyed at the fact that none of their family members had been picked, and that they could breathe normally for the next year. 

After another second of silence, he could hear some cheering from a group of boys around his age- unfamiliar faces, wearing uniforms from the same school he went to. Their excitement was slighly contained by the Peacekeepers, but as soon as they were out of the plaza- practically sprinting out, with all of their friends in tow- the cheering resumed, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop them.

It was William's least favorite part of the games, aside from the games themselves. 

The Capitol insisted on treating it as a celebration- not just within the Capitol, but within the districts as well. That meant that, for the next week or so, places like the plaza and different houses would have colorful banners pinned to it. Their district wasn't as impoverished as some of the others were, so there would be drinking, feasting, dancing- a celebration for being alive.

Meanwhile, two teenagers were sent off to the Capitol. And whoever was close to them, friends or family alike, would keep their heads low long after the games ended.

The plaza was almost completely emptied when his parents finally opened the door to the room he was in, and greeted him- away from all the celebration. William imagined that Summer's family must've been in the other room as well, embracing her just as sadly as William’s did with him. Similarly shocked, that their child was the one to get picked.

It was a short meeting. 

William's been in this position once before- not as a tribute, but on the other side of it. He knew that he'd only get a few minutes at most, and yet, for some reason, he didn't expect it to be as short as it was. In just a matter of minutes- from the reaping, to now- his fate had been completely sealed. 

And there was nothing he could do about it.

“Oh.” His mom said with a wobbly smile. Her cold hand was pressed against his cheek, and her voice was syrupy sweet. It made William's gut turn. “You listen to your brother, alright? Everything he says… I need you to come home, after this.”

Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, no matter what she did- and even though she wasn't crying at that very moment, she can never seem to get her voice to sound steady. There was a final hug from the two of them- his father curled his arm around William, and similarly leaned over to whisper to him some words of encouragement- but at that point, William wasn't listening to any of it.

Because behind them- standing in the open doorway, in his immediate line of sight- was William's brother. David Bell.

From a distance, he probably looked like the sort of person that should've been in the crowd during the reaping. He was dressed up, same as William and Summer and all the other teenagers were, dark hair combed back, his light blue shirt freshly ironed… 

And yet, instead of being in the crowd, he’d been on stage- sitting away from the tributes, along with the other past winners of district 3. William saw him when he walked up there initially- sitting upright, going from staring into the crowd with a calm composure, to staring at him. 

And now, he was waiting silently. 

William stared at him. He stared and waited for David to do something- to talk, or scuff his shoe against the wooden floors to subtly let their parents know that he was standing there as well. But David didn't so much as move a muscle. It was almost like he was afraid of intruding on his moment with their family.

The Peacekeepers showed up a little while later to usher his parents out of the room. 

Once the hand of a Peacekeeper was on his mom's arm, she removed it- holding her hands up to show that she was calm, and cooperating… but that composure could only last so long. The minute she turned a corner, William could see her hand coming up to her mouth- and then, she was gone.

David was almost guided out of there as well, but William could see when it must've clicked for the Peacekeeper- recognizing him, and realizing that he wasn't just his brother, coming to say goodbye. Within the span of seconds, the Peacekeeper moved away from him, head held down.

The doors slammed shut behind him. 

There was a lull of silence, before David met his eye again.

William's brother was the winner of the hunger games that he'd been forced into many years ago, and since then, he's been volunteering to mentor for any of the incoming district 3 tributes- teaching them what to do before and during the games to keep the Capitol happy, and satisfied, and to keep his tribute alive for as long as possible in the games themselves-

But now, instead of it being some bright-eyed male tribute trying to spark hope in their own outcome, it was William. His little brother.

And David was clearly displeased.

“How many times was your name put in there?” Was the first thing David asked him. 

No hello, or any other greetings that could have given anything away. As if the cameras were still trained on them, and hungrily waiting for one of them to say something interesting.

“Seven.”

“Seven.” He repeated, in a weird breath that almost sounded like he was laughing. “Seven out of thousands.”

“Yeah.”

“Nobody volunteered?”

William gave him a weird look. Obviously not- or he wouldn't be standing there right now. “Who would?”

Despite the fame, not everyone knew that they were related. 

They had the same dark hair, but as far as similarities went, that's where it started and ended- David's features were a lot sharper, while William's was a lot softer. They had completely different eye colors, and eye shapes- hell, they didn't even share the same last name. 

David Bell wasn't his brother by blood, but he was his brother nonetheless.

As such, whenever friends and classmates thought about the winners from their district, and they couldn’t remember any of them having the name Wisp, they didn't believe him, when he claimed to be related to the same guy that had an explosive end to his games.

Not that it would have mattered. At most, maybe, some people would have looked at him in much more pity if they realized who he was during the reaping- and realized that, somehow, two people in the same family in the same generation got picked for the hunger games. 

And now, he was being mentored by him.

“You shouldn’t let them see you cry.” David said, and William slowly blinked in response.

As odd as it seemed, William didn't even realize that he was crying. 

It wasn't surprising. He'd cry from something as small as a stubbed toe, much less getting picked for a death lottery- he was just surprised that he hadn’t noticed it. Instead of an overwhelming sadness, there was just some empty pit in his stomach. And that pit grew deeper and deeper, until it felt like it encapsulated him fully. Making it hard to talk, much less think.

But now that David pointed it out, he realized that his cheeks were sticky from tear tracks. And he hoped that, maybe in the reruns, nobody would actually see him cry- if he even was crying. Maybe he got lucky somehow, and didn't start crying until after he was already inside.

At the reminder, he rubbed his eyes. He knew that his eyes must have been red, and that tears must have been welling up- but so long as he was under the Capitol's eye, he needed to be better about it.

“David.” His voice was dry and cracked from misuse. 

He couldn't remember saying a single thing earlier that day- nothing from that morning when he woke up and got dressed, and nothing when his parents arrived- nothing until just a minute ago, when David asked him how many times his name had been entered.

“You're fine.” Calm, and composed as ever. William always wondered how he did it. “I was picked to be your mentor. We'll get through this.” He promised. 

But, even then, his voice sounded weird. Like he didn't quite believe it himself.

It didn't give William much confidence.

-

The train to the Capitol was somehow fancier than anything that William's ever seen before.

Because David won a previous hunger games, he and his family went from living in a very small home that barely fit the four of them to a much nicer one in a victor's village. William could remember seeing it for the first time, all the way back then- being as young as eight years old and running around in a bedroom that'd been the size of his old living room. Feeling, for once, that he was living the life of luxury.

It all paled in comparison to what he was seeing now.

There was intricate detailing in every single train car he passed. Colorful wallpaper that differed from one room to the other. Seats for too many people, tables with decorative tea sets and plates stacked high with food. William didn't know why they had so much set out all at once- if they somehow expected him and Summer to eat a good portion of it, or if they were just simply giving them a selection- it wasn't clear. If anything, it was overwhelming.

William knew that he wasn't hungry. He knew that he wasn't ready for the days to come, and he knew that even if he tried to eat something now, he probably couldn't get a single bite down. One look over at Summer, and William figured that she was in a similar state- looking just as strained and tense as she was when her name got drawn.

With the guidance of his older brother, William retired to his room, which was also fancier than his room at home. The walls were plain, but there was plush furniture scattered around inside of it. Chairs and beds with silk sheets, drawers with pajamas that he had at his disposal- but he ignored the room in the train car, and every other luxury he was given, and he instead chose to sit on his bed.

“Lunch has already passed, and dinner will be ready later, but you can get food anytime you want.” David said quietly, similarly looking around the room- as if it was any different to the other rooms that he’d come accustomed to for the past nine years. “Anything you want, just ask someone for it. The Capitol likes to spoil the tributes before the games.”

All William wanted was to go home, but he knew that nothing good would come from vocalizing that thought. David would just shake his head, and the denial would just make both of them feel worse. So he stayed silent. And David stayed in that doorway until he realized that William didn’t have anything else to say. 

Then he left. William didn't hear the clicking of his shoes against the floor as he walked away. Instead, he heard the soft hiss of the train door as it shut behind him. He didn't move his head to make sure. He didn't move at all. 

William froze in that position like a statue- and some part of him wondered how long he'd be able to sit like that before he was forced out of it.

-

When he finally roused from his shock- able to stand, and function like a human being again- it was dark outside, and William was hungry.

He knew that it was past dinner. The lights outside were out, and somewhere close to an hour ago, David told him that it'd be good for him to get up, and get something to eat… But at the time, he barely heard him, and felt like he couldn't move a muscle.

Now, moving through the train cars, he just hoped that he could get a bite to eat without needing to talk to his brother, or anyone else that'd have to spend the next week or so ushering him around. Just for that night.

Fortunately, his prayers were mostly answered.

It wasn't Mallard Conway or David in the dining car. Instead, as William quietly crept inside, he was met with his fellow tribute. Summer, holding up a plate, and a pair of metal tongs. Her head whirled around when she heard him coming in, almost like she was similarly afraid of getting caught.

“Hey…” Her eyebrows twitched, and she looked around- like she was expecting one of their mentors to come out of nowhere, and flank them. “William.”

But it was too late for something like that to happen. The only lights were coming from the artificial train car itself, and the curtains were half-way drawn to cover the nighttime sky.

“Hey.” William said, just as quietly. 

He hoped that he wouldn’t bump into anybody while he still looked like a mess, but he knew that he was never so lucky. He didn’t even break out of that stupor until just an hour ago, and then, he couldn’t drag himself out of bed until a while after that.

He wasn’t even wearing the complementary pajamas, like Summer was. He was still in the clothes he wore during the reaping- mussed and wrinkled now, just as disheveled as the rest of his appearance was.

“You missed dinner.” Summer said, though she was clearly dishing herself up as well.

“Did I miss anything?”

“I don’t know.” Summer shrugged, and kept her eyes down. “I missed dinner too.”

William’s shoulders slumped slightly. His anxiety was replaced with exhaustion, but he piled up his plate, and planned to eat some food nonetheless.

“Stressed?” He murmured, voice so low that it was barely heard above the sound of the train moving.

“I just wanted a minute to myself.” 

“Sorry.” Even quieter.

Her head turned over a little, but she didn't quite look at him, “How about you?”

“Same here.” 

Summer just shook her head. 

“It's like-” She waved her tongs around a little, snapping the ends together in a grabby motion. William's head moved from it, as if he was worried about her pinching his nose or something. “I don't know why they expect us to be so… okay with it.”

William agreed- he agreed with everything and more, but he was also aware that they were on their way to the Capitol, and that there were likely prying ears, and prying eyes, and that they wouldn't appreciate that sort of talk.

“Summer…”

“It's day one, and we're getting so bombarded with everything…” She scoffed, and waved her hand around. “God forbid we want more than a few minutes to say goodbye, right? Or- or we might want some time to ourselves. It's insane.”

“...” Seeing no point in stopping her, William mainly kept his head held down, as he scoured the different available foods.

He got his hands on a soup, poured from a metal pot that was still (mostly) keeping it warm. From there, he got some rolls, and spread butter on them- all while Summer quietly (yet angrily) ranted about the rules, and the days to come.

And when they were done dishing themselves up, William prepared to go back to his room, and eat.

Instead, as he was leaving- as he was passing Summer, who sat in a booth- she suddenly held her hand out to stop him.

“Sit with me?” Summer asked, head tilted as she tried to get a good look at him.

“...” William didn't meet her eyes, but he obliged, easily sliding into the seat directly across from her.

They took a minute to eat. Both of them went about it slowly, since they had the luxury to take their time, and there was no expectation of either of them needing to talk.

Still, William caught Summer looking at him from time to time. But he didn't say a word until she did.

“You’re in my grade, aren't you?” 

Summer was nervously tapping the end of her spoon against the table. For a while, the tapping was the only thing he could really seem to focus on.

“Yeah, we’ve met.” William ducked his head down a bit.

“I recognize you- I know your name, and I know I see you around all the time… But I don’t think I really started recognizing you until recently.” She looked back at her food, nodding to herself, “It… sucks that we never really talked, until now. Under these circumstances.”

“On our last eligible year, too.”

“On our last year.” She repeated, and she huffed, and it almost sounded like a laugh- but William knew better than to assume that. 

When she started eating, the table went silent, and it was very clear that she’d been carrying the conversation.

William shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. 

He didn’t know how it went for tributes behind the scenes- none of them really wanted to talk about it- but William knew that they were going to be busy for the next few days.

Before the games, each tribute was entitled to a period where they would be flaunted around- stylists clamoring to dress them up, interviews set up to let the Capitol know what they were like, days spent training to give them all a chance to succeed in the games-

In the grand scheme of things, it couldn’t have been that long. But they still must’ve been busy. Which meant that the two of them were going to be similarly busy, and that meant that this quiet little after-dinner with lukewarm soup, and cold buttered rolls was going to be the last time they got to properly talk to each other before everything got overwhelming.

William didn’t want that. He didn’t know why- Summer was in his district, but in the games she’d be his enemy- and yet, he wanted to talk to her. He was already starting to mourn her.

William dipped his spoon into the broth.

“Did your dad see you off?”

She nodded, and had this weird, far-off look in her eyes. William recognized it well. “My whole family did.”

“Hm.”

William watched her reach for something on her hand, and immediately noticed the rings on her index finger, being twisted around idly.

“Each tribute gets to bring a token from their district, and bring it into the arena.” She said, quietly, “So I got these. Since it’s what they had on hand… I don’t think they were expecting me to get picked.”

“They look nice.” William said reassuringly. Nice was an understatement. It was clear that her family was the wealthiest in the whole district, if they had something like that on hand.

“Did you get a token?” She asked, lightly- and it sounded like she was trying to compose herself in real time.

Willam shook his head. “Mine weren’t expecting me to get picked either.”

“Bad luck, huh?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“...” She looked at him, eyes narrowing slightly, as she then said, “Give me your hand.”

If anything, the command made him want to lean away a bit- but his hand remained steady on the table, and within reaching distance. “Why?”

“Come on.” Summer held his hand up, and slid one of those rings onto his index finger. William stretched his hand out, and showed it off- squinting, like he was trying to get a better look at it. “For good luck. And so you can have a piece of home with you, in the arena.”

William looked between the ring, and Summer.

They definitely had the money to replace it, if Summer was giving it away so easily. But the gesture was nice. 

So William decided to be polite, and say, “Thank you.” Instead of the alternative, which was him saying something like- ‘I'm not going to make it through the games, so you're just wasting jewelry on me’ or ‘How would your parents feel, seeing their tokens be thrown away?’

Then again, so long as William’s fingers stayed intact, the ring would go back with him to their district- and then, in his casket, Summer’s family could decide whether or not they wanted him to keep it.

A wave of nausea flooded through him, and William felt himself paling rapidly. Fingers intact. As if to imply that there would be a situation where his fingers wouldn’t be intact. As if his death would be painful, and slow, and-

And suddenly, William didn’t feel very much like eating. He moved the bowl away so quickly that some of the half-eaten soup spilled onto the tablecloth, and then, when he couldn’t find where to put his hands after that, he decided to curl his fingers into his pants.

His nice pants. The same pants his mother had him only wear to the reaping, since it was the nicest pair he had. Dark, like funeral clothes, before he was sent off to his death.

He saw Summer out of the corner of his eye similarly lose her appetite before speaking again.

“And… your family?” After a pause, he nodded very shakily. “Why weren’t they expecting you to get picked? How many times was your name put in?”

“Seven.” Seven of thousands. He kept meticulous track. And, well, since he was dying anyway… “And my brother was in the games too. So. Just unlucky, I guess.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She frowned.

“For what?”

“Well, your parents…” She trailed off, but William mentally understood the sentiment, even if she stopped herself from saying it in time. Not only did she have no faith in William winning (which was… Understandable, unfortunately) but she also thought that David was one of the unlucky tributes that’d gotten themselves killed.

Normally, nowadays, William didn’t care about flaunting it very much… But it was Summer, and there was no point in being so secretive.

“My brother's the one that won. Ages ago. Broke that streak that district 4 had going on.” Some recognition crossed her face, but it didn't really seem to sink in until he said, “He's the one that's mento-”

“He's your mentor!” She said, a little loudly- but, then, she had the decency to seem embarrassed. Her hand shot up to her mouth, and she lowered her voice drastically as she asked, “David Bell- that's your brother?”

He gave her a crooked, toothy smile. “Everyone always seems to forget that.”

It was usually the older generations that remembered, since the people around his age were very young, when it happened. And since it was an annual thing, people were paying more attention to the winners of current years, rather than previous years… it wasn’t all that surprising that nobody knew.

“Well- that's lucky. You'll get him helping you out through the games, and… since he won before…”

If she was trying to comfort him, and imply that David would actually somehow get William to win, then she was doing a pretty poor job of it. But he nodded along anyway.

Then, just as he was about to keep talking, there was a quiet hiss of a door opening, and both of them turned around so suddenly that it startled the newcomer.

Not that he’d ever show it in a normal way. There Mallard Conway stood, eyebrow raised when he saw them, but in the next minute, he was back to looking aloof, and uninterested. 

It was tense. The tributes, in the same room as the Capitol escort that picked their names out of the bowl- and even though there wasn’t a trace of anger on Summer’s face, somehow, the blank look was much worse.

“Dinner was an hour ago. You two just missed it.”

William noticed a crick in Summer’s jaw. “I didn’t know it was required.”

Mallard Conway waved his hand. And even though he was still talking to them, his attention was clearly focused on a table that was stacked with all sorts of desserts, and pastries- all of which were mostly left untouched.

“You can do whatever you please. We won't be in the Capitol for another day or so, and until then, we'll just be on this train…” William saw him grin, and he couldn’t tell if he was smiling because of what he was saying, or because of the sweets, “The Capitol loves spoiling its tributes…”

“...”

The Capitol escort picked up a pastry, examined it closely, and seemed to decide that it was good enough to eat- but he didn’t bite into it just yet.

“Breakfast is at 8, though.” He said, coolly, “And you should want to spend as much time with your mentors as possible, before the games.”

And then he walked away, leaving the two of them to stew in their silence. 

In mere minutes, the dining car was cleared of people- both Summer and William supposing that a breakfast with the rest of them was probably a good idea.

-

“You should eat.” 

It was just William and David in the train car, for now- but William had the feeling that the others weren't far behind. They just happened to wake up early, both because of their usual sleeping schedules, and because of the stress that was likely consuming the both of them.

Because, sure, William was unlucky enough to be chosen- but he could see that David also had the unlucky task of needing to guide him through the games. Which meant that, succeed or fail, some of the blame would be put on him. 

(William knew that David had nothing to worry about- their parents wouldn't blame him for William’s death, and the rest of the districts would forget about it by the time the next hunger games rolled around… 

But he was still worried about him. 

David was a logical person. They both were, mainly because of the district they lived in. He'd probably shrug it off, and say it was out of his hands- and that nobody, not even himself, could blame him for what happened because nobody else could've handled the burden of being William’s mentor…

And yet, grief and guilt worked in mysterious ways. Maybe David would wipe his hands of it, and say that he was just a lost cause. Maybe he'd take full responsibility- the point was that William would never get to know, and yet, it was the only thing on his mind. Annoying him, like it was a question that was just on the tip of his tongue, and he was just waiting to ask it.

And while some part of himself hoped that David wouldn't take it too hard, there was another, more secretive part that hoped that he'd feel a little sorry for him. 

Maybe it was too much for him to ask. Maybe, in the end, he'd lose, and William would have nobody to blame but himself.)

“...” Despite his brother's advice, William couldn't help but pick at the food on his plate.

David was staring at him, eyes narrowed- and when William finally looked up at him, he could see stress lining every feature of his face. From this angle, he seemed to be much older than 25.

“The arena's not going to have a lot of food for you.” He insisted, when it was clear that William was going to continue to sit there. “So, if you go in hungry…”

“...” It was enough to make him take a bite. Then another, when the food was too good to leave wasting away on a plate.

David sighed.

“I'm going to be mentoring you from now on.” He said, and William frowned further, “I need you to listen to what I'm saying, and follow through so that you might have a chance at winning.”

“You can't help me where it matters-”

David snapped his fingers in front of his face, and William flinched, and cut himself off immediately.

He recognized the gesture. David used to do the same thing when they were younger, and more at each other's throats- with David snapping his fingers next to William's ear, and with William then getting frustrated with him. Back then, it was just this small thing that was meant to annoy him- David could snap his fingers, and William couldn’t, and thus, William was treated to a loud noise in his ear whenever David felt like bugging him.

Nowadays… the gesture was mostly nonexistent. They didn't see each other as often. They weren't friends, nor did they like each other very much- they were corduel at best whenever David came by district 3, with William counting down the hours to when he'd be leaving again- 

But it still got William’s attention. And that was the point, even if it'd annoy him after the initial shock.

“This whole thing is a show.” David said bluntly, “The Capitol isn't looking for the strongest tributes in the arena, they're looking for tributes that have a story to tell them. The ones that'll make it interesting to watch. The more tragic, the better, alright?”

Right. “What was your story?”

If William was remembering correctly- because, really, he could've been completely wrong- David didn't have much of a story at all. Or, if he bet himself winning on that story, then he wouldn't have won the hunger games . There were plenty of tragic people in plenty of the years, and of all of them, William could only remember David looking strangely calm, and collected.

David's face flattened into a scowl. “I was nice. And charismatic.”

“Not tragic?” 

“It didn't help, in my case. But it could help you with yours. Because… let's face it.” David shot back, holding his arms up to gesture to all of William, “You're not getting by with the same routine.”

“Hm.” William said, only because he didn't have anything snarky to say in return.

David leaned forward a little.

“My mentor was incompetent.” He tried pushing further, “He told me to talk about my life, and my family- but they don’t care about you, if your life is boring. The most important thing you can do while you're out there is to make yourself stand out as much as possible.”

“And then I can win?” William asked. He wished that he sounded defiant, or like he was calm enough to be sarcastic about this- but he didn't. And he knew that anyone could see right through him.

“It'll give you your best shot.” David said simply, and William hated that it sounded vague. “And you need it.”

-

The train ride was a blur.

Trying to come to terms with him getting picked, and what was happening, all while his brother was being weirdly frantic… it was a lot. Just a week ago, if David was pulling the same shit, William would’ve been telling him to knock it off. But now, it was warranted.

There was never another night like that first night. No sneaking out, meeting up with Summer, and having a nice conversation- instead, they met up at the same time for meals with Mallard Conway, and the mentors that were assigned to each of them.

During his time on the train, after the initial shock, William was put into a weird state of mind. It almost felt like he was running on autopilot- that terror fading into a weird numbness that let him function like a real human being.

He half-listened to his brother. He ate fatty, savory foods that he’d never dream of eating back home in district 3 because of the cost, and he thought more of the taste rather than the reasons for why he was eating them. In moments of pause, William’s brain turned off, and he happily zoned out.

He went to bed early, and exhausted-

And by the next morning, in the middle of them eating breakfast, they were in the Capitol.

Through the wide windows of the train, William saw the green scenery of the mountains fade into the distant white and gray buildings of the Capitol. Summer and William both looked up at the same time, but it was Summer who stood up, and got even closer.

They went through a tunnel. And then, as they emerged from the other side, William heard the faint sound of cheering, and that sound was something strange enough to make him stand up as well. William only gave David a brief, confused look before he poked his head out from behind her.

After they went through another tunnel, the first thing that William saw were crowds.

People in painted faces, and bizarre wigs and outfits in every color under the spectrum, all clumping together at a safe distance. They were all excitedly cheering at their train coming in, reaching out their gloved hands like they were trying to reach them, or wave at them-

And- presumably, after she got over her own shock- Summer waved back. And as if it was possible, the crowds got even more rowdy at the sight of it.

“We need them to like us, right?” Summer asked, and William understood, and scrambled to follow along with what she was doing, until the train came to a complete stop.

When he was getting off the train, William almost tripped. He thought he was fine, and that his body was operating in a smooth autopilot- but after being let off, and being on the same level as the crowds, his legs felt like they were made of lead.

William wanted to be nice. He wanted to think that even though the people of the Capitol were very expressive, and very colorful, they were still just like the rest of them. And yet, as he continued onward and his faces passed him by, all he could see on the faces of these people were… unnatural.

The people of the Capitol were meant to stand out. They had sharp makeup, similar to that of Mallard Conway- odd outfits, and hairdos, and piercings- and it was just jarring, seeing all of that, when district 3 was so bland, and the grandest displays of wealth were just simple rings that Summer was willing to give to him.

As if reminded by its presence, William's hand dipped down, and started twisting the ring- similar to what Summer did when they were talking back in the train car- and even though it didn't help him that much, there was still some anxiety that was relieved. While Summer was being polite and actually making a good first impression… William shot for seeming neutral at best.

And it worked, for the most part. If it hadn't, or if he was doing poorly, he knew that David would've quietly corrected him- bumping against his shoulder or something, and making sure that he was doing something properly.

But David left him alone. And so, while being guided through the station, William assumed that he was doing his best.

-

The first thing they needed to take care of was the tribute parade.

They’d be in horse-drawn chariots, along with all of the other tributes, stylized to look just as colorful as the other people in the Capitol did- paraded around a physical audience, and in front of several cameras. It was an introduction- not just to the players, but also the districts that they'd be wearing on their backs. It was important. A celebration, for the people in the Capitol.

William thought it was all moving along too fast, for his taste. 

He wished that he had some room to slow down, and breathe- laying to rest once he got there, instead of immediately preparing for something that'd happen later that same night- but he knew that he was just stressed, and that David would only get stressed with his complaints. 

And so, he gritted his teeth, and kept quiet. 

William was guided into a sterile room with makeup artists. And while William wasn’t so fond of his own looks, he didn’t think he looked that bad until they pointed out acne, and dry patches on his skin, and the bags under his eyes- and, suddenly, they were insisting that they’d fix him in no time at all.

They spent a little too much time focusing on his eyebrows, to his liking- plucking, and prodding, and waxing, when he was so sure that he wouldn’t even be seen up close- but once his face was smooth, and they started on makeup… he actually started looking a little healthier.

It was strange. William almost didn’t recognize the face they showed him in the mirror. It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, but it didn’t help with how much William had been spacing out recently. It all just seemed so… surreal.

Then, to his surprise, those makeup artists that were crowding around him just left, as soon as they gave him a look that they were satisfied with. During that hour where they were fussing over his makeup, he was genuinely convinced that they were in charge of what he was wearing- and thus, while being left alone, he wondered if they’d be back soon.

Then, his actual stylist came in. 

William saw a man dressed in flowy, dark clothes. He had white hair, and eyebrows- and William couldn’t figure out if it was natural or dyed. Before he could say much of anything, his stylist was shaking his hand, and William was scrambling to be polite.

“Clarence.” 

Despite the hair, he seemed completely normal. The most normal person he’s seen, since he’s been in the Capitol

“William.”

“William.” He repeated, and William wasn’t sure of the confidence in his tone when he said, “I have something that I think you’re going to like.”

-

In the end, William didn't… hate the look.

William was wearing a wig. A white one, matching the hair color of his own stylist- but styled in a way that made it similarly seamless. He had on a silver suit with blue detailing on it, shoes that had to be tied a few times over because they were just a little too big. The detailing matched the bright blue makeup he had on- now seeing that his face was painted to look like lightning.

He stared at himself in the mirror, and all he could think was that he was glad that he got a somewhat normal stylist.

It made him stand out in a crowd, while also not bringing too much attention to himself. William was aware of the sort of things that stylists got up to in the games. 

After all, to be truly memorable, you sometimes had to come up with designs that even the most eccentric audience members wouldn't dream of wearing. And so, when first met Clarence, William thought that he was going to have to dress in something that'd make him stand out in an awful way.

Instead, he got this. 

Which was fine. It could've been worse. (He couldn't imagine how it could've been better, from the Capitol's standards.) 

Still, he thanked Clarence for his time, smiled as widely as he could manage- and in turn, Clarence didn't do any last-minute alterations, and took William's words at face value. Which was nice- William didn't know how much longer he could stand being there, and waiting through last-minute alterations.

When he met up with Summer again, he saw that she was in a much similar state.

Her hair was silver, pinned up in a wig so convincing that if William didn't know any better, he'd think that she dyed her hair for the tribute parade. Her dress was short and flowy, while also being sharp in the bodice. Her rings were still on her finger, and she even had a similar style of makeup that William did- which was only strange because, usually, the tributes weren't really designed to match.

They took the other's appearance in. Summer brushed her hands on the wavy flow of her dress, and even spun once to show off a little- and William nodded approvingly.

“I can't wait to get out of this wig.” Summer muttered under her breath- but she was still smiling, and anyone who could see her- mentors, stylists, or makeup artists alike- probably thought that she was happy with her look. “I look crazy.”

“Me too.” William said, and when he tried smiling back, his smile was toothy, and wobbly, and he knew that it wasn't nearly as convincing as hers was.

“You're wearing a wig?” She continued, conspiratorially- and something about it made William's nervousness lighten up.

When William got a look at all of the other tributes- finally lining up on their chariots, to get the parade up and running- he suddenly wasn't as self-conscious anymore.

Earlier, his brain tried convincing him that they were the only ones that would've looked strange. That something changed this year- fashion in the Capitol, or rules in the way that stylists were allowed to make their outfits- and that, out of all of them, they were the only ones that were going to show up looking out of place.

If anything, William and Summer were one of the more normal ones.

Some stylists seemed to go for a more artistic approach- making pieces fit for a canvas, instead of a human being- but that didn't make them any less appealing to look at, and none of the others looked nearly as uncomfortable as William felt. So… it must've been fine.

There were a couple people that he recognized- a pair from district 12, wearing all black and with notably messy makeup. A boy from district 6 with flowing attire, red symbols painted all over his arms, and with white hair that was gelled to stick upwards weirdly. A boy from district 7 with shockingly bright red hair, dressed to resemble a tree…

But the one that caught his eye the most was a pair from district 4. William’s eyes were caught onto their hair- long, purple hair at the same length, braided the same way, so intricate that William’s eyes traced the pattern. They both wore the same indigo blue robes, and wore the same jewelry… but the thing that stood out the most was the gold.

Gold strands woven into their hair, on their hands, and wrists, gold detailing in the clothes that they were wearing, gold headpieces that were nearly impossible to see from behind, and a gold netting to represent the fishing district they came from… But when one of them- the boy from that district, he realized- turned his head to the side to look around him, William realized that he had gold makeup on as well- painting his face in such intricate designs, while also being bold enough to be seen from a distance…

The gold also made his gray eyes pop, William similarly realized. Gray eyes, which were a little unusual when a lot of the tributes from district 4 usually had bright blue, or sea green eyes. Gray wasn't impossible, but still incredibly uncommon.

Out of any of the other districts- whose main goal was to stand out from a distance, and impress the Capitol- he looked stunning. The stylist clearly knew what they were going for, and out of all of them, William would have to say that their outfits were his favorite.

The anxiety came back full-force. It certainly beat his own outfit… the wig was starting to get itchy, and he hadn't even hopped onto the chariot with Summer yet. There was no way he could look nearly as memorable.

For a second, those gray eyes looked at him. Looking at the wig, his outfit, and the stage makeup- just as William was doing, but more observing rather than admiring- all before he finally turned back to his fellow tribute. And that brief, uninterested reaction was enough to make William wonder if he could get out doing this.

You need to stand out.

As they climbed on the chariot, William kept his hand on Summer's arm, and she let him steady himself. 

He leaned in a little closer, “I feel like I'm going to fall over.”

“We'll be fine.” Summer said, although she similarly sounded like she was trying to brace herself for what was to come.

William didn't remove his hand from Summer's arm for the entire chariot ride.

They were paraded in front of the Capitol- both on camera, and in front of rows of seats, filled to the brim with its colorful citizens.

Summer waved at the audience with her free hand, and in turn, the crowds cheered right back at her- and though it was impossible to tell, William had a feeling that they were delighted over an incredible display, and a charmingly proper first impression- and all the while, William could only try to look like he belonged there, and not like he just wandered in somehow.

He was tense for the ride. And he tried a smile, knowing that David would've grilled him for it later- make impressions, make them feel for you- and yet, all he could feel was the awkward way his mouth moved when he tried. As that smile became close-lipped, and looked significantly less strained, William just hoped that he seemed endearing, in some way.

Because, honestly, he was starting to lose faith in appealing to a big crowd.

At the end of the parade, all of the chariots stopped short in front of a large podium. Cameras showed a wide shot of all of the tributes- all before cutting to the president, dressed in a bright, well-tailored yellow suit.

He thanked them eagerly for their sacrifices, and casted the announcement away with a well punctuated, “And may the odds be ever in your favor!”

The crowd cheered, upon a wish that they must've heard so many times by now. And when the camera focused on the tributes yet again, William just hoped that his panic wasn't easy to pick up on.

-

When William eventually stepped off the chariot- away from the pounding music, and the overbearing crowds- he almost tripped. If it hadn't been for Summer's steady hand, he probably would've fallen.

He couldn't wait to go back to his room, lay down, and sleep for as long as he could possibly manage.

“Whoa…” He heard, and William immediately turned around, just to see the red-haired tree boy from district 7 jogging over to the pair from district 4- a grin spread wide across his face. “You guys look so cool!”

Finally, there was a break in that stoicism. Despite the district 7 boy leading the conversation, William's eyes were mainly on the boy from district 4. Keeping an eye on reactions, and the way that he itched the side of his head somewhat nervously as he held a conversation with him.

“Are we allowed to talk to the other tributes?” William asked quietly, intending for only Summer to hear him ask.

“So long as you aren't hurting anyone.” Mallard Conway’s voice chimed in from behind them. William's head whipped around, and he couldn't suppress the startled noise he made from his sudden entrance, while their Capitol escort seemed completely unbothered, “And as long as you're not getting in the way of anything… it's not against the rules to talk to the other tributes.”

“I- forgot you were still here.” William said. When Mallard Conway didn't lose that uneasy smile, “Where's our mentors..?”

“They were in the crowd, watching you fly by on your chariots.” Mallard Conway, and something about his voice made the ordeal sound a lot more magical, than the actual affair was.

“...and you weren’t?” William asked quietly, and it was impossible to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

“I'm just here to see you both back to your rooms-”

“Hey!”

And then, suddenly, that same boy from district 7 was jogging up to them instead.

William caught a brief look of the boy from district 4- watching the other one leave, before his eyes curiously turned to William- all before that boy eventually just turned the other way, and started minding his own business again.

William braced himself.

He knew that the other tributes weren't allowed to fight, and kill each other- but somehow, the strange boy that was going around, and complimenting other people's outfits was making William feel a lot more on-edge.

“Hey…” William said anyway.

Up close, it was easier to see the costume he was wearing. He was dressed to look like a tree, dressed in a fashionable brown suit and all- but more specifically, he was dressed to look like a tree in autumn. The red of his hair blending in with the red of decorative leaves patterned all across his outfit- puffing out of his collars, and sleeves, and gently falling on the ground…

“You guys look great!” The boy said, and he sounded genuine, which is what threw William off the most. “Is that your actual hair color?”

William shook his head. And then, since they were going to take them off soon anyway, he used the nail of his thumb to gently itch the part of his scalp that was right above his ear. “We're just wearing wigs.”

The boy from district 7 leaned in, and spoke as quietly as he could manage, like he was telling him a grave secret.

“The one from district 6- Ashe Winters- that's his actual hair.” William looked around, and he easily spotted the head of white hair- the one that was spiked weirdly. This time, he could see the displeased, almost anxious look on his face. “There's so many good looks this year… I wish my stylist was a little more creative. District 7 always gets stuck looking like a tree.”

The boy thumbed the hem of his sleeve, and frowned.

“You… also look great.”

His eyebrows raised a little, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.” He bowed a little, “I don't want to keep anyone- sorry- I just wanted to say that.”

Then he was gone, and William could see him making a beeline for the district 12 tributes, blissfully unaware that their outfits were just seconds away from getting compliments.

“Conniving tributes this year.” Mallard Conway said simply, before he started leading him back to where their stylists were.

William knew desperation. He knew about survival, and insecurity, and the attempt in making himself indispensable- it was a plan that David had in motion for him right now, to score him as many allies as they could gather- he could spot that sort of thing from a mile away, if the boy was trying to manipulate their hearts, and go easy on them.

He also knew that this wasn’t anything like that. This was genuine confidence.

In every sense, the boy from district 7 likely thought of himself as a winner already.

-

For the next few days, William and Summer and all of the other tributes were situated in a building called the Tribute Center.

He knew that there was a training center where they'd spend a lot of their time preparing for the games, but on top of that, it was also where they were going to be sleeping, and eating. There was one floor for every district to stay in, and they had to take an elevator to get to their floor specifically- when they did, William was greeted with a very large, open room that he couldn't help but gawk at.

Their floor had an open layout. He saw couches, tables- comfortable, yet plain furniture, as well as a big television in the center that would likely be playing throughout the rest of the week… but by far the thing that caught them most off guard were the windows.

All along the walls leading to the outside were windows. There were curtains at the side of the windows just in case they needed to close them, but for now, they were open- and because the lights weren't on when they came back inside, and it was still dark outside, William was treated to a view of the city that was almost… magical. 

For a brief moment, on that dark floor, it was just William and the window leading to the bright and beautiful city.

Then someone turned the lights on, showed off the rest of the room, and it lost just a touch of its magic. It was still luxurious, however, and when William walked through it, he couldn't help feeling completely out of place, even as he was dressed in all of those fancy clothes.

Mallard Conway, Summer, and their stylists happily filed inside, and sat in the living room to watch reruns of the parade. 

Their mentors were walking in through the door only seconds later.

“The crowd liked you holding hands with Summer.” Was the first thing that David said to him, once they were back inside.

The stylists have long removed William's wig, and wiped most of the makeup on his face- but there was still something left behind that he was itching to rub off. So, as soon as they were on their designated floor, William and David filed into a luxurious bathroom. 

“We weren't holding hands.” He turned the faucet on, and rolled up his sleeves.

The water pressure was fine. He was expecting something better.

“You were close to it. And were almost matching. I heard a lot of talk from the audience…”

And while William was scrubbing his face- using sparkly scented soaps, and the softest towel he's ever pressed his face into- David stayed by the door, and continued talking.

“They were also raving about the pair from district 4- they don't usually do things like that. I think, if you and Summer played into being friends, then you could get some more people interested…” 

William shut the faucet off. Then, he looked at his own face in the mirror, and saw that it was somewhat of a sorry sight. 

His face was scrubbed raw, skin red, but the slight bits of mascara and eyeliner still clung onto to accentuate the dark circles around his eyes. If anything, washing it had only made him look worse- the handsoap left behind a trail of glitter that now spattered across the bridge of his nose like a line of freckles.

Maybe for the rest of the Capitol, sparkly hands were a big thing that everyone liked. For William, it was a small reminder to take a long, hot shower when the night was over.

At least his eyebrows were perfect, he supposed. He couldn't find many silver linings other than that- besides, maybe, thanking the fact that there were no cameras in the rooms either. He didn't think he could stand it if he was under constant surveillance from the audience-

Like… how he would be in the games. Every moment televised.

William shut off the faucet.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow?” He asked quietly, and though David didn't look pleased to have his plans be put on hold, he still agreed.

-

William's room had a similar layout to the rest of the floor.. 

Silk sheets, just as there was on the train car. Big windows that showed off the same view of the Capitol that dazzled William when they first entered, as well as screens that played… anything William wanted.

When he messed around with a remote, the windows shimmered along with it. At the push of a button, the windows changed into a beautiful, scenic view of the ocean- waves crashing against the beach, and the sound of birds chirping in the background. 

He flipped through it casually. There was a beach, and a forest- at one point, it was that window view again, but this time, it was in another place entirely. Artificial rain tapped pleasantly against the window, and when William breathed in, he swore that he could smell it- even though it was definitely just his mind playing tricks on him.

He let it stay on that one. It didn't rain very often in district 3, but when it did, William enjoyed the sound of it. 

Then, William turned, and used the shower in the bathroom that was connected directly to his room.

He stayed in there for what felt like hours, letting the hot water run off his back, and down the drain. He knew that he wouldn't have to worry about it running out, or being under a time limit, so he didn't worry. He scrubbed his arms until the rest of his skin turned red, he washed his hair a couple times over to finally relieve it of its greasy weight- and when he was done, he took his time drying himself off.

Then, he dressed in the comfortable silk pajamas that were so thoughtfully provided for him, stepped into a warm pair of woollen slippers, and walked back into his room.

William could get any food he wanted with just the push of a button- and as he stepped back in, he was heavily debating it. It felt like he had the entire world in the palm of his hand. 

At the same time, it felt like something that was entirely too much. They treated the tributes so well because, for 23 of them, it would be their last few days that they were alive- like coddling and fattening a pig before its slaughter. And putting it like that made the whole thing a lot less desirable.

In the end, William decided on something plain to eat, as well as an apple juice. (Because, even as the taps flowed freely here, juice was somewhat expensive in the districts- and if William was going to die, then he was going to tap into familiar indulgences.)