stardustserenadeechos

[stardustserenadeechos]

Chapter 4 - A Tribute's Heart

New Chapter next week, I promise 💓

[stardustserenadeechos]

A Tribute's Heart - Chapter 3

As the 71st Hunger Games draw near, you and Minghao must navigate the complexities of your relationship. When you're reaped, will the arena transform you into someone unrecognizable? And when it’s all over, will Minghao still see you the same way? Will you even make it out alive?

Pairing: District12!Minghao x District12!Reader

Word count: 2,765

Chapter 2

Notes: A bit of a shorter chapter here again. I wanted to get another chapter out without it being to long since the previous one! I've been sorta busy but am activity writing through this in my head. I also finished the new book! Broke my heart, but was worth it. Now I'm considering parts in this story that may break my heart and the readers (I promise it won't be too bad, we do have a lot of story to get through lol, rest assured rest assured). Anyways, happy reading!!

Chapter 3: The Countdown Begins

Stepping into the Capitol-bound train, Y/N and Jaehyun take in the interior. Its design is unlike anything either of them has ever seen. Every little part of it is intricate, expensive.  An almost reflective wallpaper lines the walls of the living-room-like space that Effie ushers them into. The furniture matches the patterns on the walls, it looks new, a pristine state of being seemingly untouched. To the right of the sitting area, towards the next boxcar, is a long mahogany table. 

Hors d’oeuvres and trays of sweets are lined up on the table, just waiting to be eaten. However, despite the tempting spread, there's something unsettling about food left out so casually. It feels less like something meant to be eaten, and more like a display—not there to be enjoyed, but only to be looked at. The quantity of food alone seems excessive, far more than most families in District 12 could hope to have for two weeks. For a moment, Y/N wonders if the food is even real, from where she stands it almost looks glazed over in a wax. Across from the table, to the left, there’s another table filled with insulated canisters—refreshments, Y/N assumes. All for them. For their glorious sacrifice for the Capitol. But Y/N and Jaehyun both know the truth: The Capitol will dress everything up in shiny wrapping paper to make the tributes feel comfortable, to show them things they've never been able to afford back home, to create a false sense of gratitude, just so they won’t cause trouble in their final moments before being shoved into the arena to butcher each other in the name of a “better cause.”

Jaehyun’s stomach rumbles as he too looks at the spread set out for them. The two move further into the cart, taking a seat in the plush armchairs.

“Isn't it just wonderful?” Effie starts, her voice chipper as ever. “We want to make sure you have the most comfortable ride on our way to the Capitol. You won’t even feel a thing once the train starts. While our time together is short, we want you to enjoy this opportunity to the fullest.”

Jaehyun quirks an eyebrow at Effie's choice of words. “Opportunity” is certainly one way to look at it.

“Feel free to help yourselves to any of the hors d’oeuvres on the table and drinks in the dispensers. If anything isn’t to your liking, our chefs will cook you up something new.”

Y/N and Jaehyun don’t respond. How could they even find the motivation to eat? Their stomachs twist in anxiety about the upcoming days, grief already sinking in the pit of their stomachs at the thought of their families—of the morning they know they’ll have to endure. But must they eat? To conserve and store as much energy as they can for their time in the arena? Too much to think about, too much to consider, too little time. 

A lack of conversation comes from the two tributes as Effie stands before them. “Well, I’m going to go find Haymitch. He’s probably in the bar car by now,” Effie says, with disapproval lining her tone. The mannequin of a woman walks through the connecting door  behind the armchair in front of Y/N and Jaehyun in search of their sole mentor.

As the door closes behind Effie, Jaehyun and Y/N are left alone in the room. From what Y/N can assume however is that there are Peacekeepers stationed behind each door and camera’s watching the two tributes in every room. A false sense of security, or a chance of escape. Aside from Y/N, the aftershocks of crying can still be heard with Jaehyun's who still rattles with sniffs and hiccups every few seconds.

Y/N turns to him. “I’m Y/N,” she says, trying to break the ice.

“Jaehyun,” he replies, wiping tear tracks from his cheeks, trying to recollect some of his pride. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Jaehyun,” Y/N says softly. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in this predicament.”

“You are too,” he replies with a jab, eyes darting to meet hers with a flicker of contempt.

Y/N quirks a lopsided smile, her lips barely curving. “Well, there’s not much we can do about it now. And I am sorry you're stuck here as well.”

Jaehyun doesn’t move to look at her. Y/N tries again. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” Jaehyun replies. “You?” he asks.

“Eighteen,” Y/N says, “This was supposed to be my last reaping.” She exhales. “Not so lucky, I guess,” she shrugs.

“I’m sorry,” Jaehyun says, his tone softer now.

“What are you going to do?” Y/N says, a small bit of acceptance for the reality of their situation. 

There's a beat of silence between them. Y/N pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.

“I’m sorry,” Jaehyun starts again, his voice quieter. Y/N looks up at him, her head resting on her knees. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“I figured,” Y/N says. “I don’t blame you for being cold or angry. It’s a lot to process. They also weren’t the nicest to you during your send-off.”

“You saw that?” Jaehyun asks, his already barely collected pride bruised.

“Kinda hard to miss,” Y/N responds. “But I would've acted the same way if I were your age. Probably would’ve bitten someone, too.”

Jaehyun cracks a small smile.

“I’d like to be allies, if you’d want to be as well,” Y/N says kindly. 

“That sounds good,” Jaehyun agrees.

Y/N uncurls her right arm from her grasp on her legs and sits up straighter as she extends her hand to him. Jaehyun takes it, their hands meeting halfway between the two armchairs, and shakes firmly.

“Allies,” Jaehyun says, with a slight grin.

“Allies,” Y/N echoes, smiling back.

Just as their hands detach, Haymitch stumbles into the car, Effie trailing behind him, looking exasperated. Even though he’s dressed in what Y/N assumes is expensive silk from the Capitol, the older man’s hair has fallen out of whatever shape it was combed up into earlier that morning. Clutched in Haymitch’s left hand tall glass, its shimmering blue contents swirling side to side as he makes his way towards the armchairs. 

“Congratulations,” Haymitch slurs, as he flops into an armchair in front of them.

Y/N slides her feet back onto the ground of the cart and fixes her poorly fit dress over the legs, it would be best to present herself as best as she can. Her mother always did tell her that first impressions mattered. And the most important first impressions would be coming in the next few days. She needed sponsors and favorship to have any chance of getting out of that arena.

Effie stands beside Haymitch’s chair. “This is Y/N L/N and Myung Jaehyun,” she says, gesturing toward each of them, informing Haymitch of his tributes for the year.

“Excuse my lack of excitement,” Haymitch drawls, his tone bored, as he tips his glass in a halfhearted gesture toward them. “Pleasure to meet you,” he says, though it’s clear to both Jaehyun and Y/N his lack of engagement.

Y/N and Jaehyun exchange wary glances. Y/N’s mind races: I knew Haymitch would be hard to deal with, but I didn’t expect him to be this inebriated. She can’t say she blames him, though. District 12 never gets winners, and Haymitch has probably been guiding children to their deaths for the past twenty-ish years. If she remembers correctly, he won the last Quarter Quell? If I were in his shoes, I’d probably drink myself into a coma, too. Still, it would be nice if he could at least be coherent. Hopefully, he’ll sober up enough to offer some useful advice before they’re shoved into those tubes that will lift them into the ring. 

“Well, Haymitch will be your point of access for all tips and tricks for once you’re in the arena,” Effie says, trying to push the conversation along.

“Where do we start?” Jaehyun asks, his voice serious.

Haymitch flicks some of his hair out of his face as he takes another sip from his glass. “With staying alive,” he says, gruffly.

“No shit,” Jaehyun deadpans.

“Language!” Effie scolds, though there’s no real heat behind it. “You won’t be getting any sponsors with a mouth like that,” she reprimands.

“How do we get sponsors, then?” Y/N asks politely.

“Be likable,” Haymitch replies, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“What type of likable?” Y/N presses.

“Ladylike,” Effie interjects, her tone making it clear she doesn’t want to entertain any “rebels” or questions.

“Do we have any idea what type of arena we’ll be facing this year?” Y/N tries again, determined to get some type of real answer.

“So many questions, so early in the day” Haymitch mutters. He hiccups. “Tell you what, I’m going to finish this drink, have another one, and then probably retire for the night. Tomorrow, during breakfast, maybe I will find myself inclined to scrounge up some advice that might keep you two alive past day one.”

Haymitch struggles to stand, clearly too drunk to be of any real help to himself or the two districts.

“How considerate of you,” Y/N says, her tone dripping with false sincerity.

Haymitch either doesn’t hear or doesn’t care, as he stumbles toward the door.

“He’ll warm up,” Effie says with a forced smile. “Why don’t I show you to your quarters for the night?” she claps. 

.

.

.

“And here you are!” Effie’s voice rings out from the doorway of Y/N’s room for the night. The bed is enormous, easily the size of what would be considered a king-sized bed—far larger than Y/N’s bed back home if it were to be combined with her cousin’s. A dozen plush pillows line the top, resting against the headboard. Its sheets are silken, much like the shirt Haymitch wore courtesy of the Captia, and the same shade of blue as the rest of the train’s décor.

“Make yourself at home,” Effie continues, a wide smile that felt more genuine then any of the others she had given Y/N so far, “I’ll come knock when it’s time for dinner.”

Y/N nods, her voice barely a whisper, “Thank you, Effie.”

Effie gives a quick nod and steps away, heading down the train car toward a destination Y/N has no clue or real care about. Hopefully, she’s going to sober Haymitch up before tomorrow, Y/N thinks, though she has little faith that will be the actual result of Effie’s departure.

As the door slides shut, Y/N is left alone standing in the center of the room. It's quiet. Quieter than Y/N ever thought to be possible. The only time she’s felt such secure quiet was when Minghao and her would be laid out in the grass of his backyard watching the stars, his heartbeat soothing beneath her ear. The quiet of this room is too much, wrong. The feeling started to feel sickening as it crawled down Y/N’s throat. 

Got to move, she coaches herself.  Forcing her feet to take a step furthering into the room Y/N explores the room eyes roaming surface to surface. Across from the bed, mounted on the wall, is a large inset TV. The only channels available being nothing but the Capitol News and reruns of past Hunger Games. Connected to the room is a bathroom, with stark white tiles and a large walk-in shower. Then, next to the bed is a nightstand with a window above it. 

Y/N steps closer to the nightstand, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Her dress looks just as worn and tired as she feels. She opens one of the drawers, finding a pair of pajamas. The fabric feels almost buttery as she rubs it between her fingers—A fabric set like this would take a year, or more, worth of trades to exchange in the Capital store if the Peacekeeper was kind that week. Y/N sets the pajamas on the bed and opens another drawer, where she finds a brush and a hair tie. How thoughtful, she thinks sarcastically. 

Leaving the drawer open, Y/N turns her head toward the medium-sized window. The glass is unusually thick, a stark reminder that there’s no escaping this journey. She sits down on the bed, sinking slightly into the mattress. Y/N’s head falls back as she closes her eyes, trying to keep the rising panic attack at bay. A shower sounds nice, she thinks as she opens her eyes and looks toward the bathroom. 

.

.

.

Y/N stands in the shower, her clothes discarded and folded neatly on the sink counter. She stares at the digital pad on the wall, brows furrowed in confusion. Tentatively, she taps it with her finger. The screen flickers to life, displaying a myriad of buttons. They’re labeled with different words that Y/N can only assume refer to various water patterns. 

She hesitates for a moment before selecting the one labeled ‘rain’. Seems like the least dangerous option, she reasons tapping the button.

The water begins to fall from the rectangular shower head in soft, soothing streams, like rain. Y/N reaches her hand into the cascade to test its temperature. It’s warm, far warmer than she expected. She looks back at the pad and an arrow pointing up and an arrow pointing down. She taps the up-facing arrow twice, and after a moment steam starts to grab onto the glass paneling. 

Y/N reaches back into the falling water once more and is met with the perfect temperature of hot. A temperature she could never fully experience at home. Even if she wanted to, it would mean getting out of the tub and getting more water out of the well which should then have to boil, and that would most likely be followed by getting scolded for bathing to long before anyone got a chance at the lukewarm water. Hot water is a luxury that only Townies enjoy in District 12. 

She steps fully under the stream, letting the warm water beat into her sore muscles, the steam thickening around her and chokes out her ever impending thoughts. For a moment, she lets herself relax. After a few minutes, the water still running hot, Y/N looks back at the digital pad and notices a lavender button, likely for shampoo or body wash. As she clicks it the water that falls on her begins to fall sudsey. Y/N lathers the thicker liquid into her skin, marveling as it leaves her skin almost polished looking as it washes away. Y/N looks back at the pad and locates the shampoo and conditioner. 

As Y/N finally feels enough tension has left her she turns off the shower. Stepping out from the glass enclosure, Y/N grabs a large, white towel that is hung up on a rod by the shower. It also feels warm to the touch as she wraps it around her body. Y/N takes note at how stark white the towel is, it must have been never used, unlike her towel at home that had a solid three tears in it. Or maybe was a special towel they saved for tributes, being bleached every year then left behind for the next kid being escorted to their death because giving a new towel would be too generous, to much waste for someone about to die. Y/N shakes the thought from her head as she dries off and slips into the pajamas left on the bed. Y/N re-situates her hair and ties it up using the singular hair tie left to her in from the nightstand, placing the worn one she brought from home around her wrist. 

Y/N sinks down onto her side on the bed, the soft sheets unfamiliar against her skin. She almost fears she’ll slip off the silken bed. As Y/N lies there she allows for her tears to slip from her eyes. Minghao… she thinks, her chest tightening. How I wish I was back home with you right now. We're supposed to be at the lake watching the stars. We’re supposed to grow old together, to choose us over having a family, because how cruel would it be to send our own children to the Reaping every year? How am I supposed to make it through this without you reassuring me everything’s all right. A sob tries  to escape her, but Y/N holds it in, pulling the pendant on her necklace given to her by Minghao up to her lips. The cool glass and metal soothes her, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like he's there aside her whispering sweet nothings into her ear. 

To be Continued…

(2,765 words)

Authors note: Slow building here, but I'm that you guys like that.

[stardustserenadeechos]

A Tribute's Heart -Chapter 2

As the 71st Hunger Games draw near, you and Minghao must navigate the complexities of your relationship. When you're reaped, will the arena transform you into someone unrecognizable? And when it’s all over, will Minghao still see you the same way? Will you even make it out alive?

Pairing: District12!Minghao x District12!Reader

Word count: 3,855

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Notes: A bit of a shorter chapter here, but still long enough I hope. I got the new book today! I'm so excited to read it!! It may be a little bit longer until I write the next chapter because I will be pre-occupied with that, but no fear it will be on the way soon. We also won't be seeing Minghao for the next few chapters :,( , but no fear he will still be important to the story! So please stick with me <3

Chapter 2: Shadow’s of the New Day 

The Peacekeepers grab Jaehyun and Y/N by the upper arms, forcefully pulling them into the Justice Building. Y/N’s feet drag behind her, stumbling as they hurry her along towards one of the room’s they use for tributes family and friends send off. Her heart beats erratically, a peace that pinches her chest, as each step amplifies thudding, drowning out everything else. 

The Justice Building is cold, its gray walls oppressive. The air smells faintly of mold and bleach, its walls coated in harsh lined shadows cast by the tall, narrow windows that look out into the courtyard. The light that filters through does little to banish the heaviness of the situation, a weight pressing at her lungs as Y/N inhales shakily. Every inch of this place feels foreign, she’s walking the first step of this nightmare of the journey to the capital that will end in her death. 

The Peacekeeper opens the door to a small office, letting go of Y/N’s upper arms as he all but pushes her in. Out of the corner of her eye Y/N sees a last glance of Jaehyun as he’s shoved in to his own make-shift send off room. 

“One Hour” the Peacekeeper barks before all but slamming the door shut.

Y/N’s eyes scan the surprisingly well lit  room. There's a couch—it almost looks new, its cracking leather at the corners it's only give away of its age, but still the piece of furniture is far better than anything she’s ever had at home. She can’t even remember if her own bed at home ever looked so pristine. An empty desk sits on the right wall of the room facing the coach, and large bookcases line the wall separating the two. 

The shock of the entire situation still has yet to dissipate within Y/N. Sit or Stand, SIt or Stand, Y/N ponders to herself unsure what to do with her anxious energy. Sit, she decides. Landing on the coach Y/N runs her rands across its cool surface, soft she thinks to herself a childlike wonder reflects in her eyes as she takes in the new experience. Its soft in a way that makes Y/N’s stomach flip, knowing it's the first and last upper class object she’ll experience in her district but a forebode to the things in the capital she’ll see and experience before her ultimate demise. There’s no springs prodding at her, or lumpy inconsistencies to the filling of the couch. Y/N can’t recall if her bed at home had ever been this comfortable. She allows for her weight to sink into the cushion, limbs slightly loosening as the reality of the situation starts to settle in further.

Y/N sits in the silence of the room, the seconds stretching out into a false infinity. What did I do to deserve this? Her mind keeps circling back to that one thought, but i guess no one truly deserves to get plucked from their home and family to be shoved into a ring that adapts every year to be more and more entertaining for those in the Capitol. She’s never been the rebellious one, the troublemaker. She’s just a girl from District 12, one that was supposed to be free from this system after this reaping. To go have the closest semblance to a normal life with Minghao. She can feel the tears threatening again, the familiar pressure building behind her eyes.

The door swings open, breaking Y/N from her spiraling trance. Y/N’s heart skips a beat as she looks at her mother. The older women, tears streaming down her face, moves toward Y/N with haste. Y/N mother drags the young woman into her arms, falling to her knees as she pulls Y/N, still sat on the couch, toward her. The embrace--Y/N would have usually complained was strangling --but now, it is the last time she’ll ever be held by her mother. The hug breaks whatever computer Y/N had left, her tears now run freely down her roundish cheeks as she hiccups with sobs.

Y/N mother leans back, keeping her hands rightly on Y/N’s shoulders, “You’ll be okay. You’ll be fine,” she says, wiping the tears from Y/N’s face with her left hand. YN’s arms hang lifeless at her sides. What fight do I have? The Career districts are trained for these games, Y/N internally scoffs, the most she could ever manage is getting past the bordering fence of the district without getting electrocuted.

As Y/N looks at her mother, she finds the same fear that gnaws at her own gut, an anxiety that won’t let her breathe, reflecting back at her. She’s not strong enough to do this. She knows that deep down. Y/N doubts that even her mother can truly even believe that she can come out alive.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N chokes out, the words spilling before she can stop them. 

Her mother shakes her head, her grip tightening on  Y/N’s shoulders. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. This isn’t your fault,” she says firmly. Y/N’s mother pulls the girl back into her embrace. There’s no time to pretend, this is real.

Y/N’s arms hang limply by her sides, she knows she’s nothing like the tributes from the Career districts. Nothing like those that sneak past the gates to catch extra food free from the Capital’s Tesserae. Others have skills, or have been trained for this—prepared. 

As Y/N and her mother try to find some kind of composure, the door opens again. Her family walks in, faces struck with grief. She's not even dead yet but Y/N feels as if she's a walking corpse beside them. In the mere seconds between the door opening and closing, Y/N catches a glimpse of the Peacekeeper stationed outside. No chance of running, she thinks to herself. Past her personal guard, Y/N can see Effie stood by the Justice Buildings door. Though Y/N couldn't hear or make out what the women was saying, it was evident in her movement that Effie wanted them to get a move on.

Her Aunt Lynn bursts forward, wailing as she grabs Y/N from her mothers embrace and into own.  “This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all!,” Aunt Lynn says, voice breaking. Uncle Sam stands behind, his hand on her back, silent. His eyes, though, are full of that same helplessness that Y/N feels.

After a few minutes Aunt Lynn steps back, allowing Aunt Sophia to take her turn. The woman strokes Y/N’s hair, the action returning Y/N to her youth. She feels small, the moment causing more tears to stream down her face as she reveals in the childhood comfort being provided to her. Uncle Ian steps aside of them and wraps his arms around them both.

“I can’t do this,” Y/N croaks.

“Like hell you can’t. You’re walking out of that arena,” Olive speaks out, her lips trembling as she tries to conceal her own emotions. “You’re not going to let them win,” she says so determined. 

The room falls quiet. For a moment, the thought of surviving crosses Y/N’s mind. THe idea that she could come home after everything the Capital is going to put her through. But it’s not a reality, District 12 never wins. She’ll be discarded and forgotten, like all the tributes before her. The Games are a death sentence, and it’s not just the fighting she’s scared of—it’s what she’ll possibly become. How could I ever come back from this the same? Y/N questions to herself.

“We believe in you,” Alice says softly. 

Aunt Sohpia and Uncle Ian unwrap their arms from around Y/N and step back.

Sat alone on the couch Y/N leans forward, resting her head in her hands. She can’t keep looking into their eyes, seeing what she’s about to lose. Mateo sits down beside her, the couch bouncing with his weight. He wraps his left arm around Y/N, pulling her into his side. “You’re going to show those pompous, overprivileged peacocks in the Capitol what a real winner is,” there’s no amusement in his eyes but a steeling determination for her.

Y/N looks up at him, a half-hearted scoff escaping her lips. “I’m serious,” he presses, squeezing her shoulders. “If anyone is going to make it through that arena in 12, it’s going to be you. You’re smart—one of the top graduates in our class. How many times have you given the Peacekeepers the slip on days they actually cared to catch people? You’re going to be fine.”

​​As much as Mateo and Y/N give each other crap, their bond was sibling-like. His support and statement almost enough to make her believe that maybe, just maybe, she could survive this. But the doubt creeps back in, how many tributes thought they were going survive and come home but didn’t? Shoving the doubt back down, Y/N’s tears have dried a bit, a new steel of confidence building in her eyes as Y/N racks her brain for a plan to get home.

A new knock broke the silence. The door creaked open, and in walked three of Y/N’s closest friends: Eden, Caden, and Yugi.

Eden was one of the brightest lights in Y/N’s life, always ready with a word of encouragement when everything seemed impossible. Normally, her long, wavy blond hair fell in waves like sunlight, but her hair seemed to fall flat today, it seemed to hold an emotion of its own. Her round brown eyes that usually sparkled with unshakable positivity, were dim, devoid of their usual hope. Eden’s posture was sagged, the weight of the day having stolen her light.

Beside Eden, Caden stood—her usual dry humor tempered seemingly forgotten as its been replaced with something Y/N rarely saw in her: raw vulnerability. Caden had been Y/N’s number one supporter. The girl was District 12’s number one hater, always stepping in with a joke or a snarky comment when Eden or Minghao started getting too optimistic. But today, her sharp face usually upturned in some sort of ‘I know something you don't’ expresion, was replaced by tears she couldn’t hold back. Y/N observed her friend's stature—Caden had always hidden behind her long hair, but not today. Caden’s hair was cropped short, a result of a lost bet with one of her own siblings the week prior to the Reaping. She regretted cutting it, Y/N could tell. She could have hidden her tears, at least.

Yugi stood beside Caden. Yugi’s hair was a vibrant orange, a DIY job gone right despite the odds—still messy, but somehow it worked. She had always been the loudest of the group, never afraid to speak her mind, to push everyone forward when they wanted to stand still. Her face was tight with sorrow, a sharp contrast to her usual fire.

The three of them stepped forward in unison, embracing Y/N. The pressure of their hug brought a laugh out of Y/N—a small, weak thing that barely touched her lips. A melancholy moment, she thought, as they all clung to her like a life raft in a storm.

“Alright, alright,” Caden broke the silence with a dry laugh. “Let’s not get all emotional now, huh? We’re still here. You’re still here. And we’re not gonna let them take you that easily.” She pulled back, but her hands remained on Y/N’s shoulders, her eyes puffy from the tears. “Promise me—they’re gonna have to pry you out of the arena if they even try to take you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. But she meant it. She had to.

“Good,” Caden nodded, her lips twitching like she wanted to crack a joke, but couldn't quite manage it.

“I know things seem insane right now,” Eden’s soft voice broke through the moment. She met Y/N’s eyes, her face still gentle but lined with worry. “But listen to me. You’ve got this. You’ve got more strength than you realize. I know it might not feel like it now, but... you’ll show them, Y/N. You’ve got this, You’ll make it.” her voice cracking at the end of her sentence.

Y/N gave her close friend the best half-smile she could muster. Eden was always the one who had a way of making everything sound possible. It was comforting. Y/N nodded, silently appreciating the gesture.

“I know people are saying it’s impossible,” Yugi spoke up, her voice unwavering. “But who cares what they say, right?” She stepped back, her fiery gaze locking on Y/N’s, and her expression was all fierce determination. “You’ve got more grit in your pinky finger than most of these people have in their whole bodies. They’re gonna have no idea what hit ‘em. You’re gonna show them what District 12 is made of.” Yugi paused, her voice softening just a little. “We believe in you, Y/N.”

Y/N's throat tightened. There it was again—that tiny spark of hope they all tried to light for her. She could feel it now, the warmth in the room, the strength of her friends' belief in her. The love of not just her friends but her family. It was so hard to hold onto, but she didn’t want to let it go. Not now. Not when it might be the only thing keeping her from completely losing herself.

The knock on the door breaks the moment. It creaks open slowkey, breaking the pregnant silence that had begun to take over the room. Y/N’s heart skips a beat as Minghao walks into the room with his parents, their faces drawn with pained grief. Y/N stands, meeting him halfway. Their arms wrap around each other instantaneously. The two young adults grapple onto each other, finding comfort in each other's embrace.  Mr. Xu pats Y/N;s head as Mrs. Xu rubs her back. Y/N buries her head further into Minghao’s neck, inhaling his scent—woody, warm, and with a touch of jasmine. It fills her senses, grounding her for a moment. Its something only Minghao could do for her. 

“Shhh, Shhh. You’re okay,” Minghao whispers softly into her ear, his face pressing against the side of her head, his nose turned into her own hair. Minghao pulls back, running his hands up and down her arms as he tries to make eye contact, but Y/N keeps her head low, avoiding his gaze. Mrs. Xu reaches her hand up between them and wipes away the tears from Y/N’s face.

Y/N shyly looks at Mrs. Xu. “You’re going to captivate them all.”

Y/N’s eyes flick to Minghao, who nods. “You’re charming. You can get sponsors,” his voice steady and firm. 

Sponsors, Y/N thinks. It could be one way to ensure a longer survival in the arena. Y/N sucks in her cheeks, chewing anxiously at them.

“You’re strong,” Mr. Xu adds, his eyes are warm amid their sadness, “We all believe in you.”

Y/N’s eyes scan the room, landing on her family then her friends. Their sorrowful eyes glimmer with a small sense of hope. It’s easy to get caught up in.

Another knock is heard at the door.

“Fifteen minutes,” the Peacekeeper calls, cold and impersonal,through the door.

Y/N inhales sharply, trembling with anxiety as her chest begins to tighten again. “Can I... can I have a few minutes alone with Minghao?” she stutters. To her surprise, not one snarky remark is heard from her cousins—there goes the chance for a mood lifter.

“Of course, let’s give them a minute,” Aunt Sophia instructs, ushering everyone toward the door. Before leaving, Y/N’s mother pulls her into one last hug and leaves a kiss on her forehead before following the others out. “I love you. Stay strong,” she says.

The door clicks shut behind them, leaving Y/N and Minghao alone.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Y/N says, squeezing her eyes shut. “The arena does things to people. I won’t come back the same.”

“You’re going to do what you have to do to survive, to come back to us. That’s understandable. I’ll always love you, no matter what.” Minghao’s gaze pierces her soul with its intensity, his voice steady besides the slight tremble to it, one that Y/N isn’t sure she’s ready to face.

“You can’t watch. I don’t want you to watch,” Y/N says seriously. “I don’t want to fight about this.” Her voice starts to crack. “I just… I don’t know what I’ll have to do, or what I may turn into, but I don’t want you to see the worst of me.”

Minghao gently moves a piece of Y/N’s hair behind her ear. “If you wish for me not to watch, I can respect that. The second you’re in the arena, I’ll turn off the broadcasts. I won’t even listen. But I need you to know I will love you no matter what. No matter how you come back. No matter what you do. And no matter what anyone says about you.”

Minghao’s hands cup the sides of Y/N’s face as he pulls her in for a kiss. His plush soft lips press against hers, all his love and yearning pouring into it, all the things they have to leave unsaid. Tears form in both of their eyes.

Minghao pulls back and smiles softly. “I got you something.”

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special,” Y/N says, her voice cracking, as the first real big smile from the last almost hour stretches across her face.

Minghao pulls out a necklace with a pendant. Inside the glass is a blue flower, a smaller version than the one he gifted her earlier. The flower looks a smooth blue aster but with a deep, rich blue hue.

“It’s District 12’s representative flower,” Minghao says. “It’s supposed to represent faith, love, and trust. But for our district, it stands for hard work and resilience. My father started planting them a few years ago, and I remember how much you loved them when I first brought you over. I had the blacksmith at the Hob put it together.”

Y/N rubs her thumb over the smooth glass. “It’s beautiful.”

Minghao smiles softly. “Turn around.”

Y/N turns, and Minghao sweeps her hair over her shoulder, bringing the delicate chain around her neck. “You shouldn’t have a problem bringing it into the arena. Tributes are allowed a token from their district.”

Minghao lets go of the chain as the clasp closes on the necklace around her neck. Y/N turns to face him. “Thank you.”

“It was supposed to be a gift to celebrate our freedom from the Reaping and our moving to the next step in our life,” Minghao explains, his eyes turning red from the tears he’s keeping at bay. 

“It’s beautiful,” Y/N repeats, her voice thick with emotion. Tears pool in the corners of her eyes. Minghao leans in, kissing the corner of her left eye, then her right, before pressing a final kiss on her lips and resting his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you more,” Y/N replies.

“Doubt that,” he teases.

Y/N lets out a shaky laugh at his stubbornness.

“Time to go,” the Peacekeeper barges in and reaches for Y/N’s arm again, but Minghao pulls her back.

“She can walk herself,” he says sternly, his eyes softening as he looks at Y/N. “You’ll be okay.”

Y/N can now see the tears he’s been holding back. “I love you,” he says quietly.

Y/N walks out the door, the Peacekeeper following behind her. She looks back at Minghao, who stands still, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his tears. She mouths, “I love you.”

Minghao does his best to smile, but Y/N can see the cracks in his facade. As she walks down the hall, he collapses, squatting down and crying into his arms that lay crossed over his knees.

As Y/N walks forward, the sharp clicking of Effie’s heels echoes closer and closer as she walks up towards the hall catching up beside Y/N and the Peacekeeper. “Lovely! Now we can get a move on. I assume the farewells were in good order?” she says cheerfully, her voice a stark contrast to the heavy air around them.

Y/N glances at Effie, her gaze lingering on the woman’s perfectly styled appearance. Up close, the facade of brightness seemed almost forced, but the girl new it was genuine. The gleaming stupor those in the Capital lived in, oh how their lives differed. As Y/N looked at Effie she noticed the cracks in her polished exterior, the makeup Effie wore was thick and caked on, the difference between her and a porcelain doll was the doll’s shiny epoxy. 

“Yeah,” Y/N replies with lackluster.

Before Effie can push for a more enthusiastic response, a disruption echoes from the room Jaehyun had been placed in. Y/N freezes, her heart tightening as she watches the boy. He’s being dragged out, kicking and screaming as two Peacekeepers struggle to keep a hold on him. A third Peacekeeper stands by, ready to grab Jaehyun's legs. THe boys tear-streaked face is full of raw, unrestrained panic.

“No!” Jaehyun cries out, his voice breaking as his eyes desperately tries to reach for his parents, who are fading from view the further they manage to pull him away and towards Effie and Y/N.

The third Peacekeeper slams the door shut, cutting off Jaehyun from his parents. The sound of the door clicking closed echoes in the hallway, leaving only the sounds of Jaehyun’s sobs.

“Oh boy, what bad manners,” Effie comments casually, a look of irritation on her face as if the scene before them were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “So sad. Well, we'll have to work on that,” she exasperates. 

Y/N glares at Effie, disgust washing over her. How could this woman stand there, so detached, as if the agony of a child being torn from his parents was nothing more than a mere inconvenience? Y/N clenches her fists at her sides.

"Well, come along now. We’ve got a train to catch," Effie says with a flip of her hand, turning sharply and striding ahead.

Y/N’s is pushed forward by one of the Peacekeepers, who gives her a rough shove, urging her to move quicker.

Effie gives a half attempt to glance back as she calls over her shoulder, her voice almost sing-song as she addresses Jaehyun, still struggling in the Peacekeepers’ grip. “I’d stop with the crying and flailing if I were you. Otherwise, we’ll have to sedate you, and I’d rather you enjoy our lovely ride to the Capitol. Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

Effie's words hang in the air, hearing this Jaehyun stops his kicking. The Peacekeepers, unsure of his next move, continue to escort him alongside Y/N, while keeping a steel hold on the boy's arms. That's definitely going to bruise, Y/N thinks to herself. 

Y/N looks at him, her heart breaking as she watches the boy’s features harden. His doe eyes brimming with tears that spill over are filled by a simmering anger,As they continue towards the train platform, the Justice Building doors swing open, revealing the cold, imposing locomotive waiting for them. Jaehyun continues to silently cry, as they march in silence towards their inevitable fate.

To be Continued…

(3,855 words)

Authors note: Thank you again for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Let me know you're thoughts!

[stardustserenadeechos]

A Tribute's Heart - Chapter 1

As the 71st Hunger Games draw near, you and Minghao must navigate the complexities of your relationship. When you're reaped, will the arena transform you into someone unrecognizable? And when it’s all over, will Minghao still see you the same way? Will you even make it out alive?

Pairing: District12!Minghao x District12!Reader

Word count: 6,641

Notes: Here's the first chapter! Let me know what you think :)) Chapter 2 out soon!

Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Mourn-ing Call

The air had a crisp bite to it, hinting at the coming fall. The L/N house creaked in the quiet morning, its eerie sound drifting into the silence. The sun had not yet risen, but its early light was slowly creeping through the panes of Y/N’s room. She groaned as she shifted onto her side, the 18-year-old girl’s eyes slowly cracking open. Her throat was dry and sore—a sure sign that while the air had turned cooler, summer would hang on for a few more weeks.

Sighing deeply, Y/N turned back onto her back. Staring up at the cracked stained ceiling, a pit began to form in her stomach as the reality of the day settled in. Today was the 71st Hunger Games reaping, and at 18 this would be her last year of eligibility. However, that didn't make the day's anxiety anylighter. Her chances of being selected were greater now, Y/N put her name in extra times through the tessera so that her family could scrape by with barely enough food to survive the harsh winter. Her cousin of the same age, Mateo as well. 4 extra name slips for Mateo and 3 extra name slips for Y/N.

A soft cough broke her thoughts, and Y/N turned to look at her younger cousins—Alice, 9, and Olive, 15. A pang of sadness washed over Y/N as she realized Alice would not have to fear her name being pulled from the jar this year, or the next, or even the one after, but her future still holds this annual “tradition”. Olive, like Y/N, would face the same agonizing wait in the heat, hoping her name wouldn’t be the one called.

Y/N sighed again and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet meeting the worn, splintered wood. She sat there for a moment, hands by her thighs gripping the edge of the lumpy mattress, as her head hung down, eyes closed. Outside, the early stirrings of the town could be heard—others awake in the quiet morning, too anxious to sleep on reaping day. It was hard to imagine anyone resting while the shadow of death loomed over them all. 

A breeze rustled the air, quieting the sounds of the street. Maybe nature, in its own way, was offering comfort to those in the district on such a solemn day.

Shaking her head, Y/N reminded herself not to dwell on the inevitable. Standing up, she quietly made her way to the door, glancing back at Alice and Olive, who were still sound asleep safe in the world of their dreams. Stepping out of the room Y/N softly closed the door behind her and stepped towards the old uneven steep staircase. Each step down to the main area of the home seemed quieter than usual, perhaps a silent mourning from the home for what the day would bring.

At the bottom of the stairs, Y/N glanced back up at the dark hallway. All four doors were shut, it seemed she was the only one awake so far. Turning away, she made her way to the kitchen, as she crossed the connecting living room a loud snore interrupted the silence. It was amazing how others remained asleep like that of Mateo, who snores loud enough to disrupt the bordering Seam. His snoring was soon joined by another—her uncle, Ian. How she even managed to sleep through it all was beyond her.

The cupboards offered little: a bag of molding bread, some wrinkled blueberries, and half a dozen eggs. Even with the extra food provided by Y/N and Mateo through the tesserae barely scraped through the week. The eggs and blueberries were not even from that!  Y/N pulled out the bread and placed it onto the counter beside the stove before moving to grab a bowl and the eggs. Cracking the eggs into the bowl Y/N watched how their contents sloshed together. It was a meager breakfast that wouldn't fil any of their stomachs, but it would have to do. Maybe that was a good thing though, non of them are probably even feeling that low rumble of hunger, the anxiety taking up its place.

Turning on the stove, the fire sputtered before it crackled to life under the battered pan. By now, the sun had risen higher, but the house remained quiet except for the sounds of Y/N cooking. Her mom and two aunts would wake soon, followed by the rest of the family. By 10 a.m., they’d all be dressed in their best clothes and sat on the dilapidated worn couches, dreading the moments that ticked closer to noon, the time enhanced by the loud clicking of the clock hand second by second. Then as 12p.m. hit they would begin their journey to the town square before the reaping at 2 p.m.

Afterward, the day would unfold in its usual pattern. Mateo would disappear into town insearch of work for the day, Alice and Olive would play in the backyard pretending to escape to a far off magical land. Aunt Lynn and Aunt Sophia would go back to knitting goods to sell at the Hob, while her mother would head off to her job at the Coal Mill tallying the day’s casualties. Uncle Ian and Sam would be off to the industrial plant working at the iron till the sun sets. And Y/N? She and Minghao would sneak away to the quiet lake on the outskirts of the Seam. They would sit together in silence until dinner, hand intertwined as the sounds of nature would calm the dread eating at them.

As Y/N scrambled the eggs, her mind wandered. Then a soft tapping at the back door brought her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Minghao standing outside, his expression solemn despite the faint smile on his lips. He was already dressed in his nicer clothes, ready for the day.

Y/N wipes her hands on her pants and walks over to unlock the door. Swinging it open, she looks up under her eyelashes at Minghao.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

“Hey,” Minghao whispered back.

Y/N steps aside, letting him enter the house. As Minghao shut the door behind him, Y/N turns back to the stove, making sure the eggs don’t burn.

“Dressed already?” she asked, breaking the silence as she looks to the side at him.

Minghao leaned against the counter, watching her cook, their eyes meeting.

“Couldn't sleep,” he answered.

“That makes two of us,” Y/N said, offering a half-hearted smile.

She took the eggs off the stove, turning to him. “I like the haircut.”

Minghao’s hair still brushed the tops of his shoulders, but today it looked neater, his bangs no longer brushing against the tips of his eyelashes. It was cleaned up, framing his features—his mother must’ve trimmed it the night before, an instance of putting your best image forward on the more dreadful days. 

“You look very nice this morning,” she added softly.

“Not as nice as you,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

Y/N laughed, tilting her head back. “Hardly, but thank you.”

Picking the mold off the bread slices and flicking them into the sink, Y/N grabs the butter and spreads it on the bread before putting it on the stoves open fire to toast. Minghao moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

“I’m starting to think you came for the food, and not to see me,” Y/N teased.

“I’d rather starve than never see you again,” Minghao said, just as dramatically.

“Well, if that’s the case, I guess you can partake in our eggs and slightly moldy bread,” she said with a smirk.

“They don’t even eat like that in the Capitol,” Minghao joked.

A beat passed. “But seriously,” he continued, “the bread should last longer, right? You’d think with all the names we have to put in just to get extra food, it would.”

“Mh,” Y/N hummed in agreement as she spreads the butter on the next slice to be toasted..

Minghao hesitated before asking, “How many times is your name in the bowl this year?”

“Ten,” Y/N answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The kitchen fell silent again. Minghao tightened his grip on her waist. Y/N placed the new slice bread on the open flame, swapping it with the previous.  “You?” she asked.

“Eight,” he replied softly.

“May the odds be ever in our favor,” Y/N murmured, the words hollow.

Minghao pulls away and reaches into his pocket. His fingers trembled as he pulls out a small bundle of cloth and hands it to her. “I brought you this.”

Y/N blinked, heart fluttering. She takes the bundle from his hands and unwraps it carefully, peeling back the soft fabric to reveal, nestled in the fabric, a delicate blue flower.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She recognized the flower from Minghao’s fathers small garden. In her own words “the brightest spot in all of the dreariness of District 12”. The tears she’d been holding back began to well up in the waterlines of her eyes.

Minghao noticing, pulls her into his embrace, his hand resting on the back of her head. “Don’t cry,” he said softly.

“But what if they pull your name? What am I going to do without you?” Y/N’s voice cracked.

“Don’t spend our last few hours worrying,” Minghao replied gently. “There are people with more chances of being pulled than us. And, if anything happens, which it's not, I want my last moments with you to feel like none of this ever existed.”

“You’re always so positive,” Y/N sniffled, lifting her head to look at him.

“How could I not be, when I have you in my life?” he smiled.

Their lips met in a soft kiss before they embraced again.

“What if they pull my name?” Y/N continues. 

“That is a reality I hope I never have to face,” Minghao says seriously. 

“Best not the think of it” Y/N compromises, listening to Minghao’s advice from mere second before. 

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Y/N scraped the last of her eggs off the plate shoveling the pieces into her mouth, a few crumbs of toast clinging to the corner of her lips, when the sound of her cousins tumbling down the stairs broke the quiet. Minghao, sat next to her, wipes the crumbs off the sides of her lips, an action natural to the two of them. Their eyes meet, gaze broken as Mateo’s voice rings out, groggy but loud, “Hey, don’t eat everything!”

“What’s up, early riser?” Y/N replied, voice flat as she wipes her mouth for good maesure and leans back in her chair. “But seriously, grab some before your dads wake up. They won’t care how much you’ve already eaten.”

“Eggs again?” Olive groans, her voice tinged with annoyance.

“Be grateful we even got eggs this week,” Alice shoots back, her eyes narrowing as she reaches for the food.

“Ooh, shots fired,” Mateo teases as he nudges Olive.

“Don’t antagonize them,” Aunt Lynn, tone sharp, warns. 

The kitchen buzzed with movement, plates clinking as everyone began to serve themselves, even Uncle Ian and Sam awake now. Olive, holding a plate with half a slice of slightly burnt toast and a few scrambled eggs, glances up at Minghao, her brow furrowed. “Why aren’t you with your parents?” she asked curiously.

“Because he’s always here,” Olive answered for him, her eyes rolling as she scrapes some eggs onto her plate.

“Why can’t any of you go a day without bickering?” Aunt Sophia sighed in exasperation, the words as familiar as the creak of the house.

Mateo shrugs nonchalantly, “Keeps things lively”

Turning to another conservation topic, Y/N’s mom asks, “Well, you three must be looking forward to this being your last reaping day?”, her voice laced with a quiet sadness as she looked toward the three young adults at the table.

“It’ll be nice to look toward the future and leave the darker moments behind,” Minghao said softly, his hands gently resting on Y/N’s shoulders. His tone was thoughtful, like he the weight of the day emanating from his chest.

“Not quite out of hell’s gate yet,” Y/N muttered under her breath, her eyes darkening.

“Always so negative,” Minghao tsked, his voice light but with a flicker of concern.

“Well, I’ll volunteer for you if you get picked,” Mateo said with an exaggerated grin, the words laced with a stupid humor.

Y/N shot him a glare, her middle finger rising before she could stop herself.

“Don’t say things like that,” Aunt Lynn reprimands voice stern,“You’d all miss each other if any one of you were gone. You take too much for granted.”

“Sorry, Auntie,” Y/N and Mateo murmured in unison, though neither seemed particularly contrite.

Y/N stands up from the table, her plate forgotten as she begins collecting the empty ones in front of her aunts and mom. As she passed by Minghao, she squeezed his hand lightly, her fingers brushing his in a quiet, unspoken promise. “I’m going to go get ready for the day,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m actually going to head home,” Minghao replied, his eyes softening as he leaned in to press a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll see you later.”

Y/N’s heart squeezed in her chest, a deeper emotion flickering in her eyes as she met his gaze, “I’ll see you later.”

Minghao gave her one last lingering look before stepping toward the back door, sending her a wink as he exited. Y/N’s eyes linger on the door swinging to a close,

The door clicks shut, and Aunt Sophia, voice warm with affection,  “I like that boy.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a faint smile, eyes lost within themselves, “Yeah, me too,” she whispers heart both heavy and full.

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Y/N tugged the worn zipper up the side of her faded yellow dress, the fabric stretching slightly as she moved. The puffed sleeves were frayed at the edges, and the heart-shaped neckline had seen better days, worn thin by the moths that always seemed to find nourishment in it every fall. The small bow at the center of her chest sat unevenly, crooked from years of hasty tying. The hem of the dress fell just an inch too high, grazing the muscle of her thighs, its fabric uncomfortably tight against her grown frame. It had been her reaping dress since she was fifteen, a constant reminder of the poverty of District 12. I wonder if those in the Career districts can buy new clothes whenever they please, Y/N thought, her fingers absently rubbing the bottom of the skirt between her pointer and thumb.

Y/N’s eyes locked on her reflection in the mirror, studying her figure. The faded yellow dress clung uncomfortably to her frame, almost too tight, and her hair, half-pulled up, hung loosely around her face. She turned away, grabbing her sleeping clothes off the bed and folding them neatly, placing them by her pillow to change into later that night.

The flower.

Her fingers slipped into the pocket of her sleeping pants, pulling out the delicate blue flower Minghao had given her. It rested in the palm of her hand, its freshness still visible despite the slightly bent and weathered petal edges. It reminded her of her own appearance—faded, weathered, yet holding onto a kind of quiet beauty. Y/N brought the flower up to her chest and tucked it into the bosom of her dress’s blouse, close to her heart.

With one last glance at her reflection, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned, leaving the bedroom.

Downstairs, the rest of the family sat on the old, beaten couches, their figures still and heavy with the weight of the day. They were all dressed in their best, yet the silence between them was suffocating, thick with sorrow. Y/N’s eyes flickered to the clock on the mantel, its ticking loud in the otherwise quiet room. 11:30 p.m. In thirty minutes, they would all rise and make their way to the town square for the reaping.

She approached the couch and took a seat next to Mateo. His eyes were set hard, the weight of the day settled heavily in them. She could feel the nervous energy radiating off of him. Despite the years, despite everything that had changed, the reaping was never easy to accept. It was never any less terrifying. And, no matter how hard he tried to be the 'man of the family,' his youth still showed in his early-aged features, a reminder of the boy he was, no matter the weight he carried. Y/N felt a connection to this—the unspoken expectation to act like everything was going to be okay. Whether acknowledged out loud or not, both of them, at 18, carried the burden of responsibility for their families' well-being.

Next to Mateo sat Alice and Olive. Olive’s skin glistened with a layer of anxious sweat. Her dress long lost to its original color, the once-bright blue had faded to a dark gray, a reflection of her own unease. No matter how much smart-mouthing the young girl fearlessly did, not a peep had been heard from her since breakfast. Beside her sat Alice, her youth still marked by a sense of naïve ignorance. While the reaping loomed in her future, the true weight of its reality had yet to hit her. Her dress, the nicest of the three, was a soft baby pink—shiny and new. Y/N recalled how many extra coin purses she had to convince people to buy from her at the Hob just to afford it. Even with the money from the Hob and the small amount Mateo had earned at the factory with his father, they were still short. One day, stressed and venting to Minghao, he had pitched in without a second thought, telling her, "Your family is my family." Y/N still needed to find a way to repay him, no matter how much he chided her insisting he wanted nothing in return. 

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The clock on the mantle ticked down to 12 p.m. The hour and minute hands aligned, and all eyes in the room instinctively moved to it. It was time to leave.

Uncle Ian was the first to stand, his face unreadable. Y/N couldn’t image how anyone could remain composed, knowing their two young daughters might soon be thrust into the brutal uncertainty of the Hunger Games. The thought of her and Minghao ever having children and participating in this yearly event made Y/N nauseous at the notion. Olive was safe this year—only nine—but in three years, she too would walk that path toward the Justice Building square, the same as every other child in District 12. Y/N felt the weight of it, that inevitability. Every year, this walk loomed over their lives like a dark shadow, never relenting. The thought that it would stretch on for another seven years for Olive made her chest tighten. And for herself, it was only a matter of hours.

With a heavy sigh, Uncle Ian walked silently to the door and opened it, holding it wide for the rest of the family to follow. His gaze was distant, unfocused. Without a word, a silent understanding passed between them all, thick with shared anxiety. Olive and Alice stood slowly, as if they too were reluctant to face the day. Olive’s small hand reached for her father’s, and his hand rested on her head, a sign of comfort—a motion that seemed too small for the weight of what they were facing. They stepped out into the world beyond.

Mateo stood from beside Y/N, offering her a brief, closed-lip smile. It was a weak attempt at comfort, but it was enough. He seemed composed, but Y/N could see the anxiety in his stiff posture, the way his eyes darted to the door, then to her, then back again. He gave her a reassuring look, the silent understanding that only they shared. It was camaraderie, the kind that didn’t need words. Being the same age they had experienced the weight of this day every year together. Y/N stoof and followed as she walked out into the harsh light of the day, followed by Mateo’s father Sam, her mother, and her two aunts.

The road leading to the center of the district was rough and weathered, the ground deeply grooved by years of neglect. The air was thick, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the silence. This was a road they had walked a thousand times before, but today it felt different, the emotional weight of the entire district was pressing down on them and their neighbors with every step.

The street, once full of the usual noise—shouted greetings, clinking metal, the chatter of families—was unnervingly quiet. Today, the quiet was oppressive, as if the whole town had gone into hiding, holding its breath in anticipation of the inevitable. The only sound that filled the air, besides the crunch of their footsteps on the dirt, was the hum of the distant coal mines in the background, the air heavy with the scent of dust and damp earth.

Y/N glanced upward at the sky. It was gray, a blanket of clouds that stretched across the horizon, dull and suffocating. Even though the sun tried to shine through, its light felt weak, almost indifferent. The humidity in the air made her skin cling uncomfortably to her clothes. She thought about the coal mines. Maybe the pollution was worse this week. Or maybe it was just the weight of the day—a sign that the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for the worst to happen.

Looking ahead, Y/N noticed other families leaving their homes, each walking in silence, their faces drawn with the same fear that hung in the air. Children clung tightly to their parents’ hands, their small fingers shaking. The older teens, eyes wide with anxiety, walked in stiff, reluctant silence, some of them even holding their own parents hands. All too young to fight for survival in an unforgiving arena.

Y/N tried to spot Minghao in the distance as they passed his home, but the street was too crowded, and his family must have already left. She felt a pang of disappointment. She’d wanted to see him one last time before the reaping—just to hold on to some sliver of normalcy. She would have to look for him later while stood on the girls side of the town square for the reaping. They had a plan—after the reaping, they’d slip away to the lake on the outskirts of the Seam, the Peacekeepers would be to lazer to really question or enforce anyone after the event feeling they already worked hard enough for the day. 

Lost in her thoughts, Y/N was suddenly pulled back to the present as Alice’s small hand slipped into hers. The warmth of the young girl’s grip was a stark contrast to the cold tension that had settled in Y/N’s chest. Y/N squeezed her hand gently.

“Are you nervous?” Alice asked, her voice small and tinged with fear. The innocence in her eyes struck Y/N like a punch to the gut. This young girl, who had yet to face the horrors that lay ahead, was already feeling the weight of the reaping, even if she didn’t fully understand it yet.

“I am,” Y/N said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But that’s only natural on a day like this. Everyone here is a bit nervous, even the adults. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She looked down at Alice, meeting her wide, frightened eyes. “But we’re here together, and there’s so many names in the bowl that the chance any of us will see the day we’re pulled is very very low.”

Alice nodded, seemingly comforted by the reassurance. Her small hand tightened around Y/N’s. Y/N could see the fear still clinging to her, but it was tempered now with a little bit of hope, a little bit of strength. And that was all she could give her right now. Hope. Even when it felt like there was none left.

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Approaching the front area of the plaza, Y/N and her family stop.

"I'll see you later," Y/N says, pulling her mother into a tight hug. The embrace lasts a moment longer than usual, a shared, silent acknowledgment of the day’s heavy weight. She turns to her aunts next, pulling them into brief, warm embraces before giving a nod to her uncles.

Crouching down, she faces Alice. "How about I try to catch some fish for dinner tonight?"

Alice's eyes brighten, a small smile stretching across her face. "Will you play with Olive and I as well?"

Y/N grins, ruffling the younger girl’s hair. "I’m sure I can make time for that."

Alice turns, grabbing Aunt Lynn’s hand. Y/N steps aside to watch as Mateo pulls his mother, Aunt Sophia, into a hug, before reaching for his father Sam, offering the rare sign of affection that spoke volumes. A tear escapes from Olive’s eye as she bids her own parents and sister goodbye, a quiet moment of vulnerability in the air.

The three of them stand together, watching as their family move towards the perimeter of the square, where they’ll watch the reaping unfold. Seeing as their family has made a good distance to their area for the afternoon the three turn to head towards the check-in table. The stark-white-clothed tables are lined with Peacekeeper women in nurse-like uniforms, so pristine that they almost shine in contrast the gray toned district. The workers are even cleaner than most of 12’s own Peacekeepers.

"Here we go," Mateo says with a false enthusiasm.

Y/N steps up to one of the lines, scanning the square as they wait their turn.

It looks the same as every year. Bright banners hang across the square with this years number "71st" in bold gold lettering, fluttering against the navy blue fabric. Camera crews already almost fully set up on podiums around the square, preparing for the live stream that will start soon. The district feels different today—fuller, more oppressive. The Capitol must have sent in more reinforcements and planners this year, reminding them all of the tight grip they hold over Panem.

The line moves forward.

By now, the sun peeks out from behind the clouds, its rays beating down on the stone ground. Y/N can feel the heat already rising. She wonders if anyone will faint today, only to miss the call of their name and awake to being dragged up to the podium. Her stomach tightens. If her name were called, she’s sure she’d collapse right there in front of the whole square.

Squinting against the sun, she spots a woman in a neon yellow dress, bright enough to blind anyone that stares to long. Her hair is an equally loud shade of purple. Effie Trinket. Lined up beside the boy’s reaping bowl is a row of chairs for important officials and 12’s victors. Hunched over, and leant over, in one of them, is the district’s only victor and full-time barely-functioning alcoholic — Haymitch Abernathy. Way too drunk, as usual. The other man sat beside him is Twelves own Mayor, the man’s daughter, while more privileged than than most in the district, is just as powerless in the grand scheme of things. Y/N takes note that she is not sat aside him this year. From what Y/N heard in the hob gossip a few weeks ago was that this was her first year eligible for the games. Sitting there, having to face the fact that his own daughter might be called, is another depressing thought Y/N finds herself suppressing. 

Y/N’s thoughts are interrupted when a Peacekeeper woman calls for her hand.

Y/N extends her arm mechanically, her actions rehearsed over the years. The woman pricks her finger with a device which reads her DNA and tracks those in the district for Capital counting and organizing. The woman presses her bleeding finger roughly onto a white paper booklet with little squares for each possible tribute to be logged onto. 

Y/N watches as Mateo moves to the same stage in their check-in, and Olive, now finished, begins walking toward her section in the roped-off square.

The Peacekeeper woman releases Y/N’s hand.

Y/N steps aside and away from the table to join Mateo, their shared silence speaking volumes.

"Head up high," Y/N says, her voice quiet but firm. A flicker of understanding passes between them.

"Up high," Mateo agrees.

The two had made a pact years ago, the year after their first reaping, that if one of them were selected as a tribute, they would hold their heads high, showing pride and strength for District 12. They refused to let the Capitol see them as weak. Though Y/N pounders if  she could live up to that promise when the moment came. It’s easy to be brave when death isn’t staring you full in the face.

Y/N  moves toward the section reserved for 18-year-olds walking down the open aisle between the girls and boys side. Her eyes passing over the section of anxious 12-years -olds, most crying, not much better fairing 13-years-olds, past the 14 and 15-year-olds, and the 16 and 17-year olds who seemed to be crying less than their juniors. At Least no one seemed to have hurled from jitters of anxiousness yet. Reaching her section of the front of the roped off sections, Y/N takes a spot on the aisle just three rows from the very front of everyone. A pang of annoyance hits her as she’s reminded how every year she has gotten closer in distance to watching the Mayor give his speech. He drones on about Panem’s history, the Dark Days, the reason the Games were created, and—most importantly—the rewards for victory. It’s the same thing every year.

Then there’s the obligatory mention of the what is supposed to be every winner of the district has had, but ever since Y/N can remember it's been 12’s single living victor, Haymitch Abernathy. If anything, at this point, the Mayor’s words are always a reminder of their district’s failure and lack of importance to Panem. Finally, he’ll hand things over to the district escort, and the reaping will officially begin.

Y/N lets out a long, deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, trying to tune out  the sounds of the square—the murmurs of the crowd, the rustle of the banners in the breeze. Blinking them back open, her head swivels around to try to find Minghao on the parallel side of the 18-year-old-girls sections. A slight panic arises in Y/N as she struggles to spot him, then she catches those capturing obsidian-like eyes. Relief washes over Y/N immediately, as mouths ‘Miss you’ to him. Minghao’s eyes smile back at her, his own relief in her presence apparent as his left hand comes up and finger circles around his heart ‘With my whole heart’. 

Y/N huffs out a soft laugh, shaking her head before rolling her eyes playfully. She turns back to face the front, but not before sending him one last smile over her shoulder. 

Y/N playful shakes her head as she rolls her eyes away before looking back at him to send a full smile over her shoulder at him. They probably looked like fools, but fools they'd so be.

.

.

.

Effie stood at the podium smiling widely, her demeanor far too cheerful. The yellow dress she wore that Y/N could now see had intricate glittering beading that shimmered under the harsh sunlight, sparkled as light popped off of it with every movement the women made. The clacking of Effie’s green-claw-shaped heels echoed across the square with each step she took.

“Welcome! Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!” she exclaimed, her voice overly animated, too chipper for the occasion. Effie’s hands swung as she spoke, her fingers twisting and twirling in a motion that seemed more practiced than sincere. “Now, before we pick this year’s lovely tributes, a very, very special film has been brought to you all the way from the Capitol!”

Lovely, Y/N thought bitterly to herself, rolling her eyes inwardly. 

The screen flickered to life on the screen setup beside the Justice Building, lighting up with the Capitol’s signature propaganda. This years propaganda was shot on cameras that were less pixelated than the one they reused the last couple years. Droning on about how the capital puts so much effort into taking care of Panem and its people and how we shouldnt take that for granted. How we should all be grateful for the Capitol’s protection. It was nothing but more tiresome, hollow rhetoric, droning on for what felt like an eternity. A waste of everyone’s time.

Y/N glanced behind her toward Minghao. The young man’s face was contorted into a perfect expression of dreary annoyance. Shoot me, he mouthed silently, his lips barely moving. Y/N, trying to hold back a chuckle at the absurdity of it all, raised an eyebrow in agreement. Ditto, she mouthed back, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment.

The film finally rolled to its end. The Capitol’s insufferable monotony was over. Y/N looked at Effie, who was miming the end of the film’s speech.. Y/N couldn’t hold back a deep, almost inaudible sigh, her features turning in disgust.

Effie’s eyes sparkled as she turned toward the microphone once more. “I just love that!” she exclaimed, though not a single cheer echoed from the crowd. Effie, undeterred, continued. “Now, the time has come for us to select one of you courageous young men and women for the honor of representing District 12 in the 71st Annual Hunger Games!!!”

The crowd’s energy felt heavier now, thick with an anxious tension.

“As usual, ladies first,” Effie said, practically skipping over to the large glass bowl filled with the slips of paper bearing the girls’ names. There had to be at least a thousand slips, all crammed in there, the bowl seemed to be almost overflowing this year. It made sense though, last winter was tough and Y/N didn't know a single family that didn't apply for extra tesserae. 

Effie dipped her fingers into the bowl, arm stretching deep into the glass, searching for just the right piece of paper. Y/N noticed how Effie seemed to take her time, dragging out the moment—almost savoring the drama of it all. Finally finding a piece to her liking Effie delicately pulled her hand from the bowl, a slip of paper pinched between her perfectly manicured nails. Y/N could feel the hush in the air, the entire square was holding its breath.

The silence was deafening. Effie’s heels clicking loudly with every step back toward the microphone. Her hips swayed before she came to a stop in front of the mic. 

Leaning forward Effie unfolded the slip with a flourish.  “Y/N.”

Time seemed to freeze.

“Y/N L/N,” Effie called out, her voice echoing across the square.

Y/N’s heart plummeted into her stomach. It was as though the entire world had stopped. The cold grip of fear clamped around her chest, she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise. The girls in her section all turned, their gazes piercing her. Across the square, Minghao’s face drained of color, his eyes widening in disbelief.

Effie, oblivious to the horror in the crowd, continued on, her eyes scanning for Y/N. “Come on up, dear,” she chirped, her voice laced with false sweetness.

Y/N’s legs felt like lead, and she could feel bile rising in her throat. Her breath came in shallow breaths as she swayed, a sense of vertigo spinning her world into a blur. A Peacekeeper appeared beside her, his hand gripping her forearm with an iron grip, fingers pressing uncomfortably into her skin as he pulled her toward the stairs to the podium.

Y/N couldn’t look at Minghao. She couldn’t bring herself to look at anyone, not Mateo, not Olive, not even her family. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was 18—she wasn’t supposed to be eligible for the reaping after this year, it was supposed to be a walk in the park compared to years past—she wasn’t supposed to be standing here, on this stage, in front of everyone.

How had she ended up here? Her mind raced, but it was too foggy to make sense of anything.

By the time she found herself at the top of the podium, Effie’s hand was already on her elbow, pulling her toward the microphone. The bright sun above her seemed to intensify, its rays a blinding assault on her senses, making the stage feel even hotter, even more suffocating. Y/N could feel the sweat trickling down her neck,feeling as if she could just melt into the concrete stage itself.

“Huh?” Y/N mumbled to Effie noticing the woman was staring at her. 

“I said, why don’t you introduce yourself?” Effie beamed at her, eyes shining with sickening excitement.

Y/N turned away from her, almost instinctively, and faced the crowd. Her mouth felt dry, the words hard to form. “I’m… Y/N L/N.” The words left her mouth in a dull, lifeless monotone, completely lacking the usual spark she carried.

Effie’s smile faltered for just a second, disappointment flickering in her eyes. But she quickly recovered, snatching the microphone back from in front of Y/N. “Let’s have a big round of applause for our first tribute!” she announced.

The applause was slow, reluctant. The sound was hollow, half-hearted. Y/N wanted to disappear into the cracks of the stage.

Y/N took a step back, her legs unsteady beneath her, and moved aside from the microphone. I’m going to pass out, she thought. The dizziness was overwhelming, and she could feel her vision narrowing.

Effie, unbothered by the discomfort in the air, clapped her hands together. “Now, for the boys!” she announced, her voice ringing out.

Y/N reluctantly turned her gaze toward the boys' bowl then back to the crowd. She felt a twist of sickness in her stomach as she saw Minghao’s face. His expression was stone-cold, his anger palpable. But it was his eyes—the red rims, the tears just barely held back—that caused a sharp pain to shoot through Y/N’s chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of him, the feeling of helplessness consuming her.

“Myung Jaehyun!” Effie called, breaking the tension.

A young looking boy stepped out from what seemed to be maybe a 16 or 17-year-old section, although he appeared to look a few years younger. His face was somber, but his posture was proud, almost defiant as he walked down the dirt aisle towards the stage. Yet his anger was clear—he was so close, so close to being too old to be a tribute, but it hadn’t happened yet.

Jaehyun joined Y/N on the stage, introducing himself stiffly into the mic, voice tight with the same unease that clung to the air.

“Well, here we are! Our District 12 tributes for the 71st Hunger Games!” Effie exclaimed, practically yelling into the microphone. Turning away from the mic and towards the two of them, “Well, shake hands!”

Jaehyun extended his hand first, Y/N’s own hand meeting his as it came to a stop in front of him. As their hands grasped together, Y/N could feel Jaehyun’s trembling, the nerves and fear that he was trying so hard to hide from the cameras and Effie.

Effie, oblivious to the weight of the moment, turned back to the microphone. “Happy Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor! I feel good about this year’s game!” she called out.

To be Continued…

(6,641 words)

Authors note: Thank you again for reading, I hope you enjoyed! I have put up the Masterlist on my main page.

[stardustserenadeechos]

Masterlist!

Welcome to my blog, thank you so much for reading! I only have one series at the moment that I am working on, and am unsure how tagging works. But! If you would like to be tagged let me know and I will figure it out!

A Tribute's Heart

Synopsis: As the 71st Hunger Games draw near, you and Minghao must navigate the complexities of your relationship. When you're reaped, will the arena transform you into someone unrecognizable? And when it’s all over, will Minghao still see you the same way? Will you even make it out alive?

Pairing: District12!XuiMinghao x District12!Reader

Word count: (Full story, tbd)

Attributes: Fluff, Slow-burn, Angst, HungerGamesAU, Violence, Political Tones. [If I can think of anything else I'll add it later :)]

Note/Warning: I’m unsure how long it will take to fully finish this, but I will complete the story. A good amount of the content is already written; it just needs some revisions. The story will unfold over several chapters, following the format of the first three films. Also, this is my first fic! So thank you for reading! I have also tried to keep physical descriptions to a minimum so anyone can read! (I tried my best couldn't find a nondescript neutral photo for the collage that would fit the theme of the 1st arena)

Teaser

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[stardustserenadeechos]

A Tribute's Heart

As the 71st Hunger Games draw near, you and Minghao must navigate the complexities of your relationship. When you're reaped, will the arena transform you into someone unrecognizable? And when it’s all over, will Minghao still see you the same way? Will you even make it out alive?

Pairing: District12!Minghao x District12!Reader

Word count: (Teaser, 1,670)(Full story, tbd)(First Chapter, out now!)

Chapter 1

Note/Warning: I’m unsure how long it will take to fully finish this, but I will complete the story. Most of the content is already written; it just needs some revisions. The story will unfold over several chapters, following the format of the first three films. Also, this is my first fic! So thank you for reading!

..............................................................................................................................

Chapter 1: The Mourn-ing Call (Teaser)

The air had a crisp bite to it, hinting at the coming fall. The L/N house creaked in the quiet morning, its eerie sound drifting into the silence. The sun had not yet risen, but its early light was slowly creeping through the panes of Y/N’s room. She groaned as she shifted onto her side, the 18-year-old girl’s eyes slowly cracking open. Her throat was dry and sore—a sure sign that while the air had turned cooler, summer would hang on for a few more weeks.

Sighing deeply, Y/N turned back onto her back. Staring up at the cracked stained ceiling, a pit began to form in her stomach as the reality of the day settled in. Today was the 71st Hunger Games reaping, and at 18 this would be her last year of eligibility. However, that didn't make the day's anxiety anylighter. Her chances of being selected were greater now, Y/N put her name in extra times through the tessera so that her family could scrape by with barely enough food to survive the harsh winter. Her cousin of the same age, Mateo as well. 4 extra name slips for Mateo and 3 extra name slips for Y/N.

A soft cough broke her thoughts, and Y/N turned to look at her younger cousins—Alice, 9, and Olive, 15. A pang of sadness washed over Y/N as she realized Alice would not have to fear her name being pulled from the jar this year, or the next, or even the one after, but her future still holds this annual “tradition”. Olive, like Y/N, would face the same agonizing wait in the heat, hoping her name wouldn’t be the one called.

Y/N sighed again and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet meeting the worn, splintered wood. She sat there for a moment, hands by her thighs gripping the edge of the lumpy mattress, as her head hung down, eyes closed. Outside, the early stirrings of the town could be heard—others awake in the quiet morning, too anxious to sleep on reaping day. It was hard to imagine anyone resting while the shadow of death loomed over them all. 

A breeze rustled the air, quieting the sounds of the street. Maybe nature, in its own way, was offering comfort to those in the district on such a solemn day.

Shaking her head, Y/N reminded herself not to dwell on the inevitable. Standing up, she quietly made her way to the door, glancing back at Alice and Olive, who were still sound asleep safe in the world of their dreams. Stepping out of the room Y/N softly closed the door behind her and stepped towards the old uneven steep staircase. Each step down to the main area of the home seemed quieter than usual, perhaps a silent mourning from the home for what the day would bring.

At the bottom of the stairs, Y/N glanced back up at the dark hallway. All four doors were shut, it seemed she was the only one awake so far. Turning away, she made her way to the kitchen, as she crossed the connecting living room a loud snore interrupted the silence. It was amazing how others remained asleep like that of Mateo, who snores loud enough to disrupt the bordering Seam. His snoring was soon joined by another—her uncle, Ian. How she even managed to sleep through it all was beyond her.

The cupboards offered little: a bag of molding bread, some wrinkled blueberries, and half a dozen eggs. Even with the extra food provided by Y/N and Mateo through the tesserae barely scraped through the week. The eggs and blueberries were not even from that!  Y/N pulled out the bread and placed it onto the counter beside the stove before moving to grab a bowl and the eggs. Cracking the eggs into the bowl Y/N watched how their contents sloshed together. It was a meager breakfast that wouldn't fil any of their stomachs, but it would have to do. Maybe that was a good thing though, non of them are probably even feeling that low rumble of hunger, the anxiety taking up its place.

Turning on the stove, the fire sputtered before it crackled to life under the battered pan. By now, the sun had risen higher, but the house remained quiet except for the sounds of Y/N cooking. Her mom and two aunts would wake soon, followed by the rest of the family. By 10 a.m., they’d all be dressed in their best clothes and sat on the dilapidated worn couches, dreading the moments that ticked closer to noon, the time enhanced by the loud clicking of the clock hand second by second. Then as 12p.m. hit they would begin their journey to the town square before the reaping at 2 p.m.

Afterward, the day would unfold in its usual pattern. Mateo would disappear into town insearch of work for the day, Alice and Olive would play in the backyard pretending to escape to a far off magical land. Aunt Lynn and Aunt Sophia would go back to knitting goods to sell at the Hob, while her mother would head off to her job at the Coal Mill tallying the day’s casualties. And Y/N? She and Minghao would sneak away to the quiet lake on the outskirts of the Seam. They would sit together in silence until dinner, hand intertwined as the sounds of nature would calm the dread eating at them.

As Y/N scrambled the eggs, her mind wandered. Then a soft tapping at the back door brought her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Minghao standing outside, his expression solemn despite the faint smile on his lips. He was already dressed in his nicer clothes, ready for the day.

Y/N wipes her hands on her pants and walks over to unlock the door. Swinging it open, she looks up under her eyelashes at Minghao.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

“Hey,” Minghao whispered back.

Y/N steps aside, letting him enter the house. As Minghao shut the door behind him, Y/N turns back to the stove, making sure the eggs don’t burn.

“Dressed already?” she asked, breaking the silence as she looks to the side at him.

Minghao leaned against the counter, watching her cook, their eyes meeting.

“Couldn't sleep,” he answered.

“That makes two of us,” Y/N said, offering a half-hearted smile.

She took the eggs off the stove, turning to him. “I like the haircut.”

Minghao’s hair still brushed the tops of his shoulders, but today it looked neater, his bangs no longer brushing against the tips of his eyelashes. It was cleaned up, framing his features—his mother must’ve trimmed it the night before, an instance of putting your best image forward on the more dreadful days. 

“You look very nice this morning,” she added softly.

“Not as nice as you,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

Y/N laughed, tilting her head back. “Hardly, but thank you.”

Picking the mold off the bread slices and flicking them into the sink, Y/N grabs the butter and spreads it on the bread before putting it on the stoves open fire to toast. Minghao moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder.

“What’s for breakfast?” he asked.

“I’m starting to think you came for the food, and not to see me,” Y/N teased.

“I’d rather starve than never see you again,” Minghao said, just as dramatically.

“Well, if that’s the case, I guess you can partake in our eggs and slightly moldy bread,” she said with a smirk.

“They don’t even eat like that in the Capitol,” Minghao joked.

A beat passed. “But seriously,” he continued, “the bread should last longer, right? You’d think with all the names we have to put in just to get extra food, it would.”

“Mh,” Y/N hummed in agreement as she spreads the butter on the next slice to be toasted..

Minghao hesitated before asking, “How many times is your name in the bowl this year?”

“Ten,” Y/N answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The kitchen fell silent again. Minghao tightened his grip on her waist. Y/N placed the new slice bread on the open flame, swapping it with the previous.  “You?” she asked.

“Eight,” he replied softly.

“May the odds be ever in our favor,” Y/N murmured, the words hollow.

Minghao pulls away and reaches into his pocket. His fingers trembled as he pulls out a small bundle of cloth and hands it to her. “I brought you this.”

Y/N blinked, heart fluttering. She takes the bundle from his hands and unwraps it carefully, peeling back the soft fabric to reveal, nestled in the fabric, a delicate blue flower.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She recognized the flower from Minghao’s fathers small garden. In her own words “the brightest spot in all of the dreariness of District 12”. The tears she’d been holding back began to well up in the waterlines of her eyes.

Minghao noticing, pulls her into his embrace, his hand resting on the back of her head. “Don’t cry,” he said softly.

“But what if they pull your name? What am I going to do without you?” Y/N’s voice cracked.

“Don’t spend our last few hours worrying,” Minghao replied gently. “There are people with more chances of being pulled than us. And, if anything happens, which it's not, I want my last moments with you to feel like none of this ever existed.”

“You’re always so positive,” Y/N sniffled, lifting her head to look at him.

“How could I not be, when I have you in my life?” he smiled.

Their lips met in a soft kiss before they embraced again.

“What if they pull my name?” Y/N continues. 

“That is a reality I hope I never have to face,” Minghao says seriously. 

“Best not the thick of it” Y/N compromises, listening to Minghao’s advice from mere second before. 

…to be continued

(1,670 words)