Wasssssup
We back with book 2 lets go
It's only been two weeks but it feels like years, probs cause I graduated on friday and now I feel like a completely different person lol. Very surreal.
So like in case yall forgot from the first book A/B/O will be present in this book but only for one scene and then it basically doesn't get mentioned anywhere else (yall probs already know what scene).
And also violence and shit will be prevelent so dont read if you dont like that.
Anyways, onto the continued adventure!
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(M/N) stared out at the lake as the sun peeked over the horizon. His muscles clenched tight against the cold air that the Winter months brought along. If a pack of wild dogs were to appear at that moment, the odds of him scaling a tree before they attacked were not in his favour. He could benefit from moving around to work the stiffness out of his limbs, but instead he sat, as motionless as the rock beneath him, while dawn began to lighten the woods.
(M/N) was dreading this day. By noon they'd all be at his new house in the Victor's Village. The reporters, the camera crews, even Emi, his old escort, would have made their way to District 12 from the Capitol.
There would be others waiting, too. A staff to cater to his every need on the long train trip. A prep team to beautify him for public appearances. (M/N)'s stylist and friend, Keigo, who designed the incredible outfits that first made the audience take notice of (M/N) in the Hunger Games.
If it were up to (M/N), he would try to forget the Hunger Games entirely. Never speak of them. Pretend they were nothing but a bad dream. But the Victory tour made that impossible. Strategically placed almost midway between the annual Games, it was the Capitol's way of keeping the horror fresh and immediate.
Not only were the districts forced to remember the iron grip of the Capitol's power each year, they were forced to celebrate it. And this year, (M/N) was one of the stars of the show. He would have to travel from district to district, to stand before crowds who would secretly loathe him, to look down into the faces of the families whose children he'd killed.
The sound of a branch snapping forced (M/N) into a standing position with his bow aimed at the person behind him, who happened to be Shoto.
"Whoa, take it easy, it's just me," Shoto said with his hands up defensively.
(M/N) sighed and lowered his bow. Ever since he came out of the Games he'd been more paranoid than ever. The trauma from the things he experienced in the arena tied together with the looming threat of the Capitol who wasn't particularly fond of him didn't do much to help ease his worries.
"Sorry," (M/N) said, turning back to the lake. The sun continued to rise, and as much as (M/N) wanted to stay there, he knew he couldn't.
"We should go," he continued as he began walking away from the lake, Shoto trailing behind him.
(M/N) had been in the woods for three hours, but he'd made no real attempt at hunting, so he had nothing to show for it. It didn't matter for his mother and Eri anymore. They could afford to buy butcher meat in town, although none of them liked it better than fresh game. Though Shoto and his family were depending on today's haul and (M/N) couldn't let them down.
Despite (M/N) having more than enough money to feed both their families, Shoto refused to take even a single coin from him. It was hard enough for (M/N) to try and bring him meat, even though Shoto surely would've supplied (M/N)'s family had he been killed in the Games.
(M/N) only had a few hours until the Victory tour, so the two started the hour-and-a-half trek to their snare line. Back when they were in school, the boys had enough time in the afternoons to check the line, hunt, gather and still get back to trade in town. But ever since Shoto had started working in the coal mines, (M/N) took over the job, since he had nothing to do most days. Today was one of the rare moments when he and Shoto would get to go hunting together.
Normally (M/N) would go to work in the mines as well, but being a Victor also came with exemptions from all work in any district they resided in. He wasn't complaining anyway, since he was never keen on going down to the same place his father had died.
(M/N) took notice of how quiet Shoto was, not that he was making any effort to talk to him in the first place. The Games had caused a rift in their friendship. They no longer told each other everything like they used to.
(M/N) kept hoping that as time passed they would regain the ease they once had, but part of him knew it was futile. There was no going back.
The two boys got a good haul from the traps; eight rabbits, two squirrels and a beaver that swam into a wire contraption Shoto designed himself. He was something of a whiz with snares, rigging them to bent saplings so they pulled the kill out of reach of any predators, balancing logs on delicate stick triggers, weaving inescapable baskets to capture fish.
As (M/N) went along, carefully resetting each snare, he knew that he would never be able to replicate Shoto's eye for balance, his instinct for where prey would cross the path. It was more than experience. It was a natural gift. Like the way (M/N) could shoot at an animal in almost complete darkness and still take it down with one arrow.
By the time the two made it back to the fence around District 12, the sun was well up. As always, (M/N) listened for the telltale hum of electrical current running through the fence, and as usual, there wasn't one.
They wiggled through the opening at the bottom of the fence, coming up in the Meadow situated just a stone's throw from (M/N)'s home. His old home. His family still got to keep it since it was officially the designated dwelling of his mother and sister. If (M/N) was to drop dead then and there, they would have to return to it. But at present, they were both happily installed in the new house in the Victor's Village.
(M/N) mourned his life in the old house. They barely scraped by, but he knew where he fit in, he knew what his place was. He wished he could go back to it because, in retrospect, it seemed so secure compared to now, when he was so rich and famous and so hated by the authorities in the Capitol.
Shoto said he had to go get some things from the Hob, so he left promptly, not saying anything else to (M/N). Taking that chance, (M/N) left in the other direction, shoes crunching along the cinder street. Cutting down alleys and through backyards got him to Shoto's house in minutes. His mother, Rei, saw (M/N) through the window over the kitchen sink. She dried her hands on her apron and disappeared to meet him at the door.
(M/N) liked Rei. He respected her. The explosion that took out (M/N)'s father also took out her eldest son, Touya, and since Shoto's dad was out more often than he was home, she was left to look after two boys, a girl, and a baby due any day. Less than a week after she gave birth, she was out hunting the streets for work. The mines weren't an option, since she had a baby to look after, but she managed to get laundry from some merchants in town. At fourteen, Fuyumi, the eldest of the kids, became the main supporter of the family. She had already signed up for tesserae, which entitled them to a meagre supply of grain and oil in exchange for entering her name extra times in the drawing to become a tribute. Natsuo followed in her steps once he was of age, and then Shoto.
Having three family members signed up to tesserae helped them live almost enough to get by without Shoto's game. But that didn't last for too long, since Fuyumi and Natsuo passed the allowed age for having tesserae. So now only Shoto was signed up for it. Though it was his last year, so after that, they would be left to their own devices. But they were determined that the baby, now a 4-year-old girl, would never have to sign up for tesserae.
That was a major reason as to why (M/N) brought extra game for them. Even if Shoto wouldn't accept his game, it didn't mean his mother wouldn't.
Rei smiled when she saw the game. She took the beaver by the tail, feeling its weight. "He's going to make a nice stew."
"Good pelt, too," (M/N) said. It was comforting being with Rei. Weighing the merits of the game, just as they always had. She poured (M/N) a mug of herb tea, which he wrapped his chilled fingers around gratefully.
"Oh, I'd been meaning to ask, where's Shoto?" Rei inquired.
"Well we just came back from hunting. He said he was going to get some things from the Hob," (M/N) responded.
Rei hummed. "I see. He's not home that much anymore, he's been away more since he started working at the mines, but I think he likes to spend most of his free time with you."
(M/N) couldn't stop the redness that flooded his cheeks. It was stupid, of course. Hardly anyone knew (M/N) better than Rei. About the bond he shared with Shoto. (M/N) was sure plenty of people assumed that they'd eventually get married even if he never gave it any thought. But that was before the Games. Before (M/N)'s fellow tribute, Katsuki Bakugou, announced he was madly in love with him. Their romance became a key strategy for their survival in the arena. Only It wasn't just a strategy for Katsuki. (M/N) wasn't sure what it was for himself. But he knew it was nothing but painful for Shoto.
His chest tightened as he thought about how, on the Victory Tour, he and Katsuki would have to present themselves as lovers again.
(M/N) gulped his tea even though it was too hot and pushed himself back from the table. "I better get going. Make myself presentable for the cameras."
Rei hugged him. "Enjoy the food."
"Absolutely," (M/N) said.
His next stop was the markets down at the Hob. Years ago it was a warehouse to store coal, but when it fell into disuse, it became a meeting place for illegal trades and then blossomed into a full-time black market. If it attracted a somewhat criminal element, then (M/N) belonged there. Hunting in the woods surrounding District 12 violated at least a dozen laws and was punishable by death.
Although they never mentioned it, (M/N) owed the people who frequented the Hob. Shoto told him that the old woman who served soup started a collection to sponsor him and Katsuki during the Games. It was supposed to be just a Hob thing, but a lot of other people heard about it and chipped in. (M/N) didn't know exactly how much it was, and the price of any gift in the arena was exorbitant. But for all he knew, it made the difference between his life and death.
(M/N) made sure to take a longer route to the markets, he wanted to make sure Shoto was gone, since showing up later with him still there would raise the question of why he didn't just join Shoto earlier. It was easier this way.
It still felt odd to (M/N) when he dragged open the front door with an empty game bag, with nothing to trade, and instead with the heavy pocket of coins against his hip.
He tried to hit as many stalls as possible, spreading out his purchases of coffee, buns, eggs, yarn and oil. As an afterthought, (M/N) bought three bottles of white liquor. It wasn't for his family. It was for Shota, who acted as a mentor for him and Katsuki in the Games. He was surly, violent, and drunk most of the time. But he did his job - more than his job - because for the first time in history, two tributes were allowed to win. So no matter who Shota was, (M/N) owed him. And that was always.
(M/N) was getting white liquor because a few weeks ago Shota ran out and there was none for sale, which led to a bad withdrawal. Shaking and screaming at terrifying things only he could see. He scared Eri to death and, frankly, it wasn't much fun for (M/N) to see either. Ever since then, (M/N) had sort of been stockpiling the stuff just in case there was a shortage again.
The Head Peacekeeper frowned when he saw (M/N) with the bottles. "That stuff's too strong for you, boy." He would know. Next to Shota, he drank more than anyone (M/N) had ever met.
"My mother uses it in medicines," (M/N) said indifferently.
"Well, it'd kill just about anything," the older man replied.
(M/N) went to the soup stall next. He boosted himself up to sit on the counter and ordered some soup, which looked to be some kind of gourd and bean mixture.
"Shoto going to see you off?" the woman running the stall asked.
"No, he wasn't on the list," (M/N) said.
The woman hummed. "Think he'd have made the list. Him being your cousin and all."
That was another lie the Capitol had cooked up. When (M/N) and Katsuki made it into the final eight in the Hunger Games, they sent reporters to do personal stories about the two. When they asked about (M/N)'s friends, everyone directed them to Shoto. But it wouldn't do, with the romance (M/N) was playing out in the arena, to have his best friend be Shoto. He was too handsome, and not the least bit willing to smile and play nice for the cameras. So some genius made them cousins. (M/N) didn't know about it until he was already home, on the platform at the train station, and his mother said, "Your cousins can hardly wait to see you!" To which he was met by the sight of Shoto, Rei and everyone else. He had no choice but to go along.
"I just can't wait for the whole thing to be over," (M/N) whispered.
"I know," she said. "But you've got to go through it and get to the end. Better not be late."
A light snow began to fall as (M/N) made his way to the Victor's Village. It was about a kilometre-long walk from the square in the centre of town, but it seemed like another world entirely. It was a separate community built around a beautiful green area, dotted with flowering bushes. There were twelve houses, each large enough to hold ten of the one (M/N) was raised in. Nine stood empty, as they always had. The three in use belonged to Shota, (M/N), and Katsuki.
The houses inhabited by (M/N)'s family and Katsuki gave off a warm glow of life. Lit windows, smoke from the chimneys. But Shota's house, despite the care taken by the groundskeeper, let off an air of abandonment and neglect. (M/N) braced himself at the front door, knowing it would be foul, then pushed inside.
His nose immediately wrinkled in disgust. Shota refused to let anyone in to clean and did a poor job himself. Over the years the odours of liquor, vomit, boiled cabbage, burned meat, unwashed clothes, and mouse droppings had intermingled into a stench that brought tears to (M/N)'s eyes. He made his way through a litter of discarded wrappings, broken glass and bones to where he knew he'd find Shota.
Shota was sitting at the kitchen table, his arms sprawled across the wood, his face in a puddle of liquor, snoring his head off.
(M/N) nudged his shoulder. "Get up!" he said loudly, since he'd learned there was no subtle way to wake his mentor.
Shota's snoring stopped for a moment, then resumed. (M/N) pushed harder. "Get up, Shota. It's tour day!" He forced the window up, inhaling deep breaths of clean air outside. His feet shifted through the rubbish on the floor, and he unearthed a tin coffee pot, filling it at the sink.
The stove wasn't completely out and (M/N) managed to coax a few live coals into a flame. He poured some ground coffee into the pot, enough to make sure the resulting brew would be good and strong, and set it on the stove to boil.
Shota was still dead to the world. Since nothing else had worked, (M/N) filled a basin with icy cold water, dumped it on his head, and sprung out of the way. A guttural animal sound came from Shota's throat. He jumped up, kicking his chair a metre behind him and wielding a knife. (M/N) forgot he always slept with one clutched in his hand. He should have pried it from his fingers, but he'd had a lot on his mind.
Spewing profanities, Shota slashed at the air for a few moments before coming to his senses. He wiped his face on his shirtsleeve and turned to the window where (M/N) was situated, just in case he needed to make a quick exit.
"What the hell are you doing?" Shota sputtered.
"Cameras will be here in an hour. Clean yourself up," (M/N) responded.
"Why am I all wet?" Shota said grouchily.
(M/N) sighed angrily. "Look, if you wanted to be babied, you should have asked Katsuki."
"Asked me what?" Just the sound of his voice twisted (M/N)'s stomach into a knot of unpleasant emotions like guilt, sadness and fear. And longing. (M/N) had to admit there was some of that, too. Only it had too much competition to ever win out.
(M/N) watched as Katsuki crossed the table, the sunlight from the window picking up the glint of fresh snow in his blond hair. He looked strong and healthy, much different from the sick, starving boy (M/N) remembered from the arena. He set a loaf of fresh-baked bread on the table and held out his hand to Shota.
"Asked you to wake me without giving me pneumonia," Shota said, passing over his knife.
Katsuki doused Shota's knife in white liquor from a bottle on the floor. He wiped the blade clean on his shirt and sliced the bread. Katsuki kept everyone in on fresh baked goods. (M/N) hunted. He baked. Shota drank. They each had their own ways to stay busy, to keep thoughts of their time as contestants in the Hunger Games at bay. It wasn't until Katsuki handed Shota the knife that he even looked at (M/N) for the first time. "Want a piece?"
"No, I ate earlier," (M/N) said. "But thanks." His voice didn't sound like his own, it was so formal. Just as it had been every time he'd spoken to Katsuki since the cameras finished filming their happy homecoming and they returned to their real lives.
"No problem," the blonde said stiffly.
Shota looked between the two. "Well, you two have a lot of warming up to do before showtime."
(M/N) couldn't argue with him, he was right after all. The audience would be expecting a pair of lovebirds who won the Hunger Games. Not two people who could barely look each other in the eye. But all (M/N) could say was, "Which is in an hour, so... take a bath, Shota."
"I just did," Shota responded, but (M/N) chose to ignore him as he swung out of the window and dropped to the ground, heading for his house.
The snow had begun to stick and (M/N) left a trail of footprints behind him. At the front door, he paused to knock the wet stuff from his shoes before he went in. His mother had been working day and night to make sure everything was perfect for the cameras, so it wasn't the time to be tracking up her shiny floors. (M/N) had barely stepped inside when she was there, holding his arm as if to stop him.
"Don't worry, I'm taking them off here," (M/N) said, leaving his shoes on the mat.
His mother gave an odd, breathy laugh and removed the game bag loaded with supplies from (M/N)'s shoulder. "It's just snow. Did you have a nice walk?"
"Walk?" She knew (M/N) had been in the woods half the night. Then he saw the man standing behind her in the kitchen doorway. One look at his tailored suit and surgically perfect features and (M/N) knew he was from the Capitol. Something was wrong. "It was more like skating. It's getting really slippery out there."
"Someone's here to see you," his mother said. Her face was too pale and he could hear the anxiety she was trying to hide.
"I thought they weren't due until noon," (M/N) pretended not to notice her state. "Did Keigo come early to help me get ready?"
"No, (M/N), it's-" his mother began.
"This way, please, Mr (L/N)," the man interrupted. He gestured down the hallway. It was weird for (M/N) to be ushered around his own home, but he knew better than to comment on it.
"Probably more instructions for the tour," (M/N) said over his shoulder to his mother as he rounded the corner. They had been sending him all kinds of stuff about his itinerary and what protocol would be observed in each district. But as (M/N) walked towards the door of the study, a door he had never even seen closed until that moment, his mind began to race. Who's here? What do they want? Why is my mother so pale?
"Go right in," the man said.
(M/N) twisted the polished brass knob and stepped inside. His nose registered the conflicting scents of roses and blood. A small, white-haired man who seemed vaguely familiar was reading a book. He held up a finger as if to say, 'Give me a moment'. Then he turned around and (M/N)'s heart skipped a beat.
He was staring into the snake-like eyes of President Nezu.
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