---
The smell of blood... it was on his breath.
What does he do? (M/N) thought. Drink it? He imagined the president sipping it from a teacup. Dipping a cookie into the stuff and pulling it out dripping red.
Outside the window, a car came to life, soft and quiet like the purr of a cat, then it faded away into the distance. It slipped off as it arrived, unnoticed.
The room seemed to be spinning in slow, lopsided circles, and (M/N) wondered if he was going to black out. He leaned forward and clutched the desk with one hand. The other still held Katsuki's cookie. He thought it had a tiger lily on it, but it had been reduced to crumbs in his fist. (M/N( didn't even realise he was crushing it, but he guessed he had to hold on to something while his world veered out of control.
A visit from President Nezu. Districts on the verge of uprisings. A direct threat to Shoto, with others to follow. Everyone (M/N) loved doomed. And who knows who else would pay for his actions. Unless he turned things around on the tour. Quiet the discontent and put the president's mind at rest. And how? By providing to the country beyond any shadow of a doubt that he loved Katsuki Bakugou.
I can't do it, (M/N) thought. I'm not that good. Katsuki was the good one, the likeable one. He could make people believe anything. (M/N) was the one who shut up and sat back and let the blonde do as much of the talking as possible. But it wasn't Katsuki who had to prove his devotion. It was (M/N).
(M/N) heard his mother's light, quick tread in the hall. She can't know, he thought. Not about any of this. He reached his hand over the tray and quickly brushed the bits of cookie from his palm and fingers. He took a shaky sip of his tea.
"Is everything all right, (M/N)?" she asked.
"It's fine. We never see it on television, but the president always visits the victors before the tour to wish them luck," (M/N) said brightly.
His mother's face flooded with relief. "Oh. I thought there was some kind of trouble."
"No, not at all," (M/N) said. His mother let out a sigh, seemingly convinced by what (M/N) was saying.
"Why don't I start your bath?" she asked.
"Great," (M/N) said, and he could see how pleased she was by his response.
Since (M/N) had been home he had been trying hard to mend his relationship with his mother. Asking her to do things for him instead of brushing aside any offer of help, as he did for years out of anger. Letting her handle all the money he won. Returning her hugs instead of tolerating them. (M/N)'s time in the arena made him realise how he needed to stop punishing her for something she couldn't help, specifically the crushing depression she fell into after his father's death. Because sometimes things happen to people and they aren't equipped to deal with them.
Like (M/N), for instance. Right now.
Besides, there was a wonderful thing she did when he arrived back in the district. After their families and friends had greeted (M/N) and Katsuki at the train station, there were a few questions allowed from reporters. Someone asked his mother what she thought of (M/N)'s new boyfriend, and she replied that, while Katsuki was the very model of what a young man should be, (M/N) wasn't old enough to have any boyfriend at all. She followed that with a pointed look at Katsuki. There was a lot of laughter and comments like, "somebody's in trouble," from the press, and Katsuki dropped his hand and sidestepped away from him.
That didn't last long - there was too much pressure to act otherwise - but it gave the two an excuse to be a little more reserved than they had been in the Capitol. And it could account for how little (M/N) had been seen in Katsuki's company since the cameras left.
(M/N) went upstairs to the bathroom, where a steaming tub awaited him. His mother had added a small bag of dried flowers that perfumed the air. None of them were used to the luxury of turning on a tap and having a limitless supply of hot water at their fingertips. They only had cold at their home in the Seam, and a bath meant boiling the rest over the fire.
(M/N) undressed and lowered himself into the silky water - his mother had poured in some kind of oil as well - and tried to get a grip on things.
The first question on (M/N)'s mind was who to tell, if anyone. Not his mother or Eri, obviously; they'd only become sick with worry. Not Shoto. Even if (M/N) could get word to him. What would he do with the information? If he were alone, (M/N) might try to persuade him to run away. Certainly he would survive in the woods. But he wasn't alone and he'd never leave his family. Or (M/N).
When (M/N) got home he'd have to tell him something about why their Sundays were a thing of the past, but (M/N) couldn't think about that right now. Only about his next move. Besides, Shoto was already so angry and frustrated with the Capitol that (M/N) sometimes thought he was going to arrange his own uprising. The last thing he needed was an incentive.
There were still three people (M/N) could confide in, starting with Keigo, his stylist. But he guessed that Keigo was already at risk, and (M/N) didn't want to pull him into any more trouble by closer association with him. Then there was Katsuki, who would be (M/N)'s partner in this deception, but how was he supposed to begin that conversation? Hey, Katsuki, remember how I told you I was kind of faking being in love with you? Well, I really need you to forget about that now and act extra in love with me or the president might kill Shoto.
(M/N) couldn't do it. Besides, Katsuki would perform well whether he knew what was and wasn't at stake. That left Shota. Drunken, cranky, confrontational Shota, who (M/N) poured a basin of ice water on. As his mentor in the Games it was his duty to keep the boys alive. (M/N) could only hope he was still up for the job.
He slid down into the water, letting it block out the sounds around him. (M/N) wished the tub would expand so he could go swimming, like he used to on hot summer Sundays in the woods with his father.
Those days were a special treat. They would leave early in the morning and hike further into the woods than usual to a small lake he'd found while hunting. (M/N) didn't even remember learning to swim, he was so young when his father taught him. (M/N) just remembered diving, turning somersaults, and paddling around. The muddy bottom of the lake beneath his toes. The smell of blossoms and greenery. Floating on his back, as he was now, staring at the blue sky while the chatter of the woods was muted by the water.
(M/N) never took Shoto to the lake. He could have. It was time consuming to get there, but the waterfowl were such easy pickings you could make up for lost hunting time. It was a place (M/N) never really wanted to share with anyone, though, a place that belonged only to him and his father.
Since the Games, when (M/N) had little to occupy his days, he'd gone there a couple of times. The swimming was still nice, but the visits mostly depressed him. Over the course of the last five years, the lake was remarkably unchanged and (M/N) was almost unrecognisable.
Even underwater he could hear the sounds of commotion. Honking car horns, shouts of greeting, doors banging shut. It could only mean (M/N)'s entourage had arrived. He had just enough time to dry off and slip into a robe before his prep team burst into the bathroom.
There was no question of privacy. When it came to (M/N)'s body, they had no secrets, him and the three people in front of him.
Almost immediately, the first stylist shrieked. "(M/N), your eyebrows!"
(M/N) had to stifle a laugh as the second stylist came up and patted her back soothingly. "There, there. You can fix those in no time. But what am I going to do with these nails?" She grabbed (M/N)'s hand and pinned it flat between her two pea-green ones. "Really, (M/N), you could have left me something to work with!"
"Sorry," (M/N) muttered half-heartedly.
The third stylist lifted a few strands of (M/N)'s wet, tangled hair. He gave his head a disapproving shake. "Has anyone touched this since you last saw us?" he asked sternly. "Remember, we specifically asked you to leave your hair alone."
"Yes," (M/N) said, grateful that he could show he hadn't totally taken them for granted. "I mean, no, no one's cut it. I did remember that." He really didn't. It was more like the issue never came up.
That seemed to mortify them, then they sat him on a chair in his bedroom, and, as usual, started talking non-stop without bothering to notice if he was listening. While they worked on his body, (M/N) heard all about the Capitol. What a hit the Games were, how dull things had been since, how no one could wait until (M/N) and Katsuki visited again at the end of the Victory Tour. After that, it wouldn't be long before the Capitol began gearing up for the Quarter Quell.
"Isn't it thrilling?"
"Don't you feel so lucky?"
"In your very first year of being a victor, you get to be a mentor in a Quarter Quell!"
Their words overlapped in a blur of excitement.
"Oh, yes," (M/N) said neutrally. It was the best he could do. In a normal year, being a mentor to the tributes was the stuff of nightmares. (M/N) couldn't walk by the school now without wondering what kid he'd have to coach. But to make things worse, this was the seventy-fifth year of the Hunger Games, which meant it was also a Quarter Quell.
"Shota better be preparing himself for a lot of attention!" one of the stylists squealed.
Shota had never mentioned his personal experience in the Games to (M/N). And even though he'd watched the Games the previous year, he would never ask Shota about it. But the Capitol wouldn't let him forget it this year. In a way, it was a good thing that (M/N) and Katsuki would both be available as mentors during the Quell, because it was a sure bet that Shota would be wasted.
After they had exhausted the topic of the Quarter Quell, (M/N)'s prep team launched into a whole lot of stuff about their incomprehensibly silly lives. Who said what about someone (M/N) had never heard of and what sort of shoes they just bought and a long story from one of the stylists about what a mistake it was to have everyone wear feathers to her birthday party.
Soon, (M/N)'s eyebrows were stinging, his hair was smooth and silky, and his nails were filed to perfection. Apparently they had been given instructions to prepare only (M/N)'s hands and face, probably because everything else would be covered in cold weather.
(M/N) could see by the palette Keigo assigned that they were going for boyish, not handsome. Good, he thought. He'd never convince anyone of anything if he was trying to be provocative. Shota made that very clear when he was coaching (M/N) for his interview for the Games.
(M/N) realised that at some point his prep team had started talking about his mother, mostly just about how well cleaned she kept the house and how nice her tea was. They were very nice and respectful when talking about her that it made (M/N) feel bad about how he went around feeling superior to them. Who knows what he would have been like had he been raised in the Capitol. Maybe his biggest regret would be having feathered costumes at his birthday party, too.
Once (M/N)'s hair was done, he found Keigo downstairs in the living room, and just the sight of him made (M/N) feel more hopeful. He looked the same as always, simple clothes, messy hair, and just a hint of eyeliner. They embraced, and (M/N) could barely keep himself from spilling out the entire episode with President Nezu. But no, he'd decided to tell Shota first. He would know best who to burden with it. It was so easy to talk to Keigo, though. Lately, they had been speaking a lot on the telephone that came with the house. It was a sort of joke, because almost no one else (M/N) knew owned one. There was Katsuki, but obviously (M/N) didn't call him. And Shota tore his out of the wall years ago. So the thing barely ever got used. Then Keigo started to call to work on (M/N)'s talent.
Every victor was supposed to have one. Their talent was an activity that they take up since they don't have to work either in school or their district's industry. It could be anything, really, anything that they could interview someone on. Katsuki, it turned out, actually had a talent, which was painting. He'd been frosting those cakes and cookies for years in his family's bakery. But now that he was rich, he could afford to smear real paint on canvases.
(M/N) didn't have a talent, unless he counted hunting illegally, which they didn't. Or maybe singing, which (M/N) wouldn't do for the Capitol in a million years. His mother tried to interest him in a variety of suitable alternatives from a list Emi sent her. Cooking, flower arranging, playing the flute. None of them stuck, although Eri had a knack for all three.
Finally Keigo stepped in and offered to help (M/N) develop his passion for designing clothes, which really required development since it was non-existent. But he said yes because it meant getting to talk to Keigo, and he promised he'd do all the work.
Now he was arranging things around the living room: clothing, fabrics and sketchbooks with designs he'd drawn. (M/N) picked up one of the sketchbooks and examined an outfit he supposedly created. "You know, I think I show a lot of promise," (M/N) said.
"Get dressed, you worthless thing," Keigo said with a smile as he rolled his eyes.
(M/N) may have had no interest in designing clothes but he did love the ones Keigo made for him.
"Did I design my outfit?" (M/N) asked.
"No, you aspire to design your outfit and be like me, your fashion hero," Keigo said, puffing out his chest at the last part. He handed (M/N) a small stack of cards. "You'll read these off camera while they're filming the clothes. Try to sound like you care."
Just then, Emi arrived in a pumpkin orange wig to remind everyone, "We're on a schedule!" She waved in the camera crew then ordered (M/N) into position. Emi was the only reason they got anywhere on time in the Capitol, so (M/N) tried to accommodate her. He started bobbing around like a puppet, holding up outfits and saying meaningless things like "Don't you love it?" The sound team recorded him reading from his cards in a chirpy voice so they could insert it later, then (M/N) was tossed out of the room so they could film his/Keigo's designs in peace. Not that he was complaining, he felt like throwing up after all the fake enthusiasm and prancing around he had been doing for the cameras.
Eri got out early from school for the event. Now she stood in the kitchen, being interviewed by another crew. She looked lovely in a sky-blue frock that brought out her eyes, her white hair pulled back in a matching ribbon. She was leaning forward on the toes of her shiny white boots like she was about to take flight, like-
Suddenly, a wave of pain flooded (M/N)'s chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and he didn't see Eri, he saw Wendy, the twelve-year-old girl from District 11 who was his ally in the arena. She could fly, birdlike, from tree to tree, catching on to the slenderest branches. Wendy, who he didn't save. Who he let die. He pictured her lying on the ground with the spear still wedged in her stomach.
Who else will I fail to save from the Capitol's vengeance? Who else will be dead if I don't satisfy President Nezu? (M/N) felt helpless as these questions swarmed his head.
At some point he realised Keigo had been trying to put a coat on him, so he raised his arms. He felt fur, inside and out, encasing him. Leather gloves. A bright red scarf. Something furry covered his ears. "You're bringing earmuffs back in style."
I hate earmuffs, (M/N) thought. They made it hard to hear, and since he was blasted deaf in one ear in the arena, he disliked them even more. After (M/N) won, the Capitol repaired his ear, but he still found himself testing it every now and then.
(M/N)'s mother hurried up with something cupped in her hand. "For good luck," she said.
It was the mockingjay pin (M/N) had gotten on the day of the reaping. He tried to give it to Wendy but she wouldn't take it. She said the pin was the reason she decided to trust him. Keigo fixed it on the knot of the scarf.
Emi was nearby, clapping her hands. "Attention, everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greet each other at the beginning of their marvellous trip. All right, (M/N), big smile, you're very excited, right?" It was no exaggeration to say Emi shoved (M/N) out the door.
For a moment (M/N) couldn't quite see right because of the snow, which was coming down in earnest. Then he made out Katsuki coming through his front door. In his head he could hear President Nezu's directive, "Convince me." And he knew he had to.
(M/N)'s face broke into a huge smile and he started walking in Katsuki's direction. Then, as if he couldn't stand it another second, he started running. Katsuki caught him and spun him around before slipping, and they fell into the snow, (M/N) on top of him, and that was where they had their first kiss in months.
(M/N) could feel the steadiness that Katsuki brought to everything. And he knew he wasn't alone. As badly as he had hurt the blonde, he wouldn't expose (M/N) in front of the cameras. Wouldn't condemn him with a half-hearted kiss. Katsuki was still looking out for him. Just as he had in the arena.
Somehow the thought made (M/N) want to cry. Instead he pulled Katsuki to his feet, tucked his glove into the crook of his arm, and merrily pulled him on their way.
The rest of the day was a blur getting to the station, bidding everyone goodbye, the train pulling out, the old team - (M/N) and Katsuki, Emi and Shota, Keigo and Rumi, Katsuki's stylist - dining on an indescribably delicious meal (M/N) didn't remember. And then he was in his pyjamas, sitting in his plush compartment, waiting for the others to go to sleep. He knew Shota would be up for hours. He didn't like to sleep when it was dark out.
When the train seemed quiet, (M/N) put his slippers on and made his way to Shota's door. He had to knock several times before the man answered, scowling, as if he was certain (M/N) had brought bad news.
"What do you want?" he said grouchily, nearly knocking (M/N) out with a cloud of wine fumes.
"I have to talk to you," (M/N) whispered.
"Now?" he said. (M/N) nodded. "This better be good." He waited, but (M/N) was certain every word they uttered on a Capitol train was being recorded. "Well?" Shota pushed impatiently.
The train started to brake and for a second (M/N) thought President Nezu was watching him and didn't approve of his confiding in Shota and had just decided to go ahead and kill him there. But they were just stopping for fuel.
"This train is so stuffy," (M/N) said.
It was a harmless phrase, but (M/N) could see Shota's eyes narrow in understanding. "I know what you need." He pushed past (M/N) and lurched down the hall to a door. When he wrestled it open, a blast of snow hit him. He tripped out onto the ground.
A Capitol attendant rushed to help, but Shota waved her away good-naturedly as he staggered off. "Just need some fresh air. I'll only be a minute."
"Sorry, he's drunk," (M/N) said apologetically. "I'll get him." (M/N) hopped down and stumbled along the track behind him, soaking his slippers with snow, as his mentor led him beyond the end of the train so they wouldn't be overheard. Then he turned to (M/N).
"What?"
(M/N) told him everything. About the president's visit, about Shoto, about how they were all going to die if he failed.
Shota's face held an unreadable expression. "Then you can't fail."
"If you could just help me get through this trip-" (M/N) began.
"No, (M/N), it's not just this trip," Shota said.
"What do you mean?" (M/N) asked.
"Even if you pull it off, they'll be back in another few months to take us all to the Games. You and Katsuki, you'll be mentors now, every year from here on out. And every year they'll revisit the romance and broadcast the details of your private life., and you'll never, ever be able to do anything but live happily ever after with that boy."
The full impact of what he was saying hit (M/N). He would never have a life with Shoto, even if he wanted to. He would never be allowed to live alone. He would have to be forever in love with Katsuki. The Capitol would insist on it. He'd have a few years maybe, because he was only eighteen, to stay with his mother and Eri. And then... and then...
"Do you understand what I mean?" Shota pressed.
(M/N) nodded. His mentor meant that there was only one future, if he wanted to keep those he loved alive and stay alive himself. He'd have to marry Katsuki.
---