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Having gone through prep with his stylists multiple times, it should have just been the old routine to survive. But (M/N) hadn't anticipated the emotional ordeal that awaited him. At some point during the prep, each one of them burst into tears at least twice. It turned out they really had become attached to (M/N), and the idea of him returning to the arena had undone them. Combine that with the fact that by losing him they would be losing their ticket to all kinds of big social events, particularly his wedding, and the whole thing became unbearable. The idea of being strong for someone else had never entered their heads, so (M/N) found himself in the position of having to console them. Since he was the one going in to be slaughtered, it was mildly annoying.
He found it interesting, though, when he thought of what Katsuki said about the attendant on the train being unhappy about the victors having to fight again. About people in the Capitol not liking it. He still thought all of that would be forgotten once the gong rang, but it was something of a revelation to him that those in the Capitol felt anything at all about the district people. They certainly didn't have a problem watching children being murdered every year. But maybe they knew too much about the victors, especially the ones who had been celebrities for ages, to forget they were human beings. It was more like watching their friends die. More like the Games were for those in the districts.
By the time Keigo showed up, (M/N) was irritable and exhausted from comforting the prep team, especially because their constant tears were reminding him of the ones undoubtedly being shared at home. Standing there in his thin robe with his stinging skin and heart, he couldn't bear even one more look of regret. So the moment Keigo walked in the door (M/N) snapped, "I swear if you start to cry, I'll kill you here and now."
Keigo just smiled. "Had a damp morning?"
"You could wring me out," (M/N) replied.
Keigo put his arm around (M/N)'s shoulder and led him into lunch. "Don't worry. I always channel my emotions into my work. That way I don't hurt anyone but myself."
"I can't go through that again," (M/N) warned him.
"I know, I'll talk to them," Keigo said.
Lunch made (M/N) feel a bit better. Pheasant with a selection of jewel-coloured jellies, and tiny versions of real vegetables swimming in butter, and potatoes mashed with parsley. For dessert they dipped chunks of fruit in a pot of melted chocolate, and Keigo had to order a second pot because (M/N) just started eating the stuff with a spoon.
"So, what are we wearing for the opening ceremonies?" (M/N) finally asked as he scraped the second pot clean. "Headlamps or fire?" He knew the chariot ride would require him and Katsuki to be dressed in something coal related.
"Something along that line," Keigo said.
~
When it was time to get in costume for the opening ceremonies, (M/N)'s prep team showed up but Keigo sent them away, saying they did a spectacular job in the morning and there was nothing left to do. They left to recover, thankfully leaving (M/N) in Keigo's hands. He styled (M/N)'s hair and then proceeded with the make-up.
The previous year he had used little so the audience would recognise (M/N) when he landed in the arena. But now his face was almost obscured by the dramatic highlights and dark shadows. Sharp cheekbones, smouldering eyes. The costume looked deceptively simple at first, just a fitted black jumpsuit that covered (M/N) from the neck down. Keigo placed a crown made of heavy black metal on his head. Then he adjusted the light in the room to mimic twilight and pressed a button inside the fabric on (M/N)'s wrist. (M/N) looked down fascinated as the outfit slowly came to life, first with a soft golden light before gradually transforming to the orange-red of burning coal. He looked as if he had been coated in glowing embers - or he was a glowing ember straight from the fireplace. The colours rose and fell, shifted and blended exactly the way coals did.
"How did you do this?" (M/N) said in wonder.
"Rumi and I spent a lot of hours watching fires," Keigo said. "Now look at yourself."
He turned (M/N) towards a mirror so he could take in the entire effect. (M/N) did not see a boy, but rather some unearthly being who looked like he might make his home in the volcano that destroyed so many in Shota's Quell. The black crown, which now appeared red-hot, was casting strange shadows on his dramatically made up face. (M/N), the boy on fire, had left behind his flickering flames and bejewelled outfits. He was as deadly as fire itself.
"I think... this is just what I needed to face the others," (M/N) said.
"Yes, I think your days of colourful outfits are behind you," Keigo said. He touched the button on (M/N)'s wrist again, extinguishing the light. "Let's not run down your power pack. When you're on the chariot this time, no waving, no smiling. I just want you to look straight ahead, as if the entire audience is beneath you."
"Finally something I'll be good at," (M/N) said.
Keigo had a few more things to attend to, so (M/N) decided to head down to the ground floor of the Remake Centre, which housed the huge gathering place for the tributes and their chariots before the opening ceremonies. (M/N) was hoping to find Katsuki and Shota, but they hadn't arrived yet.
Unlike the previous year, when all the tributes were practically glued to their chariots, the scene was very social. The victors, both this year's tributes and their mentors, were standing around in small groups, talking. Of course, they all knew each other and (M/N) didn't know anyone, and he wasn't really the sort of person to go around introducing himself. So he just stroked the neck of one of his horses and tried not to be noticed.
It didn't work.
The crunching hit (M/N)'s ear before he even knew someone was behind him, and when he turned his head, Denki Kaminari's yellow eyes were only centimetres away from his. He popped a sugar cube in his mouth and leaned against (M/N)'s horse.
"Hello, (M/N)," he said, as if they had known each other for years, when in fact they had never met.
"Hello, Denki," (M/N) said just as casually, although he felt uncomfortable at the blonde's closeness, especially since he had so much bare skin exposed.
"Want a sugar cube?" Denki said, offering his hand, which was piled high. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I... well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it."
Denki Kaminari was something of a living legend in Panem. Since he won the Sixty-seventh Hunger Games when he was only fourteen, he was still one of the youngest victors. Being from District 4, he was a Career, so the odds were already in his favour, but what no trainer could claim to have given him was his extraordinary beauty. Tall, athletic, with perfect skin and blonde hair with a black streak and those incredible eyes. While other tributes that year were hard-pressed to get a handful of grain or some matches for a gift, Denki never wanted anything, not food or medicine or weapons. It took about a week for his competitors to realise that he was the one to kill, but it was too late. He was already a good fighter with the spears and knives he found in the Cornucopia.
When he received a silver parachute with a trident - which may be the most expensive gift (M/N) had ever seen given in the arena - it was all over. District 4's industry was fishing. He'd been on boats his whole life. The trident was a natural, deadly extension of his arm. He wove a net of some vine he found, used it to entangle his opponents so he could spear them with the trident, and within a matter of days the crown was his.
The citizens of the Capitol had been drooling over him ever since.
Because of his youth, they couldn't really touch him for the first few years. But ever since he turned eighteen, he'd spent his time at the Games being dogged by those desperately in love with him. No one retained his favour for long. He could go through four or five in his annual visit. Old or young, lovely or plain, rich or very rich, he'd keep them company and take their extravagant gifts, but he never stayed, and once he was gone he never came back.
(M/N) couldn't argue that Denki wasn't one of the most stunning, sensual people on the planet. But he could honestly say the male had never been attractive to him. Maybe he was too pretty, or maybe he was too easy to get, or maybe it was really that he'd just be too easy to lose.
"No thanks," (M/N) said to the sugar. "I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though."
He was draped in a golden net that was paired only with a pair of small golden shorts so that he couldn't really be called naked, but he was close. (M/N) was sure his stylist thought that the more of Denki the audience saw, the better.
"You're absolutely terrifying me in that get-up. What happened to the pretty little outfits?" Denki asked.
"I outgrew them," (M/N) said.
Denki took the collar of (M/N)'s outfit and ran it between his fingers. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."
"I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway?" (M/N) said.
"I haven't dealt with anything as common as money for years," Denki said indifferently.
"Then how do people pay you for the pleasure of your company?" (M/N) asked.
"With secrets," Denki said. He leaned in closer to (M/N). "What about you, boy on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"
The closeness made (M/N) flustered, but he held his ground. "No, I'm an open book. Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."
Denki smiled. "Unfortunately I think that's true." His eyes flickered off to the side. "Sorry you had to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you." He tossed another sugar cube into his mouth and sauntered off.
Just then Katsuki showed up beside (M/N), dressed in an identical outfit. "What did Denki want?" Katsuki asked with a suspicious expression.
"To offer me sugar. And know all my secrets," (M/N) said in a joking manner.
"I'd better get in line then," Katsuki said with a smirk. Then he turned to survey the room. "Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won? Just another part of the freakshow?"
"Sure. Especially you," (M/N) said.
"Oh? And why especially me?" Katsuki asked in a challenging voice.
"Because you have a weakness for beautiful things and I don't," (M/N) said with an air of superiority. "They would lure you into their Capitol ways and you'd be lost entirely."
"Having an eye for beauty isn't the same thing as a weakness," Katsuki said. "Except possibly when it comes to you." The music began and (M/N) could see the wide doors opening for the first chariot, the roar of the crowd reaching his ears. "Shall we?" Katsuki held out his hand to help (M/N) into the chariot.
(M/N) climbed up and pulled Katsuki up after him. "Hold still," (M/N) said as he straightened Katsuki's crown. "Have you seen your suit turned on? We're going to be amazing again."
"Obviously. But Rumi said we're going to be above it all. No waving or anything," Katsuki said. "Where are they, anyway?"
"I don't know." (M/N) eyed the procession of chariots. "Maybe we better go ahead and switch ourselves on." They did, and as they began to glow, (M/N) could see people pointing at them and chattering. He knew that, once again, they would be the talk of the opening ceremonies.
They were almost at the door. (M/N) craned his head around, but neither Rumi nor Keigo, who were right there with them to the final second last year, were anywhere in sight. "Are we supposed to hold hands this year?"
"I guess they've left it up to us," Katsuki said.
(M/N) looked into his eyes and remembered how, just a year ago, he was prepared to kill Katsuki. Convinced the blonde was trying to kill him. Now everything was reversed. (M/N) was determined to keep Katsuki alive, knowing the cost would be his own life, but the part of him that wasn't so brave was glad that it was Katsuki, not Shota, beside him. Their hands found each other without further discussion. Of course they would go into this as one.
The voice of the crowd rose into one universal scream as the victors from District 12 rolled into the fading evening light, but neither one of them reacted. (M/N) simply fixed his eyes on a point far in the distance and pretended there was no audience, no hysteria. He couldn't help catching glimpses of him and Katsuki on the huge screens along the route, and they were not just beautiful, they were dark and powerful. The star-crossed lovers from District 12, who suffered so much and enjoyed so little the rewards of their victory, did not seek the fans' favour, or graced them with smiles. They were unforgiving.
And (M/N) loved it. Getting to be himself at last.
As they curved around into the loop of the City Circle, (M/N) could see that a couple of the other stylists had tried to steal Keigo and Rumi's idea of illuminating their tributes. The electric-light-studded outfits from District 3, where they made electronics, at least made sense. But the livestock keepers from District 10 were dressed as cows with flaming belts. It looked stupid.
Katsuki and (M/N), on the other hand, were so mesmerising with their ever-changing coal costumes that most of the other tributes were staring at them. The two seemed particularly riveting to the pair from District 6, who were known morphling addicts. They couldn't tear their eyes away, even when President Nezu began to speak from his balcony, welcoming them all to the Quell. The anthem played, and as they made their final trip around the circle, (M/N) swore he could see President Nezu fixated on him as well.
Katsuki and (M/N) waited until the doors of the Training Centre had closed behind them to relax. Keigo and Rumi were there, pleased with their performance, and Shota had made an appearance this year as well, only he wasn't at their chariot, he was over with the tributes of District 11. (M/N) saw him nod in their direction and then the two followed him over.
(M/N) recognised Yamada from the tapes. His long blonde hair was easy to recognise. The woman next to him looked to be in her 60's maybe. But she still looked strong, and there was no sign she had turned to liquor or morphling or any other chemical form of escape over the years. After a few moments (M/N) remembered her name to be Chiyo. Before either of them said anything, she embraced (M/N). And he somehow knew it had to be because of Shoji and Wendy. Before he could stop himself, he whispered, "The families?"
"They're alive," she said back softly before letting him go.
Yamada threw his arm around (M/N) and pulled him into a very close side hug, his face too close for (M/N)'s liking. (M/N) jerked back, startled, while Shota and Yamada just laughed.
That was about all the time they got before the Capitol attendants were firmly directing them towards the elevators. (M/N) got the feeling they weren't comfortable with the camaraderie among the victors, who couldn't seem to care less.
As (M/N) walked towards the elevators, his hand linked with Katsuki's, someone else rustled up to his side. The guy pulled off a headdress of leafy branches and tossed it behind him without bothering to look where it fell.
Neito Monoma. From District 7. Lumber, thus the tree. He won by very convincingly portraying himself as weak and helpless so he would be ignored. Then he demonstrated a wicked ability to murder. He swept his short blond hair away from his eyes. "Isn't my costume awful? My stylist's the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her. Wish I'd got Keigo. You look fantastic."
(M/N) already didn't like this guy, but didn't want to make any off-handed comments. So he lied. "Yeah, he's been helping me design my own clothing line. You should see what he can do with velvet." Velvet. The only fabric he could think of off the top of his head.
"I have. On your tour. That outfit you wore in District two? The deep blue one with the diamonds? So amazing I wanted to reach through the screen and tear it right off your back," Neito said.
I bet you did, (M/N) thought. With a few centimetres of my flesh.
While they waited for the elevators, Neito unzipped the rest of his outfit, letting it drop to the floor, and then kicked it away in disgust. He wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. "That's better."
They ended up on the same elevator ride as him, and he spent the whole ride to the seventh floor chatting to Katsuki about his paintings while (M/N) was contemplating punching him in the face to get him to shut up.
When Neito finally left, (M/N) ignored Katsuki, but he could tell the blonde was grinning. Once the doors closed behind Yamada and Chiyo, leaving them alone, Katsuki broke out laughing.
"What?" (M/N) said, turning on him as they stepped out on their floor.
"Seriously? It's you (M/N), can't you tell?" he said in a taunting voice.
"What's me?" (M/N) said.
"Why they're all acting like this. Denki with his sugar cubes and Yamada hugging you and that whole thing with Neito stripping down." He tried to take on a more serious tone, unsuccessfully, apparently finding it too hard to stop laughing at (M/N). "They're playing with you because you're so... you know."
"No, I don't know," (M/N) said. And he really had no idea what Katsuki was talking about.
"It's like when you wouldn't look at me naked in the arena even though I was half dead. You're so... pure," he said.
"I am not!" (M/N) said. "I've been practically ripping your clothes off every time there's been a camera for the last year!"
"Yeah, but... I mean, for the Capitol, you're pure," Katsuki said. "For me, you're perfect. They're just teasing you."
"No they're laughing at me, and so are you!" (M/N) said.
"No." Katsuki shook his head, but he was still suppressing a smile.
(M/N) was seriously rethinking the question of who should get out of these Games.
I'm not "pure", he thought as the two stepped out of the elevator to their floor and prepared for dinner.
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