❝I'd rather die kind and forgotten than be remembered for being brutal.❞
( *undergoing slight formatting tweaks & adjustments -- the story itself will otherwise remain readable and unchanged! )
⠀⠀⠀⠀ Had Bellamy not volunteered, he wouldn't be sent o...
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( ミ☆ ) SIXTEEN last night on earth
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⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀After Bellamy leaves the stage and tucks away behind an exit wing, he finds Demetria standing in wait for him. There's a visible buzz to her — he spots her fist too little too late, and so it's with a muffled grunt of annoyance that he feels her punch his arm.
⠀⠀⠀⠀"You said six minutes," Demetria hisses, glowering at him. "That felt more like ten!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Um... ow?" He rubs his arm. "I was only following the prompts."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"I swear they gave you extra time."
⠀⠀⠀⠀"They did not," he counters. Of course, he doesn't actually know that — it felt like a lifetime had passed while he was up on that stage. "Admit it. You just missed me."
⠀⠀⠀⠀His chuckle only grows when she gives him another little thwack. "Asshat."
⠀⠀⠀⠀A shadow passes by them, and when that shadow is revealed to be a person — an escort, or perhaps a stylist from another district — Bellamy and Demetria both shrink back until they've made themselves small against a wall. Tributes who have not yet retreated back to their quarters are mingling about with their respective teams backstage — several of them are snacking at a buffet table while others stand awkwardly about, scratching and tugging at their hair and fancy clothes.
⠀⠀⠀⠀Distractedly, while still looking around, Bellamy says, "You did great with Caesar, by the way." And then, because he needs to see her face in order to say this he looks back at Demetria again. "What you said out there, about girl's all over Panem being capable... I just wanted to—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀"Don't make fun of me." Jarringly, Demetria turns her shoulder toward him and folds her arms, no longer meeting his eyes. "I meant what I said. All of it. So if you're going to torture me about it, then you might as well—"
