Tribute ✔

2- The Alliance

"We've received word from District 7 that som-"

Footsteps interrupted the hushed voice, getting louder as their company approached. 

"We'll speak later." They nodded and left, and he gestured for the Avox to let his guest in. "Father..."

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Kirishima. That was the boy's name. Thought with his shitty red hair that was somehow fucking natural his new name was Shitty Hair. Names meant getting attached. Bakugou couldn't afford to get attached, not when only one of them would be walking out of the arena alive.

Still, allies were useful. Deku would say shit like a Tribute with 2 or more allies increases their chances of becoming a victor by 21% or something like that. Kirishima could be worse, he was kinda smart with knives and shit, coming from District 8 whose industry was textiles. He had a sharp eye, and when he found some of the things that the shadow from last night layed out, he thought it would be a good idea to get someone like that on his side. However long the alliance may last.

"Shitty Hair, know who that is?" he asked, not taking his eyes away from the new face in the observation box. He was dressed rich, looked rich, and held himself high, but Bakugou could see the traces of discomfort on his face. He was far younger than the rest of the men in the box.

"Dunno Bakubro." Shitty Hair grinned, far to bright and happy considering their situation.

He kept an eye on the stranger until the alarm for lunch went off. He saw him slip out and take the stairs to the rooftop, a place he'd only visited once. Grabbing a sandwich, he told Shitty Hair he was getting some fresh air before following the stranger. The rooftop was big and had a view of the whole of the Capitol, gleaming lights and towering skyscrapers. It was all so much it made Bakugou sick, but he had worse problems to think about right now.

The boy was there, looking out at the view with a distant gaze. His hair was red and white, split right down the middle like those mint candies he saw getting sold in the town square on Sundays. They couldn't afford that shit, but one time an old man running the stall gave him and Deku one each for free. Kindness like that shit was rare. Too caught up in his thoughts, the door shut louder than he intended behind him, making the stranger jump. They held eye-contact for a moment before:

"Hello there."

"Who're you?" he asked, blunt as ever.

"No-one." the boy resumed looking out on the view.

Bakugou scoffed but walked closer until they were standing side by side. The boy probably already knew his name, his and the other Tributes' were broadcast around the Capitol too many fucking times a day like they were the shiny new toys in the Capitol's sick amusements.

"What were you and the one with red hair hovering around earlier?" the stranger asked.

It was a small pocket knife, one easily hidden inside the side of a boot or the cuff of a jacket. One of two that the shadow from last night must have placed. They also found a packet of pills that sanitised water, smart knowing how the Gamesmakers liked to poison goddamn water in the games. He was silent, looking at the boy a moment longer before replying.

"Just what you hid last night."

The calm expression didn't change, but Bakugou caught the twitch in the corner of his mouth.

"You shouldn't say such things out loud, you never know whose listening in." The boy's eyes flicked over to a plant pot in the corner, one that twitched in their direction every so often. Fucking sneaky. "But, even if he does hear this, just know I hate the games and what they stand for."

His jaw almost dropped, almost, he was Bakugou fucking Katsuki he had enough self-restraint. What person from the Capitol says shit like that?! And he looked so nonchalant too, if not for the new gleam in his eyes, which he noticed were two different colours. Split right down the fucking middle. He didn't ask who he was, but a glance at the red scar surrounding the boy's right eye made him think he shouldn't.

"He sounds like a dick. They all do. Sick bastards."

The faintest laugh was his response, and the boy turned to look his figure over. Eyes sharp and calculating looked him up and down, Bakugou not knowing how to react at the seeming pleased expression he saw.

"Your hair dyed or some shit?" he blurted out, cracking under that intense gaze.

A louder laugh this time, the boy stepping closer and slipping something into his pocket before heading back to the doors.

"Stick with me and you'll find out."

And wasn't this fucking dramatic. Watching a stranger walk away with the sun settling on his hair like a halo, the infinite Capitol landscape splayed out below them...

◢✥◣

"We've got a candidate. I find myself having hope in him."

"Surprising words coming from you. I hope you aren't finding false hope in light of our recent failure."

"Do not doubt me on this. His name is..."

◢✥◣

He didn't say anything to shitty Hair when he returned, simply advised he take what he can if he finds any other surprises lying round. The blind faith in his eyes reminded him too much of Deku, and he spent the rest of the afternoon training with his axe. District 12 was a mining district, meaning he could use a mean pick-axe. A lumber axe wasn't that much different. He would use it defend, not to kill: he wouldn't give the Capitol bastards the entertainment they lived for.

He ate two portions at dinner, knowing the importance of bulking up before the games. He needed extra fat to waste away when food would no doubt be fucking scarce. If he ate quickly nobody dared say anything, and as the clock ticked 10 he snuck out of his room. The paper in his hand was crumpled from folding and unfolding it countless times, mind racing with questions of what the fuck was going on. He knew this could be a trap, but he couldn't back out. 

"You're here." the stranger greeted him, locking the door behind them as they entered a room just off the corridor to the training room. Weapons and training mats were scattered around, plus a small obstacle course and nature section. "We have five more nights before the games, we can't waste time."

"What the fuck is going on?" Bakugou demanded, not stepping closer into the room but crossing his arms with a scowl.

"I'm choosing you."

"Choosing?" Bakugou scoffed. "Making a bet like the other gaudy bastards?"

"No." the stranger retorted, eyes sharp in a glare, the most emotion Bakugou had yet seen on his face. He took a slow breath and walked closer until he was arm's width from Bakugou. "I'm giving you a lifeline here, take it or go." All pretend calmness was gone, but he remained composed all the same, a sense of power lingering in the air around him. "I will teach you everything I know, in hopes that you survive."

"And in return?"

"That will have to wait."

Bakugou scoffed. 

"You want blind faith." he stated with a scowl.

"You want to win. It seems we both have our goals." A hand was held out to him, a perfect manicure hiding faint calluses. "Bakugou Katsuki, are you in?"

Of course he wanted to win. He had to. For Deku. For his shitty mother. For himself. He shook the boy's hand with a tight grip, unsure how to feel when the other didn't back down. This was a shot in the dark, it was dangerous and probably illegal, but it was one step closer to victory.

"I'm in."