two survivors of previous Hunger Games, with nothing but a similar past in common, find comfort in each other through the worst of it all. and it works, until the 75th games, when they are forced to return to the things they had long left behind.
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It starts in darkness. It always does.
Julius's hands are freezing but they're wrapped around something and he can't let go. His entire body is tense like a bear trap, shaking from the exertion of it. The shape of a face below him comes into view slowly, a rounded jaw and big brown eyes that haunt Julius even in the light. I'm sorry, Julius wants to say as his fingers wrap tighter around her throat. There was no other way. The words don't come out. They can't, because they're not real. His mind doesn't allow for him to add anything onto the memory that might make it nicer than it actually was. He didn't say sorry. He didn't even feel a single bit remorseful of the things he did until it was far too late.
When he startles awake, Julius is met with the sight of warm glowing light. He sits up, flicking off the lamp on his bedside table. There is a light blue glow from outside. It can't be much later than five. Julius gets up anyway, turning off all the lights in his bedroom in the process. His fingers are still cold, and he runs them under warm water until his fingertips turn red and wrinkly.
He moves to the living room. The blue morning glow makes the entire house seem even more alien than usual. He forgoes any sort of breakfast, only downing a glass of water before putting on his shoes and walking outside. This early in the morning, it's usually still quiet in the neighborhood. Brutus might be up, on a morning run, but Julius and Brutus have never been particularly close. He doesn't need to fear an attempt at conversation with him.
The air is dense around him, humid and cloying in anticipation for the heat that will no doubt come down on them later that day. By the time the sun is at its highest Julius will already be on the train towards the Capitol.
The gravel he walks on crunches just right, the grass that surrounds it perfectly kept, and the houses lining the path identically perfect and perfectly clean. The Victor's Village looks implied to be inhabited, more so than actually lived in. Three rows of four identical homes, a little over half of which are actually used. Julius hates the way it looks, perfectly clean and well-kept with just the right amount of decoration to fit the standards of the Capitol, but not to allow them to be confused with anything that Capitol citizens would ever deign to live in. In the interest of not being hypocritical, Julius doesn't blame the other victors for not personalizing the exterior of their homes. Though, Julius had expected Enobaria would have covered her home in portraits of herself. Maybe they're all inside.
He kicks a few of the pebbles off of the path, like a petulant child.
For a moment, he considers walking to his childhood home. He sends them some money every month, and he knows at least part of it has to go to the family breakfast tradition. Last year, they sat and ate berries and pastries and chatted animatedly about Julius's first year as a mentor. He doesn't think he's ever exchanged that many words with his parents before. It made him feel nice. Cared for.
Cato turned sixteen a few months ago, and happily informed Julius that he'd be volunteering this year. Julius fears he won't be able to stomach the food, and his parents will notice something is off. They've recently started paying attention to him at just the wrong time, when Julius can no longer find it within himself to enjoy it.
