IN WHICH,
The boy who frequents your father's workshop carves a place for himself in your heart.
'He's looking at you. He's looking at you as if you're his whole world. If anyone could see him right now, they would immediately understand one thing:...
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How long had it been?
A recurring question that echoed in Treech's mind daily. The days he had spent in the arena dragged on. Some days were filled with blood, and in the occasion they were not, he lay anticipating someone to kill him any second.
Sometimes, he would peer from under the wreckage and look up at where Lamina perched. She was his only connection to home. If she was alright, he would be alright. That's what he told himself.
The pack would never allow for this, and he was fully aware of that. Occasionally he and the others, led by Coral, would go around hunting for the weaker tributes.
During these, he would glance over at Lamina. He never knew her well, but he somehow felt responsible for her. He knew that if it came down to it, he would want her to be the one to make it back to their district.
Their district, he thought. Oh, how it stood in all its glory even after the Capitol enslaved the citizens. It wasn't the grandest of places and he knew that. But observing the height of the trees and embracing nature's gifts were capable of making you forget about the world.
His thoughts drifted again towards his family. Were his parents doing alright? He hoped his disappearance hadn't been too much of a burden to them. And his sister Ivy, who was so full of life? Was she waiting for him to come home, unaware he probably wouldn't make it back?
Treech knew the truth, he wasn't going to make it back. With his odds, it just wasn't likely. If he was going to die in these games, he had hoped to be easy to forget. Easy to get over, not a lingering ghost in the memories of those he loved.
Once again, he wondered about you. At the end of the days, no matter how long it had been, his last thoughts were of you. Of your lips.
Throughout his whole life, he had never fallen as hard as he did when he met you. He couldn't help it, entranced by the way you made even a masterpiece look effortless.
He remembered the first time he saw you, when you were kids. In school, he wasn't a rowdy kid, but his group of friends were an adventurous lot.
You, however, were the complete opposite. Quiet, but absolutely loyal to your friends. One memory that he remembered clear as day was the time you challenged one of his friends.
Rowan, an old friend of his, kicked a football in your direction to see if he could piss you off. Lamina had protected you, pushing you out of the way. Treech remembered how he told Rowan to apologise to you, all for him to be ignored. Treech then heard you shouting at Rowan to say sorry to Lamina, and when Rowan had shouted back denying his actions, you challenged him to a race. If you won, Rowan would apologise, in front of everyone. In the eyes of kids your age, that would have been the ultimate humiliation.
And so the race began. You focused on the finish line, with Rowan glaring at you from the side. Treech was the referee, counting down from three.
Rowan knew what was at stake, his reputation. It was childish, to care about something like that so heavily, but he wouldn't allow himself to be bested. As Treech continued to count down, he reached the number one. That was when Rowan had set off, not even waiting for Treech to say go.
