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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The only sound you were met with from the television was static. At one point, the pixels on the screen merged into a blur causing you felt nauseous. Without the aid of the Capitol broadcast, how were you supposed to know who the victor was?
For days, the possibility of Treech dying in that arena had constantly forced you to stay awake. Did he ever think of you during those arbitrary moments of solace in the Capitol? Or had he lost himself and become a prisoner of his own mind, ultimately leading to his doom?
You wondered about Lamina too. Was she safe, still perched on that beam of hers? She may have been a girl from your past, but you would never forget the way she used to light up under the summer sun. When you two were younger, you remembered how her eyes would sparkle in excitement as the forest came alive with birdsong. You were both so pure, naive to the horrors of the world outside your district.
You were ripped from your thoughts as soon as Iver, your employer, had spoken up.
"Sorry, sweetheart. It's an inconvenient time for the television to be acting like this, isn't it?" Iver comforted you, trying to lighten the mood.
While polishing drinking cups, he had passed you a cup of water. He sent you a sympathetic smile to remind you to keep your chin up. After all, nothing in this world was certain. It was better to face your problems head on rather than letting them fester.
You let your head rest against your hand, nodding sleepily. Two weeks had somehow passed since Treech's departure. Although it was only a short period of time without him, these days had felt like an eternity. How you longed for the day when he would come back, putting an end to the vicious cycle you had lived through.
"It's fine."
You sighed, taking a sip of water from your cup. You decide to speak up again. It wasn't that you were mad at Iver. Your worries had internally been building up, threatening to collapse upon you.
"I'm sorry, I'm just worried. I don't know if he made it. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if he didn't."
"Hey, kid?" Iver pipes up.
"Hm?"
"Whatever the outcome is, don't feel pressured to perform tonight. Although your presence is greatly appreciated here at the bar, I'd rather have you emotionally well enough to sing."
"Are you sure, Iver? I mean, it's my job. I can't just abandon my duties here."
Iver chuckled loudly in response, shaking his head. His hand found its way to your hair and ruffled it, similar to the way your father would when you were a little kid.
"You're a diligent one, aren't you? But I'll be okay. You know how to attract crowds. The less drunkards, the better." He jokes, his face crinkling with mirth.
You laughed along with him, appreciating how he always managed to turn even a grave a situation on its head. Iver picked up the hat you laid on the table and placed it where it belonged - on your head.
