cry boy; [a+t, s, m (day 3)]

I'm a bitter boy hell bent on winning a game I've already lost.

"Maybe you'd want to go spend the night looking at our reflections?"

There's an ache in the back of my throat, forming a knot around the words that almost slip out. I'm still getting used to the calculation of our conversations, of having things I want to say and probably shouldn't. My breath has gone stagnant in my lungs - collecting mold as the moment stretches on into something uncomfortable.

My fingers are clenched into fists at my side, droplets of water from this shitty pond carving cool paths through the heat on my cheeks. It takes effort not to smile over at him, basking in the low light. Looking every bit as lovely as I revel in telling him he isn't.

I don't need a mirror,

"No." I snap. The artificial lights above us play pretend, a pitiful imitation of the mournful fury of a dying cosmos, but gods does it look nice dancing in his eyes. We'll be dead before we ever have the chance to become more than strangers and I don't think that's a tragedy. It is a beautiful thing to have gotten to burn alongside him at all.

because I'd only look at you anyway.

"I don't want to."

I wonder if the words hurt him like I wanted them to.

---

Dawn brings an ending. One I knew was coming; that I don't think I would have dreaded so much had I managed to remain indifferent to Arlo Monroe. He's the biggest mistake I've ever made and it'll probably mean the death of one of us.

Does he know that? Is he stupid enough to believe otherwise?

I think someone's here.

Not that boy with the charcoal tongue and someone he wants to protect. Who looked at what was mine, so broken and bloody, and did not raise his weapon. It was stupid to be merciful then - as of the third day in this hellhole it's downright suicide. A few faces have played over the anthem but nowhere near enough to sate the bloodlust of the masses.

"So kill them." I grumble, pushing myself up to my feet and ignoring how the world tilts on an axis. Starvation hasn't set in in earnest, but hell if it makes hefting this fucking hammer a herculean effort. "It's the Hunger Games, not fucking calculus."

Arlo throws a knife and it hits, well, someone. "Good shot!" It's a good thing I'm not squeamish - I'd hate to imagine just what that ice-cream knife looks like sticking out of someone's skin. Careless fingers fumble with the vial someone had sent alongside the weapon. I'll worry about wasted resources after we've survived.

If we survive.

What a privilege, to live long enough to regret.

I follow the sound of splitting flesh, a hound scenting blood in the air. It's not that I revel in violence, I'm merely indifferent to it. I look at her - Sacrifice - with empty eyes. "I'm sure you're real nice. I'm sure we all are." That last parts a lie, can she see it in the smile on my lips? "But this is the way things are. No hard feeling, right?"

I swing.

This guy fucking melts out of the shadows and tries to make me a Tavi-kebab which is honestly... pretty cool. I'm tempted to call time just to ask him how he did that, that entrance had some serious flair. Shame he missed me, but he more than makes up for it in style alone.

Right. The fight.

Sacrifice wears a searing pain into my arm, opening up the old wound Arlo had bandaged the night before. There's urgency in this moment, splitting open layers of skin and fat and muscle. The gash reaches bone, revealing glistening rubies and a sharp-toothed smirk. If I learned anything back in Eight, it was how to take a punch.

She will not know my agony until I am long gone.

"Unfair was kinda the point, blondie." Marik Shadow from twelve coming to the rescue of Sacrifice was not on my bingo card. Stranger things have happened, of course. At least we're keeping things entertaining "I'm trying to survive here."

A bolt thuds into Sacrifice and I am reminded that I am not alone. It sends a shiver up my spine, neck bared to the boy with a loaded bow at my back.

He doesn't hurt me. He could, but he doesn't. Worse, even, I'm sure he never will.

It's cruel to have only found that here. Knee deep in my own grave.

"Or else, One." If she wants to be known by her district alone, I am more than happy to comply. She clings to their reputation like it means something, like it will protect her. "Are you saying you wouldn't have attacked me or my lovely companion had the roles been reversed?" I heave the hammer onto my shoulder, teeth grit against the stinging in my arm.

"By all means, if it makes you feel better about yourself I'll play the villain." I look at her, then at Marik, eyes wide and expression soft. "Sounds like fun."

I laugh.

A soft, sharp sound that's somewhere between a puff of air and a pained groan. Dying is something you can't really comprehend until it's happening, I think. Some nights I'd lay awake, in a creaky house full of self-made despair, and it was all I'd think about. How it would feel, if there was any part of me worth mourning.

Now that I've gotten here it's a little underwhelming. Adrenaline keeps most of the pain at bay, so I simply watch Sacrifice and Marik hurt me again. One wearing a scratch and the other making it a scar. Like I'm an observer in my own body.

Grow up. She said.

I chance a look back at Arlo, finding my incredulous expression mirrored back at me.

"I'm fifteen?" Always smaller than my peers, so I have this sharp tongue. Never strong, but clever enough to know when I'm outmatched. "Gonna be hard to grow up after you've slaughtered me."

There were a lotta people like Sacrifice back home. Gentle heroes who like to play pretend at righteousness. I don't know what I've done to make her think I'm much of the same. I'm not, I don't ever want to be. "In Theo's defense I was pretty fucked up before I met him. Probably not his fault." And then Marik, who plays along and it is deliciously fun, even with his blade at aimed at me, "Only if you promise to share. If I keel over you can just throw the kernels in my mouth or something."

There's an ache in my chest, begging to be felt. Held off by my own manic pride. If I die then Arlo is alone. If I die then I will lose him just as he loses me. It's all selfish possession as I mourn the fact that I might not be the center of his world much longer. "This is a killing game, only one of us makes it out of here. I don't regret attacking you, I'm not sorry I did it."

Live long enough to see him survive, that's all I need to do.

This hammer is heavier than I remember. I must be in pretty bad shape. That sucks, I don't want to die.

"No point moping about it, c'mon guys, let's make this interesting! Everybody you know and love are watching right now~"