on the lips of neglect [Callum/Ezra]

He hates to admit it, but the kitchen inside Three's tribute apartment is incredible. It's all colorful glass, pale hues that read neon from certain angles, and it never looks dirty, even when you've spent all night rolling out dough on its surfaces. The oven preheats in seconds, and doesn't blow out a cloud of hot air when you open the door. The burners on the stove glow multicolored, lighting up the undersides of the pans as he stirs fruit and sugar into a filling, and all of the burners work— he thought he'd never see the day.

Ezra pulls the last batch of hand pies from the oven. The kitchen was stocked with all sorts of fruits, apples and berries and strange hybrids. He'd made them into fillings while being careful to leave enough fruit behind in case Zenia or Atticus wanted any. Whatever filling was left over got poured into jars. He figured they'd make a nice jam when they cooled.

One of the avoxes returns with a pile of plastic bags. He thanks them profusely, offers them a pie in return, but they can't take it. Under the electric ceiling lights that never seem to dim, he sorts the pies into twelve packages. He puts more in for the apartments he knows house more people— eleven, twelve— and still manages to have pies left over.

"Huh," he says to himself, standing with his hands on his hips. He supposes he's spent so long cooking for the community that it's a bit hard to make his recipes smaller.

He understands that there are no friends in the games. He knows that people who are civil to him now will have no issue attacking him when the countdown hits zero. Still, he can't bring himself to be cruel. He's a helper at heart. If a couple hand pies help someone feel better during all this, he's happy to do it.

He takes the elevator down to the first floor and leaves the first bag outside One's door. The rest of the apartments follow, as quick as he can get the elevator to move. He doesn't want to take any credit for these surprised baked goods, so he leaves soon after knocking.

The last bag is placed outside Twelve's door, and he's left with a bag of excess pies and no use for them. He thinks about eating them himself, before sharing a silent laugh with the elevator. There's a part of him that doesn't particularly want to go back to the apartment. It's late, sure, but he's wide awake. He reaches out and presses another button.

When the elevator can't go any further, he takes the stairs. At the top, he pushes open the rooftop door, and quickly finds he isn't alone. He recognizes the boy, of course— Callum, from Twelve. He's tried to remember the names of every tribute. It's the polite thing to do.

"Hey," he says to the boy. "Want one? I left more outside your door."

He offers the bag of leftover pies before turning and looking past the rooftop, at the skyline of the Capitol. "These are the same people who think Three is ugly. I wonder if they've ever looked at their own city."