Chapter Text
The walk to the square is relatively short, but right now it feels like an endless journey. Koushi drags his feet as slowly as he can manage, hoping that he would miss the annual reaping if he presented himself too late. Running away has been considered as an alternative several times during the last five minutes but he knows that isn't a real option. They would find him and probably beat him to death.
He and his mother take their final turn right to a wide muddy street after entering the small town next to their home. The forest is right next to it and he can see his high school a few blocks away.
It was close to the assembly spot, after all.
Small wooden houses to his left and right are left vacant as the potential tributes walk silently accompanied by their parents and siblings.
His mother insisted that they didn't bring Suzume along, not wanting her to witness such a sight. The crowd stares apathetically every year when the chosen boy and girl move to the stage.
At the same time, family members wail and scream in desperation.
Koushi didn't even try to object to this in the past, although he wants to hold her hand during this walk every year and hear her say stupid jokes that she had just made up to take their minds off everything like she always does.
Right now he would like to hold anyone's hand. But he couldn't do that. He's sixteen, he's not a child anymore. He doesn't have the right to hold onto anything.
Though he wishes he did.
They’re almost there, the two separate lines for registration are easily visible and his pulse quickening at an alarming rate.
What's wrong with me? I've done this so many times
His stomach's tied into a heavy knot that refuses to allow him to come to his senses. His mother places a hand on his shoulder and he immediately tenses.
"Koushi" her tone is stern, trying to convey some of her encouragement to her obviously very upset son.
"I'm fine, mom" he chokes out staring her dead in the eyes.
Stop it or I'll cry
Her lips twist upwards slightly. She is fully aware of his frantic state, but chooses to not comment on it. The sound of his name coming out of her mouth has always been enough to discipline him.
To be fair, she knows he didn't do anything wrong, but she also can’t provide the compassion he needs so much. Saeko Sugawara is not a tender woman. Her adoration for her children is never-ending, however she can't seem to bring herself to prefer cuddles more than tough love.
She hugged her son more frequently in the past, but the nights spent crying silently after her husband's death, using a pillow to muffle her voice so that her children won't wake up, the days on which she gave them ice that hung from the roof of their house to suck on and drink for breakfast because there was no other way of forgetting their hunger didn't let her anymore. Koushi is her rock, he never stopped working, trying his best to be responsible and take care of her and his sister.
In contradiction to the image of her son in her mind comes the paleness covering his face reminding her that he is still a teenager. A petrified boy.
Her kid is petrified and she can't do anything about it.
That is why she can't handle being tender anymore. If she gets tender now she will cry. And then Koushi will cry.
She has had a bad feeling about this ever since he woke her up this morning. She doesn't know why, but it's there, like a shadow, hidden in her son's eyes and his every little move.
They both feel like something terrible is about to happen.
Suddenly they are there, right at the end of the line, the place where they always share their goodbyes, almost knowing it's only for a little while.
But this time might not be the same.
She draws him into her arms, their cheeks resting on one another. He squeezes her lightly, and she tightens her grip.
Eyes lock and smiles fade when her blue vibrant orbs shine into his slightly dull ones.
"I will see you when it's over"
He nods and they part ways.
*
Registration was quick and he takes his place in a chaotic mass of boys and young men, far away from the stage in front of him. There are two big glass bowls filled to the brim with pieces of paper that contain the names of all the children in his district; one for the girls and one for the boys.
Everyone seems to have taken their place and it's about to begin.
Koushi can feel his mother's penetrative stare, can sense the heavy aroma of fear lingering in the air. He hasn't seen any of his friends while waiting in line and can’t stop himself from worrying.
How his friends' presence is going to save him from this is beyond him. He's just looking for a familiar face. After all, he isn't the only one in agony of eminent doom crashing upon him and, although sickening, he is content that he isn’t facing this alone. But he can't make out anyone from the crowd, as much as he cranes his neck to see further into the front part of the formation. Or maybe he just can't clear his head enough to scan the area carefully with his eyes. He might not see them, but he knows they are here somewhere.
In the past, he thought that he would place his friends and family above everything else, giving it his all to save them and make them happy.
It’s astonishing how fear can turn people against each other, it crosses his mind, as wishes like “anyone except me would be fine” flood his mind.
Everyone goes silent, waiting the escort of the district to make an appearance and pick a name from each bowl and determine who will go to the Hunger Games. A few murmurs spread across the humid atmosphere. It is almost noon and although autumn is well in, there is no breeze and the sun is blazing over their heads. Somewhere in the distance an occasional sniffle could be heard.
He takes a deep breath to steady himself.
It'll be fine
The chances of me getting picked are so low I should probably not even worry
He takes another breath.
Breath, after breath, after breath, after breath.
"Welcome everyone, to the reaping of the 25th annual Hunger Games!" a loud voice booms and makes Koushi's heart travel to his throat. The voice itself is quite high pitched for a man and as he turns his focus to him he finds out that his stature is quite a small one. The escort this year appears to be of medium height and weight and lacking stage presence, to say the least. His movements were stiff and the slight smile on his face revealed his awkward character. Big thick framed glasses hang high up his nose - so noticeable that Koushi could see them from about twenty meters back.
He stands between the bowls and fiddles with his microphone on a base that travels up to his nose. He adjusts the height and coughs lightly.
"My name is Takeda Itetsu and I am this year's escort of district eleven."
Although he is assisted by speakers, Koushi still finds it hard to decipher his words. Each sentence starts off strong, but fades away towards the end. Not that he doesn't know what Takeda is talking about. It's the standard yearly speech given by the assigned escort, praising Capitol and the constitution of the Hunger Games. He has read it in his textbooks at school and heard it so many times it's been stamped in his mind at this point.
Beads of sweat trickle down his spine as he awaits for him to finally get on with the actual reaping process. Bits and pieces of the escort's words reach his ears as he fights to stay calm.
"...are very excited to have..."
It'll be fine
"...the Capitol thanks you for your continuous efforts..."
It'll be fine
"...the Hunger Games are here to remind the districts..."
It'll be fine
"...we wish you the best of luck..."
Nursery rhymes he used to sing to his sister come to his mind. He recalls the melody but all the lyrics have left him. He tries to hum the tune, but his mouth is dry.
"And now, we shall choose this year's tributes for district eleven!"
They always start with the girls. He is torn between praying for no-one who he knew to be called upon and praying for someone strong to get picked, so that he can have a competent teammate in case he goes with them as well. After all, most of the victors didn't make it alone, but with their partner from their district.
He doesn't have time to make the decision as Takeda shoves his hand into the bowl to his left, going elbow deep and coming out with a small piece of paper.
He approaches the mic.
"The female tribute of district eleven for the 25th annual Hunger Games is Shimizu Kiyoko-san!"
Koushi doesn't even recognize that name.
A delicate figure walks across the space between the two teams. Her hair is pitch black and reaches to her shoulders, contrasting her pale complexion. She wears a light blue dress that reaches her ankles. The distance between them is far too big to tell how she's feeling by her face.
He mentally kicks himself.
How would she be feeling after realising that she's possibly just heard her death sentence?
She climbs the stairs to the side of the stage, standing next to Takeda. He could almost laugh if he weren't paralyzed by his nerves. Kiyoko is about his age; however, she seems to be quite taller than the man next to her.
The escort clears his throat.
"So, Shimizu-san, how old are you?" he tries to keep a neutral, almost cheerful expression, though one can tell the pity in his voice.
"Seventeen" she replies, standing completely still.
"Wonderful, wonderful. Let's move on with our male tribute!"
Oh God
He thinks about bursting into a run, right here, right now, but he can't seem to move his limbs. He wants his sister and mother. He wants to hide. He wants to go home.
He doesn't want to go away.
His insides are about to explode, leaving nothing but three words in his heart, ringing inside of him like a chant.
Please not me
Please not me
Please not me
Please not me
Please not me
"The male tribute of district eleven..."
Please
"...for the 25th annual Hunger Games..."
not
"is..."
me
"Sugawara Koushi-san!"
Oh God