A/N: Right. So, I absolutely loved Cinna in the books, and I think Portia deserves to be fleshed out a bit more (speaking of which, I couldn't remember any appearance description of her in the series, so I improvised). I try not to change the plot of any fanfiction I'm doing of a story, but I'll find every loophole possible :P

Disclaimer: If I created the wonderful work know as The Hunger Games, I'd never again doubt my story skills. Unfortunatly I didn't, so I do. If that makes sense. ...I don't own the story or the characters. There.

Oh yes, this contains Catching Fire spoilers, and some Mockingjay ones much later on

Katniss Everdeen is the icon of freedom. They say she struck the match that ignited Panem into an inferno of rebellion, blazing the way to a better future.

But that's not true. At least, I don't believe it. Because back before I was Peeta Mellark's stylist, before I realized what the 74th Hunger Games would come to mean, before I knew that I would soon risk my life opposing the very city in which I was born and bred, I met Cinna.

We were never acquainted before Reaping Day. Yet within his gaze, I recognized the spark that would soon envelop the entire country.

.:.-.:.-.:.-.:.-.:.

"Cinna."

There was no response other than the shuffle of paper, the scratch of a pencil.

"Cinna." This time louder, sharper. The attempt proved futile.

Portia finally reached forward, stilling the man's skittering hand. "Cinna, look at me." The young stylist raised his head with a sigh of defeat. His expression, she noted, remained as controlled as ever.

"I channel my emotions into my work. That way, I don't hurt anyone but myself. Promise."

He had told her that in good-natured humor when they first met, yet it had proven time and time again to be true – something that frustrated his partner to a great extent. He was too hard to read, which made it almost impossible to try easing his worries. Too damn noble, she often thought. But she cared for him. Otherwise, she wouldn't have even bothered to try.

Except his eyes, she amended, staring at the flecks of gold amid emerald green. His eyes could never quite cover emotion – they were her window to his soul. And now, even through exhaustion, they smoldered up at her.

Twice. That was how many times she had seen his careful façade slip. The first was during the early days of the 74th Games, when the Gamemakers unleashed the devastating forest fire on Katniss. She knew instantly what it meant, and so did he – they were jeering at the "girl on fire." His expression broke, lanced with pain. Despite her part, he was taking all the blame for the unintentional harm their design had initiated.

The second was just yesterday, during the 3rd Quarter Quell ruling. They were sitting side by side – she felt his body pull taut at President's Snow announcement and heard his uttered swear. Katniss was going back in the arena, they knew, and most likely accompanied by Peeta. Cinna's face had been hard to read, but there was definite sorrow for the young girl he had grown so fond of.

Now Portia eased the sketchbook out from under his arm. "We still have a while yet. You won't do any good if you're too tired to keep your eyes open."

He protested, standing quickly. Just a few inches taller than Portia, the height itself wasn't intimidating. But the sudden closeness startled her, and she diverted her attention to the drawings. They were incredible, of course, because they came from Cinna. One jet black suit caught her eye, and with it sudden inspiration.

"I have an idea." She tapped the paper, looking up at her partner's curious gaze. "For tomorrow." Cinna groaned and picked the book lightly from her grasp, folding it under one arm. He smiled then, brushing a strand of auburn hair away from her face. It was her natural color, but streaked with subtle tawny gold. "If I have to rest, so do you."

The stylist's sharp intake of breath was covered by a smart rap against the door and a messenger abruptly shoving open the heavy frame. Portia clumsily stumbled away from her partner, the opposite to Cinna's smooth side-step.

"Directly from the President, for the stylist of Katniss Everdeen." He dropped the letter into Cinna's outstretched hand and left as swiftly as he appeared.

Puzzled, the young man tore open the envelope, eyes darting over the scrawling red script. Portia saw the anger there first, in his gaze. The note crumpled a second later and dropped from his fist.

"Katniss is to wear the winning wedding dress to her opening interview for the 75th Hunger Games." He spoke curtly, followed by a Portia's uttered gasp. He proceeded to whip around and disappear into his room. The door slammed in his wake.

Three times, then.

A/N: I've read this piece so many times over the last 2 days (damn account waiting period), so I honestly have no complete sense of whether it's good or not. I know you must hear this constantly, but reviews are much appreciated :D
Chapter 2 will be up soon~