unbeta'd

When Naegi Makoto wakes up, it's to silence.

It's not the kind of silence that means he's the first to wake up. It's not the kind of silence that means it's the dead of night. It lacks that sense of tranquility. There's nothing peaceful about this silence; it's a poison. There's something lurking on the edge of it, something blistering, something that washes over him and leaves him with a lingering sense of dread. It's a silence that cuts into him and eats him from the inside. It's the calm before the storm. It's the kind of silence that means something awful is about to happen.

He pushes himself from his bed, his heart heavy and his stomach knotted. Naegi wouldn't consider himself rich, but the fact that he and his sister have a bed to sleep in and don't rely on the harsh, cold ground for comfort means he's luckier than most in District Twelve. As that horrible feeling settles in and makes itself at home in his head, he realises what today is, and he thanks whatever it is that meant he was fortunate enough to be born into a family that isn't starving, or fighting for food or struggling to stay alive. He thanks that his name will only be entered into today's Reaping five times, and that his sister's will only be entered three times.

There are students in Naegi's class who will have had their names entered more than twenty times. He tries not to think about how likely it is one of them won't be there in his next lesson. He refuses to consider that the one missing will be him.

Komaru is already downstairs when he finally manages to get up. She's helping their father, who's nowhere to be seen, by icing cakes; they own a small bakery, and she adores the decoration of pastries. She's spent hours perfecting the skills required to craft small flowers, and the look of pride on her face whenever she's allowed to decorate (which isn't often) is one of the most honest, happiest expressions Naegi's ever seen her wear.

He knows that their father has let her do it today because he's worried this might be his last chance to see that look of concentration, of pride, of joy, twinkle in her eyes and across her lips. Naegi doesn't allow himself to even entertain that idea.

When his mother enters the room, she very quickly moves to embrace him. She holds him tightly, one hand on his back and the other stroking his hair. She smells sweet, like lavender, and when she finally pulls away from him, she lets her hands drop to her sides and looks him in the eye.

"Makoto," she whispers, her voice raspy, "good luck today. Don't do anything stupid."

He nods. "I'm only in there five times, mum, I'm sure-"

"Harm has come to those with less," she tells him sternly, like she does every year, and her eyes spark with pain and grief, like they do every year; when his mother was thirteen, she had two elder brothers. By the time she eighteen, she had none.

Naegi takes a deep breath in. There isn't anything he can do to reassure her, so he simply reminds her that he's been lucky for the last four reapings he's been in and he doesn't see why anything should change at this one. His mother allows herself a small smile, and nods, before turning and heading towards her room. He doesn't have to ask why she left so suddenly; he saw the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. He has his own begging to be shed too, despite having no reason to cry.

The slam of the door makes his sister look up. "Oh!" She's a little startled, and it's obvious she didn't realise Naegi was up. "Morning, Makoto!"

"Morning," he replies, trying to feign some form of cheerful attitude. "Nice to see you're awake first for once, Komaru."

Her face is solemn, her tone is dark. "I don't think I even fell asleep last night."

His sister isn't much shorter than him, and her hair is only a little darker. It's cut into a bob and frames her face in a pleasant manner, despite the fact that one long strand doesn't quite fit on either side of her head and is just kind of there, wild and changeable. Naegi has a strand like that, one he can't quite flatten that sticks up no matter what he does. It's somewhat irritating, but, according to his mother, also somewhat endearing.

"Maizono-san came to visit you earlier," Komaru states, turning her head back to the cakes she's icing. "I think she wanted to know how many times you've been entered this year."

"Oh." Naegi shakes his head, and rubs his eyes tiredly. "I guess I better go see her then."

Komaru's tongue protrudes between her lips, stuck out in concentration. "Mmm-hmm. One shouldn't keep the Mayor's daughter waiting. She's probably worried about you."

"Maizono-san doesn't usually worry about me," he replies. "She says she doesn't need to; her intuition is too good."

His sister freezes, and for a moment, she just stares at the cake before her. "Do you think that means that... that her intuition is... Do you think she thinks something is wrong?"

"No." Naegi knows what she's thinking, and he doesn't want her to think that anymore. They're both going to be fine. He's sure of it. "I think you've just gotten what her incentive to come here was wrong."

Komaru doesn't say anything. Her gaze is still locked on the cakes in front of her. She doesn't move. She doesn't carry on icing. She doesn't do anything.

Naegi moves towards her, and places a supportive hand on her shoulder, but that unintentionally becomes a somewhat awkward hug. "We'll be fine, Komaru," he promises. "You don't need to worry."

"But-" She stops, and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, a tear has managed to escape. She's scared, and her voice trembles, but she begins again. "Last year... Last year the tribute... She only had her name in once, Mako. Just once."

Komaru began to full on sob now, and Naegi managed to pull her away from the cakes and hug her properly. "The... The odds just weren't in last year's favour," he mumbled.

"If one out of thousands wasn't in her favour," Komaru mutters, her voice muffled by Naegi's shoulder, "then what good is three out of thousands? How good is five out of thousands?"

"Komaru..." Naegi doesn't have an answer for her. There is no answer for a question like that.

"It's not going to be different just because it's us, Makoto," Komaru pushes herself out of his embrace. "We're just as likely to be picked as anyone else."

"But we won't be," he says, instinctively. "I won't let anything happen to you, or to me. Okay?"

She wipes her tears away with her sleeves. "No," she snuffled. "I'm not okay. But I'll make it through today. We both will."

...

Considering the fact Maizono Sayaka's father is the Mayor, their home is, understandably, rather large. Naegi always feels nervous about visiting, and while he's there he feels tremendously out of place, but he swallows that fear and makes his way inside every time, and this time is no different. He passes through the large gates and knocks on the door, trying his best to keep his breathing steady.

The door is thrown open by Maizono,a huge smile painted on her face as she throws her arms around Naegi. She's halfway through getting ready for the Reaping, with some sections of her hair tied up and other parts low. She's wearing a pale pink dress that stops at her knees and has no sleeves and is likely the nicest thing anyone will be wearing today. Her name will have only been entered five times as well.

"Naegi-kun!" she cries. "I'm so glad to see you! I have something for your sister!"

He's pulled inside, but he barely has time to take in the nicely, if scarcely, decorated hallway before he's yanked up a curved staircase and tugged into Maizono's room. The paint on the walls is peeling, but it's still a great deal more colourful than a lot of the rooms in a lot of the houses in Twelve. Maizono let's go of his hand and walks to her wardrobe.

"Couldn't you have brought it over earlier?" Naegi asks, sitting down on the edge of her bed. "Komaru's all panicked now; think's you have a bad feeling about today's Reaping."

Maizono stiffens, but carries on rooting through her wardrobe. "Naegi-san's favourite colour is blue, right?"

"Yeah, she likes blue, but that doesn't answer the question, Maizono-san."

"Ah!" Maizono steps away from the cupboard and turns towards Naegi, a pile of blue material scrunched between her arms. "Here we go! I've never worn it, and I'm sure it will look great on her!"

Naegi's brow furrows. "Why are you so happy, Maizono-san? You're not usually on Reaping Day. And why did Komaru think you wanted to know how many times my name was entered?"

"It's... It's because I asked her how many times her name was entered," Maizono explains, dumping the dress on Naegi's lap. She sits down beside him, her smile fading, and she whispers, "You know how I have good intuitions?"

It starts to click. She wanted to know how many times Komaru's been entered, she's giving Komaru a nice dress, she wouldn't give that dress to Komaru herself, she had to give it to him. "No," the word slips out, barely a whisper.

"Naegi-kun, I'm sorry," Maizono turns her gaze towards the floor. "I'm so sorry, but I think your sister-"

"No," Naegi stands up, and the dress falls off of his lap. "You've got that wrong! There's no way Komaru's going to get picked! There's no way! There's... There's no way!"

He doesn't realise he's started crying, or that his voice has been raised. Maizono takes his yelling without flinching. She licks her lips, and says softly, "I hope I'm wrong, Naegi-kun, I really do. But just in case I'm not," she points towards the discarded dress with her chin, "I'm sure Naegi-san would look beautiful in that dress, and looking beautiful is certainly an advantage when it comes to the Games."

Naegi shakes his head. "How's it going to help her fight?"

"She'll make a good impression, Naegi-kun. Good impressions lead to sponsors."

"You sound like you've lived through them," he scoffs, trying not to get angry or upset.

She shrugs. "Victor's Village isn't that far from here, and Ikusaba-san isn't that awful to talk to, when you catch her on a good day. Not... Not that many students want to be friends with the Mayor's daughter. I think a lot of them resent me, to be honest, because I'm not starving like them."

Naegi blinks. Once. Twice. A third time. "Oh," he whispers finally. It's the only response he can think of.

Maizono is still looking at the floor. "Oh," she repeats. "Oh indeed."

"I'm sorry, Maizono-san," Naegi picks up the dress and sits back down. "Thank you. Thank you for trying your best to help."

"It's not much," she sighs, "but it's all I can give you."

Her hand slides over Naegi's hand and stays there. He doesn't know if it's intentional, but it feels nice. They stay like that for a while; just sat on Maizono's bed, hands touching but not being held, the dress draped across Naegi's lap, staring at Maizono's ceiling.

"Stay safe," she says, finally.

"You too," he replies, somehow knowing this is his signal to leave. He pushes himself off her bed and smiles. "I'm sure Komaru will love the dress."

Maizono nods. "I hope the rest of the country doesn't have to see her in it."

...

The whole journey home, Maizono's words burn holes in Naegi's thoughts. It rips his heart to pieces when he hands Komaru the dress, and she holds it to her face and tells him it's beautiful and soft and perfect. She's still scared, and Naegi can see it in her eyes, but she tries to smile for him. She doesn't quite manage it.

Their mother says she can't believe how beautiful her daughter looks, and tells Naegi to hurry up and finish changing while Komaru stays in the living room and does a few twirls and the whole thing is so normal that Naegi almost forgets it's Reaping Day as he struggles to tame that one strand of hair. He wishes he could drown out Maizono's voice with actions and distractions, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't. She echoes through his head, repeating the same words over and over, and try as he might, Naegi can't think of another time her intuition has failed her. Then again, he can't think of another time her intuition has led her to believe someone will be chosen as tribute; usually it's just small things like whether it will rain or what someone's going to say before they say it.

Maizono has to be wrong.

By the time his father has called him down, he's given up his struggle. The strand that sticks up is slightly bent, half pressed down, half as tall and mighty as ever. His mother sighs when she sees that, and tries to smooth his hair down herself.

"Honestly," she mutters, "we can't have twelve whole districts looking at your hair in this state. It's bad enough your own district has to see it."

Naegi gulps. He knows his mother is talking about the odd chance that a camera will swoop over where he's stood, but he hears Maizono apologising again and feels his heart stop, then speed up, beating a billion times faster than any heart should. For a moment he worries it's going to explode, but Komaru catches a glimpse of his panicked face, and he knows he has to calm down.

His sister laces her hand through his and squeezes reassuringly. "You promised me we'd be fine," she reminded him, as their mother busied herself making sure her husband's shirt was tucked in. "Don't tell me you're going to go back on that promise now?"

"Uh," Naegi allows himself a second to think, and Komaru's face falls into despair. She sighs, closes her eyes, and nods.

"Let's just hope," she begins, much calmer than her older brother, despite the fact she'd been terrified earlier, "that the odds are actually in our favour."

Naegi doesn't respond, because he's sure that they won't be. Komaru holds his hand as they leave and head to the town centre.

It's a nice journey, usually, not too far away but not too close. Today, however, there's no joy in it. It's one filled with fear. Anticipation hangs in the air. Every crunch of a foot stepping over gravel is the bones of another child on this same journey to the centre getting crushed by a Career Tribute from District Two. Every soft trickle of wind is the harsh, biting roar of the storm the Gamemakers generated in the Arena to kill someone walking the same path Naegi was. Every timid, hushed conversation between friends and siblings as they passed him was the yell of another tribute as they signalled to their allies that this was where someone Naegi would be standing alongside in just a few moments was hiding.

Naegi refused to entertain the idea that Komaru would be the female tribute. He banished it. She would be a stranger, someone Naegi barely knew, someone he'd walked past once or twice, but never spoken to. Someone who sat in the back of the classroom and didn't contribute much to lessons, so today would be the first time he actually heard her voice. He would have no idea who this person was, but she grew up alongside him.

That concept was almost more terrifying than Komaru being chosen.

Their parents left them, in order to go stand alongside the other adults. His mother kissed them both on the forehead before the two of them split, joining two different lines to get the tiniest pinprick of blood taken. They had to prove they were there, after all, lest peacekeepers knock their door down in search of them. No one missed Reaping Day.

As Naegi made his way to stand among the other sixteen-year-old boys, he lost sight of Komaru. He did, however, catch a glimpse of a pale pink dress, strawn amongst greys and greens and blues, looking completely out of place, and yet also completely at home. After all, the girl wearing it could be the girl standing up on stage in a few minutes. It doesn't matter how few times her name has been entered when compared to anyone else.

Naegi looks down at his own outfit; faded grey trousers and a pale green shirt he'd made sure to tuck in. His mother had offered him the chance to wear his father's suspenders, but he'd refused. He was beginning to wish he hadn't, because maybe they would distract him from how scratchy this shirt was.

He doesn't know how long he stood, stone silent, waiting. His lungs are full, clogged with everyone else's fear and panic, as he inhales their worries and exhales his own. He finds himself growing hot, despite the fact that a chill breeze nips at his ears and nose. He just wants this over with. He just wants Komaru safe.

When the sound of music plays, piercing the tense atmosphere, it's almost a relief to Naegi. But then he remembers what that music heralds, and he wants to close his eyes and cover his ears and run away and hide and just be anywhere but where he is. His fists clench and he strangles air and he tries to breathe but suddenly what he's breathing isn't soft and it doesn't bring life. It's thick and stagnant and stale and every breath rakes down his throat, scraping it, clawing it all the way down until it finally enters his lungs and fights it's way out of them, back outside so he can breathe it in again. He wants to stop breathing. He wants to stop letting whatever this is that hurts his heart in but he can't because he needs it. So he carries on breathing, and each breath carries on hurting, and his heart carries on beating in anguished thumps, banging against the inside of his ribs, and his lungs fill until they're fit to burst and then deflate to the point he fears they'll never fill again. But they do. They fill again and again and again, and he can't stop them filling.

He's scared.

He wipes sweat from underneath his fringe, just above his brow, and on the way down, his hand stops over his eyes and he's able to shield himself, just for a second, until a familiar voice belts, "Welcome, everyone, to the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games!"

He can't hide anymore.

His green eyes open once again, slowly, fearful, and there on the stage, standing before them in all his glory, is Hagakure Yasuhiro, District Twelve's Escort. His hair, as always, is styled to the point where it looks pointed (Komaru once told him that it looked like a tree with many branches, where Maizono has remarked it looks more a hedgehog's bristles. Naegi himself thought it looked more like a broom), and Naegi thinks, not for the first time, that were Hagakure himself to be reaped, he would be able to take on the other tributes with nothing more than his hair.

After greeting them, Hagakure continues with, "Hard to believe it's been a year since we last saw each other! And here we are again already!" He laughs, and the doors to the town hall open one last time as District Twelve's only living victor, a tall, wiry woman with short black hair and pale, fragile looking skin, laced with freckles, sneaks her way in, late, as always, to the Reaping. She sits beside Mayor Maizono, and folds her legs under her chair, looking down.

It's a well-known fact that Ikusaba Mukuro is not proud of what she did to win the Games. It's also well-know that she hates being at the Reaping and she hates reliving it every year. Naegi feels sorry for her for a moment. She isn't that much older than him. Her clothes are dark, black, and it's like she's already in mourning for the set of tributes that won't survive this year.

"Now, as I'm sure you all know, we're gonna start this years reaping the way with start every reaping; with a video from the Capitol, approved by President Enoshima herself!" Hagakure is the only excited person in the square before the Town Hall.

The film is the same as it always is, explaining why they compete in the Games every year, in punishment for the rebellion the districts made seventy-four years ago. President Enoshima doesn't speak, but the whole thing feels like her work. She's very eccentric, and her style is distinctive. When she came into power, she revolutionised the Games, by firing the hosts and commentators Naegi's mother had grown up with, and replacing them with a stuffed pink rabbit. The President herself always insists on speaking through a stuffed bear at speeches and public appearances. Only a few have ever seen her face. That makes her a lot more terrifying, and the Games a lot worse; when Komaru was younger, Naegi remembers watching the Hunger Games in horror, while she laughed and chuckled at the "silly bunny who keeps messing up her words". It's not just the people from the Capitol who enjoy the Games. The children who are too young to understand their brothers and sisters are dying enjoy them too. And then they grow up. They grow up and they can't look at themselves in the mirror when the Games are on, because they used to enjoy this. They used to think it was funny. They used to laugh when someone died because they didn't understand.

Komaru thinks President Enoshima gets off on knowing she's made every child who grew up while she was in power sick with themselves. Naegi's starting to believe it too.

The film brings a tear to Hagakure's eyes, like it does every year, and he wipes it on the sleeve of his lime green suit. "Wasn't that incredible?" he asks, turning back to the children gathered before him. "Now, onto the main event!" His eyes sparkle hungrily, like he's about to dig into some huge feast. "Happy Hunger Games, everyone! And may the odds be ever in your favour! Should we, uh... Ladies first?" He sounds so confused, and he looks from the camera crews to the Mayor to the children of District Twelve, like he's waiting for someone to answer, before stepping over the a large fishbowl full of paper, and slipping his hand inside. He scrounges around for a while, before deciding on the perfect slip. Naegi closes his eyes, and braces himself.

Hagakure clears his throat. Silence engulfs Naegi, and he waits.

"Naegi Komaru-chi!" comes Hagakure's voice. Then there's silence again.

Naegi thinks he hears his mother's voice. He notices some movement among the block of girls. They're parting to let his sister out. That's not allowed. This isn't happening. Maizono was wrong. She had to be. She had to be wrong. Komura isn't allowed to be reaped. She isn't allowed to go. None of this is allowed to happen. His body is suddenly a torture chamber. Everything aches. Every heart beat is agony. The strength required to keep his eyelids open is equal to the effort required to pick up a bag of flower or two from the bakery and then some. He feeks dizzy. He staggers backwards. Is he still breathing? He can't remember if he is breathing. He needed to breathe. Breathing would keep him alive.

What is the point in being alive if it's just to watch Komura die?

Maizono was right; she looks beautiful in that dress. It swishes as she makes her way up the steps to where Hagakure is stood. She's so brave. If Naegi was chosen, he'd be crying right now. If it were Naegi, he'd be praying for a way out. But there is no way out.

Wait.

"I volunteer!" he cries out, despite himself. "I volunteer!"

There's movement around him. Murmurs, confused whispers, a ripple disturbing the peaceful agitation of the boys, starting at Naegi and spreading outwards.

"Well," Hagakure beams. "Seems like District Twelves got it's first volunteer! C'mon up here!"

"Hagakure," comes the cold voice of Ikusaba Mukuro. "That's a boy."

"So?"

"So he can't volunteer to take the place of a girl."

"I volunteer as tribute."

There's little emotion in the voice that yells this time. It's casual. The girl could be volunteering to shut the class door, or milk her goat, or make dinner. Naegi can't see her from where he's stood, but he can vaguely make out what looks like a misshapen, discoloured fist.

"No volunteer Twelve just gained two in one reaping," Hagakure chuckles. "Didn't see that one coming." He turns to Ikusaba, and mutters, "This one is a girl, right?" a tad too loudly. It is picked up by the microphone and projected all across the centre.

"Yes," Ikusaba rolls her eyes. "Invited her up."

"C'mon up, real volunteer!" Hagakure yells, cheerfully. Naegi feels his heartbeat fall back to it's normal rate, and sees a tear or two escape from Komura's eyes as she practically runs down the steps from the stage and back to her friends. One of them hugs her.

The girl who stands beside Hagakure in Komura's place has long, light hair. She looks familiar, but Naegi can't work out why. Her hair hangs loose down her back, apart from one strand that has been tied to the side and plaited. A black ribbon is tied in a neat bow atop the plait. Naegi wonders if her mother had expected this at all when she tied it.

The girl's face is blank, her eyes dull. The first thing Naegi notices about her clothes is that she's wearing dark gloves, which is probably why her fist looked so strange. She wears a brown dress with a dull purple cardigan. Purple isn't a colour Naegi often sees on clothes. It's nice, and she looks nice in it.

"So, what's your name?" Hagakure asks her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her face into the microphone.

"Kirigiri Kyouko," she states. There's no emotion in her words; no fear, no passion, no annoyance. She seems calm, collected. She does not seem like someone who has just effectively given her life to save Naegi's sister.

"And Kirigiri-chi, did you know Naegi-chi?"

"Naegi-san?" Naegi could swear her pale lips curl in a smile. "No."

"No?" Hagakure steps back, in mock shock. "Well then, why did you volunteer?"

Kirigiri's eyes fall on the onlookers, and Naegi has the strangest feeling she's looking at him. "Someone had to. Someone obviously cared a lot about Naegi-san if they're willing to volunteer for her. I couldn't let their sacrifice go to waste."

Hagakure's laughing again. "Aren't you a weird one," he beams. "Oh, you're gonna be great in the Games, I can just tell. Now, onto the boys!"

Naegi doesn't hear him call the name of the male tribute. He feels like he's just been shoved face-first into a pool of freezing cold water, and he's breathing his first few breaths of air after almost dying. It's good. He feels so at peace with the world. He no longer shares the fear all the boys around him do. He exists on a different plane of existence. Komaru is safe. She's safe and that's all that matters.

Well, that's all that matters until someone, maybe the reaped or his family, yells, "But Naegi already volunteered! Why isn't he the male tribute?"

He spirals back into that world of panic again. Everything is dark and blurry and there's a buzzing in his ears and he wants to scream and every blink is agony and every breath is torture and he doesn't know whether the pounding in his head or of his heart is louder.

But Komaru is safe. And if Komaru is safe, he will take that pain.

"Yeah, you're right! Someone else did already volunteer! They should take your place!" Hagakure booms. "Right, Ikusaba-chi?"

"No," she shakes her head, "I don't think that's how this works-"

"Wrong!" Hagakure cuts her off, yelling, screaming, elated. "I've decided this is how it works! Where's my first volunteer?!"

"He's here!" The shout comes from the boy next to Naegi, but the boy might as well have been in another country, because that's about as well as Naegi hears him. He doesn't remember stepping away from the crowd, or being escorted by Peacekeepers to the stage, but it must have happened, because the next thing he knows, he's next to Hagakure and Komaru is yelling, "Mako! Makoto no!" as she's dragged, kicking and screaming away from the crowd.

"And what's your name?" Hagakure repeats, poking at Naegi's shell. He's not a person anymore. He's game to be hunted. He's a piece of meat nearing it's expiration.

"Um," he rasps, thirsty and also drowning. "Na- Naegi Makoto."

"Naegi-chi?" he repeats. "So the first tribute was your sister?" Naegi nods and Hagakure laughs. "Well, I guess that explains why you tried to volunteer for her!"

Naegi is still staring straight in front of him. He thinks Hagakure asks him another question, so he says, "Yeah."

Her name was only in there three times.

His eyes are burning and freezing at the same time. He blinks rapidly. Shields holding back waterfalls begin to fail, and he feels something cold and wet and burning drip down his cheek and erode his face.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Hagakure cries, "I present to you, your tributes from District Twelve! Kirigiri Kyouko-chi, and Naegi Makoto-chi!"

From the sound of it, Hagakure is the only one applauding, but even that vigorous applause slows and fades. The lack of sound is what makes Naegi looks up.

The crowd have raised their arms. They hold their hands up in a three-fingered salute, a rarely used symbol of thanks or admiration. A farewell to a loved one. Kirigiri has done it too.

Naegi raises his hand, but he does not salute. He wipes tears from his eyes, and allows a watery smile to show his shock at the action. He doesn't know why they're doing it, or who it's aimed at. Him? Kirigiri? Both of them?

They're quickly shoved off-stage, and through the doors to the town hall.

"There are no cameras now," Kirigiri states. "You can cry as much as you want."

"I..." Naegi doesn't know what to say. The two of them are being dragged down a corridor and told they'll have to wait in solitary before their families are brought to them to say goodbye. He sheds a few tears.

As Kirigiri is about to enter her waiting room, he bursts. "Thanks for volunteering. Thank you for saving my sister."

She smiles slightly. "My pleasure," she replies, shaking the Peacekeeper from her arm, and entering the room of her own accord.

Naegi had wanted to hold it in longer, like he'd wanted to hold in those tears, but he hadn't been able to. He's shoved into a room of his own, and his thoughts make quick company. He knows Kirigiri from somewhere, but he can't remember where. This girl volunteered and took his sister's place, and he doesn't even know how he knows her. He doesn't even know if he knows her, so why did she do it? Why did she save a stranger's life?

He sinks down, his tears freely flowing down his face now. He rests his chin on his knees and hugs his legs to him, trying to get all this hurt and confusion out of him before his parents - before Komaru - show up. But try as he might, he can't escape the dread that is setting into his stomach, rotting his bones, tearing his heart.

He wipes away a few more tears with the back of his hand, and allows himself a small smile. At least Maizono had been wrong.

author's note: so im thinking about posting this on my ao3. i have yet to actually upload anything there, and since this au is one that i worked hard on (with uno's help), i think i might be able to be brave enough to post it there. also, in my experience, the dangan ronpa tag on ffdotnet is usually troll-fics and submit your ocs, both of which i enjoy, but i worry this might get buried somewhere under all of those.

i dont know when ill next update this, but it will hopefully be soon. im planning on rereading the hunger games too, so i can write this fic better. i saw catching fire on saturday and as soon as it was finished i knew i had to write this fic. thank you for reading, and i hope ill see you again soon when i post the next chapter.

(also it would be really appreciated if you could let me know whether you think i should post this on ao3, and if youre a fan of my work, if you could let me know if you think any of my other fanfics are good enough for ao3. thanks again!)