Notes

Two canons fired in the distance. Twenty-two had fired over the past eleven days. Two districts were left. The female looked up at the sky to see that both District 2 contestants had been eliminated. Silence between the pair seemed like forever, until finally, the male spoke.

“We're the only ones left, Kyla.” The female, whose name he had spoken, turned her head to look at him instead of the profile of the deceased. Her emerald orbs looked back and forth between his chestnut ones. There was no fear in her heart that he would do her away to feed into the ego he dragged with him.

“This isn't going to end like the 74th game, Yashwin.” She shook her head slightly, absentmindedly biting into her cheek with her left bicuspids as she thought. After a moment she spoke again. “We spent so much time against everyone else that we forgot that there are no exceptions anymore. There is only one winner.”

“I'm not going back without you.” Yashwin reached his hand forward to capture her bisque fingers between his own ochre digits.

“You're going to have to. We won't be able to go back together, even if there were exceptions.” Kyla's gaze moved away from his face. “We'll be punished for having relations between districts. You know that.” It was true, and both young contestants knew that. There would be heavy consequences for being together outside of the game.

“And why are you so quick to sacrifice yourself?”

“There isn't anything for me at home.”

“There isn't anything for me in my district, either.” Yashwin furrowed his eyebrows together, watching her troubled expression change between contemplation and realization. He could see the slight glistening of tears begin to gather on her waterline. A sigh passed his lips as he pulled the younger one close into him, wrapping his arms around the middle of her back and pressing his face into the faded auburn locks. Kyla buried her face into his torso, her porcelain and petite arms finding their way around his neck.

“What are we going to do?” Her question was muffled not only because of his shirt, but because of her wavering tone as well.

“Mon amour, what if we don't go back at all?” Yashwin kept his voice low as to be comforting rather than startling in volume. “We've survived this far. We can live here as long as we want. You're from District 11; you have agricultural knowledge. We can farm food and raise animals – I remember seeing chickens a few nights ago – and we can live here away from everyone.”

A short pause followed as Kyla processed what he said. She pulled her head back to look up at him once more. “Can we do that?”

“There isn't a rule saying we can't.” His hand gently rubbed her lower back, careful of the bandaged square underneath her shirt that had given both of them a reminder that they could easily become victims of mortality.

“But, remember what they did in the 74th-”

“Yes, I remember. But Crane was given the penalty of execution for sabotaging the game. They haven't interfered. We'll be fine.” Yashwin watched his female slowly nod at the idea.

“Well. I guess the odds will be ever in our favor.” She pulled her arms back with the intention to pick up her dropped backpack, but he pulled her even closer by her waist to lay an innocent kiss against her busted lip. There was nothing underneath his intentions than to remind her that there was nothing that could separate them. Not the Gamemaster, not the Parliament, not the Capitol. It lasted only a few seconds before they separated, temporary silence comfortably filling the part. But only temporary. Yashwin watched as she picked up her backpack, lacing their two-toned fingers together as they began to walk to the cornucopia. “Hey, Kyla?”

“What's up?” She asked, slinging the strap over her free arm.

“What are the odds that you'll be in my favor?” The younger one sighed softly as the older snickered under his breath at her typical reaction.

“100%, Yash. One hundred-fucking-percent.”