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Miyuki’s breaths are shallow as he and Kuramochi weave through jagged rocks in search of a safe place to rest. The scorching sun has almost set, and any lingering warmth is yielding to what promises to be another cold and unforgiving night. Frigid air curls around the two of them like icy tendrils and they shiver, fingers hurting from the sharp rocks and from circulation loss. Kuramochi’s heart leaps into his throat when Miyuki stumbles, but he soon rights himself with a somewhat pained smile.
“You okay?” Kuramochi asks, knowing full well that Miyuki isn’t. While the ambush hadn’t killed them, Kuramochi is positive Miyuki had gotten injured in the scuffle and is now trying to hide it.
“Awww, worrying about me?” Miyuki coos, grinning. A scoff is all that he gets in reply. “I’ll be okay once we settle in for the night.”
“I remember seeing an open cave up here earlier,” says Kuramochi, scanning the rock face for familiar markers. He’s panicking internally because he needs to get Miyuki to shelter to tend to his wounds; Kuramochi’s always worried more about Miyuki than Miyuki has about himself.
“Youichi, come on, you’ll burst a blood vessel stressing. I’m fine.”
Kuramochi deliberately ignores this, heart rate spiking when he catches sight of a possible cave up ahead. He motions for Miyuki to stay put, and the fact that Miyuki actually obeys makes him worry even more. Kuramochi leaps forward and up an uneven slope, unsheathing two blades as he creeps into the opening and looks around. It’s small and dark, and no warmer than the outside, though it is shielded from the elements. There doesn’t appear to be anything or anyone threatening inside, so he climbs back down and helps Miyuki up the rock face.
“People would like us more if we played this game better,” muses Miyuki, letting Kuramochi help ease him down into a sitting position. He slumps back against the cool rock and lets his head fall back, too tired to even pretend he’s not.
“People would like us more if you didn’t have such a shitty personality,” Kuramochi says, and in their exhausted, adrenaline-riddled delirium, they both laugh like it’s the last thing they’ll ever do. Miyuki winces as he comes down from the euphoria, clutching his side, panicking when he sees the horrified look in Kuramochi’s eyes.
“I’m okay- I’m fine, it’s fine, don’t-” he begins, waving Kuramochi away, but he doesn’t succeed in his efforts. Kuramochi is at his side, peeling off the two jackets he had given Miyuki earlier to reveal a deep gash in the deep blue bodysuit beneath. The fabric around the wound is smeared with blood that had undoubtedly been seeping out all day, explaining Miyuki’s lightheadedness and general pallor. Kuramochi lifts his head to look at Miyuki, angry at him for hiding this, but even angrier at himself for not having realized the extent of the damage after their scuffle with the tributes from District 1.
Three cannon blasts sound, recapping the day’s deaths.
“We’ve got only two more to worry about,” Kuramochi says, despite knowing Miyuki is well aware of this. Exhaling shakily, he maneuvers Miyuki so he’s lying down, and pulls out the flashlight he had managed to steal from the cornucopia a few days prior. He kneels by Miyuki’s side and mentally prepares himself for the worst. A sharp gasp escapes Miyuki’s throat when Kuramochi gently touches the skin around the clotted mess. The light makes it seem even worse, and Kuramochi knows that it’s going to get infected if they don’t clean it. He fights down the nausea and exhales slowly.
“I’ll be fine, let’s just rest, okay?” Miyuki’s attempt at reassurance falls on deaf ears; Kuramochi is almost shaking with anxiety, fighting the urge to run out and look for more clean water. He knows leaving Miyuki would be an even worse decision than leaving the wound untreated. Miyuki places a steady hand on Kuramochi’s thigh to calm him.
“This isn’t going to get better unless we do something about it,” says Kuramochi, forcing his voice to sound even, but sounding robotic as a result. Miyuki isn’t fooled at all and gently rubs Kuramochi’s thigh, his mouth quirking up into a smile. Kuramochi does his best to calm down. He slices the hood of one of the jackets into strips and diligently cleans the wound as best as he can with what meager amounts of water they can spare from their canteens. Miyuki trembles with the pain, gripping Kuramochi’s leg so tightly that it hurts him, and Kuramochi bites back tears knowing he’s the one causing it. Miyuki’s jaw is set and braced, and he’s sweating profusely in the damp cave, screwing his eyes shut.
Kuramochi doesn’t know what to say or do to make it hurt less.
They’re both comforted by the fact that the gash looks a lot less awful once it’s cleaned. Kuramochi bundles Miyuki back up in the jackets and lies down next to him, wiping the sweat from his face with a tender hand. Miyuki’s eyelids are heavy, but he’s trying his best to stay awake, to stay with Kuramochi as long as he can. Neither really knows if they’ll live to see the sunrise, but they hang onto whatever shreds of hope still linger in this godforsaken place.
Kuramochi longs to reach out, to bridge the small gap between their bodies and hold Miyuki’s hand, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He can see Miyuki’s hand twitching for the contact too, the familiar touch of home. Kuramochi turns off the flashlight.
Kuramochi can’t believe that only two weeks ago, they were stealing kisses among the swaying stalks of golden wheat in District 11, throwing around a ball behind Kuramochi’s house and holding hands on Miyuki’s small back porch once the twilit darkness could hide them. Here, in the arena, they are only teammates, hiding, fighting for their lives side by side. Being so far from Kuramochi is painful, so Miyuki lifts his hand and moves it to his forearm. The gesture is enough to placate them both for now, and Kuramochi closes his eyes for a moment to soak in the warmth of it.
He opens them again. “You should really sleep.”
“Only if you get some rest,” Miyuki says, eyelids drooping. Kuramochi can’t help himself, and brushes the matted hair off of Miyuki’s forehead with a fond smile.
“Go to sleep.”
“Youichi, I’ll be here tomorrow, I promise,” Miyuki says solemnly, opening his eyes fully for a moment. Kuramochi can only barely see them in the dark.
“You better be. There’s nobody else here to annoy me,” Kuramochi teases and Miyuki mutters “good,” before he lets his eyes droop closed. A small smile curls his lips as he dozes off.
Before this experience , Kuramochi hadn’t really known it was possible to love someone so much it hurt, but here he is. He watches Miyuki’s breaths even out and gently lays his palm atop Miyuki’s fingers. Not that he’s crying from worry or anything, but he wipes his eyes on his sleeve to dry them and settles in for a long night.
Kuramochi startles awake. He sits bolt upright and listens for sounds signaling impending danger, but there is nothing but the whistle of the wind. It dawns on him that it wasn’t a sense of unease that woke him, rather the chattering of teeth. Miyuki is shivering uncontrollably next to him, though still asleep somehow. Kuramochi shifts over and lies back down, putting one arm under Miyuki’s head so he can use it as a pillow, and gently arranging their two bodies together so Miyuki can be both warm and comfortable. Their heads rest against each other and slowly, the shivering stops. Miyuki presses the smallest of kisses against Kuramochi’s neck while he’s half asleep, and mumbles some incoherent syllables to follow. Kuramochi’s chest tightens and his arm curls protectively around Miyuki. To hell with it. Pressing his lips to Miyuki’s temple, he whispers “Good night.” The least he can do is comfort the only person that’s stood by him his entire life.
The first rays of morning sunlight reach into their tiny den, and Kuramochi groans in protest. His hand instinctively flies to Miyuki’s mouth to check if he’s still breathing, his own air stuck in his lungs until he knows for sure. Miyuki smiles and swats at him with his eyes still closed.
“Still here, sorry,” he says, cupping Kuramochi’s cheek. His eyes open, crinkled at the corners.
“Asshole.” They gaze at each other fondly for a moment as the golden light starts to fill the cave, and Kuramochi leans down to kiss Miyuki deeply. Keeping their relationship a secret doesn’t really matter to him anymore. If this is the end, then he wants to enjoy it.
A blood-curdling scream ends their kiss abruptly, followed shortly by another cannon blast. They turn to the cave entrance only to see a large flock of birds take flight in the distance.
“Mood-killer, huh?” Miyuki says, trying to sit up.
“Almost as much as the gaping wound on your stomach. Lemme take a look at it,” Kuramochi growls, pushing Miyuki’s back down to the ground.
“I feel fine.”
“You’re also a liar.”
“Now you’re wounding me emotionally. Ouch,” Miyuki laments, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically. Kuramochi rolls his eyes, but the teasing mood is a relief. A sassy Miyuki is a good Miyuki. Well, according to Kuramochi, any Miyuki is a good Miyuki, so long as he’s alive. Once exposed, Miyuki’s wound looks faintly infected, and the good mood dissipates like smoke.
“Youichi?”
“It’s fine,” Kuramochi lies through gritted teeth.
“You’re an even worse liar,” Miyuki says, voice pleasantly light, and flicks Kuramochi’s shoulder.
“It’s infected. I have to clean it again and it’s going to hurt.”
“I know.”
Kuramochi takes a deep breath and wets one of the remaining rags, taking care to conserve as much water as possible. Miyuki reaches up and pats his cheek.
“Yeah?” Kuramochi asks.
“You’re handsome.” Miyuki’s grinning like they’re back at home, hiding away from prying eyes to share a moment together.
“Are you okay?” Kuramochi rests the back of his hand against Miyuki’s forehead, and he doesn’t appear to have a fever. He raises a curious eyebrow.
“Can’t I compliment you?”
“It just makes me think that you’re dying.”
“Ouch.” Miyuki winces, though it’s from physical pain and not overdramatic reaction. Kuramochi’s started to clean the wound.
“At least wait til you’re healed to compliment me off-hand, you jerk,” Kuramochi warns, his cheeks tinted red.
Miyuki makes a small sound in the back of his throat when Kuramochi presses a bit more aggressively.
“Your beautiful face heals me!” Even before he’s truly finished the sentence, Miyuki starts snorting with laughter, and soon Kuramochi joins him.
“You’re disgusting, Kazuya.”
“Well, you smell like you were raised in a barn,” Miyuki says, eyes alight.
“You behave like you were!” Kuramochi retorts, throwing the dirty rag to the side and covering Miyuki up again.
“I’m only the most charming of barnyard creatures.”
“You’re a creature, alright.”
“Hey,” Miyuki says, voice suddenly soft. “What’s going to happen to us?” Kuramochi’s head whips over to stare at him.
“We’re going to win this damn thing!” Kuramochi insists, determined to pull through.
“And then?”
“We’ll go home,” Kuramochi says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“And then?”
“We’ll be home.”
“Yes, but what will we do there?” Miyuki tilts his head to the side and regards Kuramochi curiously.
“Live in a nice house?”
“Okay, and?”
“What more do you want?” Kuramochi asks, heat rising to his face again.
“A lot more. I’m wounded and delirious. Talk to me,” Miyuki whines comically, just to get a rise out of Kuramochi.
“You may be wounded now, but you’re always delirious.”
“Maybe I am. So. We’ll live in a nice house.”
“It’ll have a porch.”
“Every house in our district has a porch,” Miyuki deadpans.
“Ours will too.”
“You’re as imaginative as a rock.”
They slowly get to their feet and gather what few belonging they have, and make their way down the slope towards the cornucopia. It’s a long trek, but it will give them a better vantage point, and they will definitely be able to eat when they get there.
The sun beats down on them, harsh and unforgiving, but Miyuki continues needling Kuramochi like they’re out for a pleasant stroll. His arm is slung over Kuramochi’s shoulders for support when they finally reach the plain and begin the open trek towards their destination. Only one tribute is left now and they’ll be able to see him coming from a mile away out here.
“I know you said a porch, but what else?” Miyuki leans in, playing at being oblivious and innocent. He’s just as wary and observant as Kuramochi is, but he can put on a good act to lure in their opponent.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kuramochi’s frown deepens.
“No. Why would I be? Tell me about our house.”
“Our- wait, who said I’d be living with you?” Kuramochi recoils, more from embarrassment than actual repulsion.
“You did. You’ve been calling it ours this whole way.”
“What?!”
“Yep!” Miyuki sounds smug, but his eyes are gentle, and so is the brief touch of his hand on Kuramochi’s shoulder.
“Anyway. The stupid house will have big windows.”
“Big windows, good.”
“And a stupid window seat,” mutters Kuramochi.
“Oh, I like that!”
“I know. That’s wh- stop smiling.”
“Never,” Miyuki purrs.
“I want there to be lots of books.”
“I like that too.”
“A big kitchen.”
“Why, Youichi, are you making this house just for me?” Miyuki teases, but the grin slides off his face when Kuramochi responds with a tiny nod.
“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” admits Kuramochi. There’s no smartass retort in Miyuki’s verbal artillery for that statement. They keep walking in comfortable silence, and both are as delighted as they can be, given the circumstances.
ooo
The career from District 2 barrels into the scene halfway through the day, when Kuramochi and Miyuki are both starving and thirsty, with barely enough energy to keep going. Unfortunately for the poor soul, he heads for Miyuki first, thinking he’s an easier target. What he greatly underestimates is both Miyuki’s burning will to live and Kuramochi’s will to keep Miyuki alive.
ooo
It’s late evening, and Miyuki is sprawled across the top of the cornucopia, blissed out on the pain medication an anonymous donor had sent them along with some disinfecting cream. It seems like Kuramochi and Miyuki’s relationship hadn’t actually hurt their chances entirely, because several silver care packages had floated down from the heavens when they had arrived at the cornucopia, a little worse for wear.
Kuramochi has slapped a bandage across the fresh cut on his cheek and is now chewing happily on a mouthful of protein bar. He watches Miyuki’s eyes follow the artificial clouds, grinning at how dopey he is. Things are all right for the time being.
“So. Youichi.”
“Yeah?”
“Can we have lots of pillows on our bed?” Miyuki asks, completely out of the blue.
“Why do we need more than two?”
“Because it’s aesthetically pleasing.”
“There’s no point in having more than two pillows,” insists Kuramochi, frowning.
“There’s no point? Like I said, you’re a rock.”
“This is the stupidest argument. Get a hundred pillows! I don’t care!” Kuramochi throws his hands up in resignation before he realizes he just got baited into bickering, and easily, too. After all these years, Miyuki can still get him riled up, and over pillows, no less. Miyuki is cackling with delight.
“Two is fine.”
“You’re just picking a fight to distract me from how fucked up this situation is.”
“Maybe.” Miyuki hums, then falls silent for a few minutes. Kuramochi scoots closer so he can run his hands through Miyuki’s hair.
“What do we do now?” Kuramochi asks quietly.
“I don’t know,” Miyuki admits, finally expressing what has been on his mind all day.
“They’re not going to let both of us win,” Kuramochi says, turning to make eye contact.
“I know. They’re going to throw something awful at us.”
“Yeah,” agrees Kuramochi with a heavy sigh.
“This is nice, though.”
“Yeah.”
Miyuki tugs on Kuramochi’s collar, getting him to lie down next to him and relax a little. He laces their fingers and squeezes, grinning when Kuramochi returns the gesture. Their sides are warm where they press against one another, and this is familiar, easy. It’s almost like they’re back home, watching the stalks sway gently in the breeze. The warm wind ruffles their hair softly.
“I’m going to be here for you, come what may,” Kuramochi says, like Miyuki doesn’t know that already.
“Come what may.”
They sigh in tandem and grip each other’s hands more tightly.
“Hey,” Miyuki begins.
“Yeah?”
“What about four pillows?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
The wind carries their laughter into the sky. It’s not like worrying will help them, anyway.