Yixing’s spine went rigid when he heard the smallest rustle in the tree before him. His grip on his bow tightened, and he reached for an arrow in his quiver. It was barely nocked in his bow when a tiny figure emerged from the leaves, draped in hunter green and black.

Junmyeon had not seen him yet, his back turned. Yixing could let the arrow fly. He was the best shot in the Games, better even than Junmyeon. Perched where he was, there was no way he could miss.

Yixing inhaled, the feather of his arrow brushing against his cheek. His hand shook the longer he stayed in that position, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Junmyeon would not have hesitated.

He had everything to lose. He had a little brother back home, Jongin. Yixing had met him, had loved him as much as he loved Junmyeon. It was why he did not protest when Junmyeon stayed away during the training, why they went their separate ways when the Games began, no matter how close they had been before the Games.

Yixing on the other hand, had nothing to lose. He had been a beggar on the streets. If Junmyeon had not taken him in, he would have starved to death a long time ago, much less be able to participate in the Games.

A whisper of wind blew through the clearing, and Yixing drew back, his arrow still nocked. If he loosed his arrow now, he could lose his mark. His heart leapt to his throat when a scream ripped through the otherwise silent trees, blood-curdling.

From his position, he could not see the body, but it had to be Junmyeon’s mark. Whoever he had been aiming for hit the ground with a thud that resonated through the clearing.

Junmyeon was trembling, his head turned away, as if he wanted to hide from the reality of what he had just done. Yixing’s heart ached for him. He knew what it felt like, to make your first kill.

He had killed two before him, during the Cornucopia fight. Every death had made his stomach turn, and bitter bile rise to his throat. And now he was about to make his third.

But no matter how hard he tried, Yixing could not bring himself to loose the arrow.

He knew he meant nothing to Junmyeon now that the Games had already started. Whatever they had shared in the past, in the comforts of Junmyeon’s rickety old house by the town square had been washed away by the Capitol’s cruelty. Junmyeon was not one for sentiment, and he had made it very clear that Yixing should not either.

The Games were cruel like that. It twisted and broke anything beautiful in the world. The world was like that. At least, the world Yixing was born into.

With a gritted sound, Yixing lowered his bow, watching Junmyeon vanish into the thicket. He curled up on his perch, pulling out a slab of bread that he had saved for days. Another cannon fired while he ate, shaking the branches of the tree he perched in.

Once night had fallen, Yixing climbed down, heading straight for the river. The undergrowth rustled.

He spun, drawing his dagger. A cry of pain froze his blood, and he jerked back, the tip of his dagger dripping scarlet into the water.

“Junmyeon,” he whispered hoarsely, just in time to duck when Junmyeon lunged at him, an arrow clutched in his fist. He caught hold of his wrist, twisting until Junmyeon whimpered, dropping the arrow.

“Yixing,” Junmyeon hissed. His free hand was scrabbling at his belt, and Yixing shoved him back, knocking them both to the ground.

Junmyeon thrashed beneath him, his face a mask of terror and desperation. Yixing’s heart clenched, but he could not let him go. Not yet. Junmyeon would put an arrow through his chest if he did.

He wrapped both hands around Junmyeon’s wrists, pinning them above his head. Junmyeon stilled at once, a ray of moonlight illuminating his face.

“Just get it over with,” he murmured, shattering Yixing’s heart. “Make it quick.”

Yixing’s hand shook when he traced his thumb over Junmyeon’s cheek.

“I can’t do it, you know that,” he whispered.

“You’re soft,” Junmyeon snarled. “You don’t deserve to win if you can’t hurt me.”

“I know,” Yixing breathed, the corner of Junmyeon’s mouth. “And I won’t win, Kim Junmyeon, not if it means killing you.”

Junmyeon opened his mouth, but voices cut through the silence of the night, growing louder. They both froze.

Yixing flung himself off Junmyeon, dragging him to his feet. The footsteps were close, far too close. They were both adept climbers, but the nearest tree was a steep climb up the riverbank, a climb that neither of them would make if the Careers caught them.

“What the hell-.”

“Go,” Yixing hissed. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”

A thousand emotions flashed across Junmyeon’s face, and Yixing wished he had the time to memorise them. In another lifetime, perhaps they could have had a future together, one where neither of them had to watch the other die. But Junmyeon was right. Yixing was soft. He could not live in a world without him.

“Think of Jongin,” he said, looking away. The torchlights were drawing closer, the first head of the Career peeking over the brush. Yixing nocked his bow without a second glance. The first Career fell with a scream, but the second one managed to dodge.

Yixing fired another, darting back into the water when the girl lunged for him. A spear in his direction, and he stumbled, his third arrow piercing the girl’s thigh. Someone grabbed his arm and pain seared up his side.

The last thing he saw was Junmyeon’s figure, shimmying up the nearest tree. Yixing smiled, even when pain ballooned in his chest, when he tasted blood on his tongue.

In another lifetime, perhaps they would meet again.