It was unwise to start this pattern.  He knew he should be sleeping the night through, waking early to train alone.  But each night he closed his eyes, ordering himself to stay put this time, only to give in a moment later and fumble for the light switch.  

Each day that crept by was one day closer to the Games, after all, and it grew terribly easy to indulge himself.

The Avox had grown used to his new habit.  The hallway was silent and shadowed, but he would always be there, silhouetted against the faint glow of the common area.  It was just light enough to see him smile each time Taekwoon emerged from his room--small, barely visible in the dim light, but with the telltale crinkling around his eyes that almost had Taekwoon smiling back.  But just as quickly the boy would look away, never holding his gaze for long, like one of the skittish squirrels from back home--hovering just out of reach in the branches in case you dropped food, but too afraid to come any closer.

Sometimes Taekwoon would just stretch out on the couch and let the noise the day crammed into his skull seep out of him, but more often than not he brought paper along and folded for hours on end.  His fingers found their familiar rhythm, smoothing and creasing until a row of figures lined the table’s edge.  A fish, a bird, a house.  Taekwoon didn’t have to look up to know the Avox was watching his hands.  He glanced up, and the other didn’t look away.

“Want to try?” Taekwoon heard himself say, voice rougher than he’d meant it.  When was the last time he’d said a word kindly, or had reason to?

The boy’s brows flew up.  A hand shot up to cover his mouth as his lips parted in surprise, but he leaned closer, even taking a step away from the wall.  As he hesitated, Taekwoon held out a sheet of paper and sat motionless.  

For a long moment no one moved.  Then suddenly the other beamed, face lighting up and eyes crinkling as he closed the gap between them.  He took the scrap from his hands with a bowed head, and when Taekwoon patted the couch beside him, he didn’t hesitate to sit.

“Like this,” muttered Taekwoon.

His hands were clumsy at first.  The first two scraps of paper were a lost cause, and Taekwoon crumpled them into a ball before slipping him a third.  This time Taekwoon whispered his instructions slower, more precisely, pausing now and then to demonstrate even the simpler steps on his own.

As he watched the other fumble with a particularly complicated fold he found his own hands moving, wrapping around the other’s to guide him through the step.  The calloused fingers trembled faintly beneath his.  Taekwoon shot him a glance (remembering the other trainees’ words, images of imprisonment and mutilation tumbling through his thoughts) and was relieved to see none of the fear he expected in his face.  Instead it was set in the very picture of determined concentration, brow furrowed and lip between his teeth and--oddly--ears tinted a bright red that crept down towards his cheeks.  

Taekwoon didn’t realize he was staring until the boy grinned up at him, sheepish, as he set his first lopsided creation in the row next to the others.  It looked more like a chicken than a swan, but Taekwoon just blinked at it once before muttering, “it’s good.”  He held out another piece of paper, and the other beamed again (this time a fist covering his mouth first) before snatching it up.  He leaned to point at one of the figures Taekwoon had made earlier--a pig, one of the more complicated ones-- and turned hopeful eyes back at him.

The corner of Taekwoon’s mouth twitched up.  “Let’s work up to that,” he whispered, and pointed to the tiny paper house instead.  The boy just nodded quickly, his eyes bright and eager as they latched onto Taekwoon’s hands, waiting for the first step.  

It was more difficult than he thought it would be to keep his movements slow, the steps blurring together in his mind and fingers wanting to swiftly rush through the memorized patterns, but he kept each fold slow and deliberate before watching the other dutifully mirror it.  As time went on his hands seemed to be shaking less, Taekwoon thought to himself, but never noticed when the jagged lump of ice in his own belly had melted.

- -

The apartment seemed to take twice as long to quiet down the next night.  Taekwoon could no longer use restlessness as an excuse--every muscle screamed with exhaustion after the day’s training, and yet he found himself fighting off sleep, straining to hear the sounds sifting through his closed door instead of trying to shut them out.  He counted out the seconds in the stretches of silence in between.  Finally satisfied, he threw off the covers and slipped to the door--

--Only to bite back a shout as it slid open to reveal someone standing just on the other side.  But the faint light from the common area glinted softly off white clothing and tufts of silver hair, and the stab of adrenaline faded.  Taekwoon let out the breath he was holding.  Before he could ask why he was there, the other glanced over his shoulder, rushed, shaky, and Taekwoon barely noticed the beckoning gesture before he turned away.  Without a second thought he followed.

The two passed by their usual meeting place (since when had Taekwoon started thinking of it like that?), and the Avox paused to brush his fingers against his hand before turning towards a doorway.  Taekwoon recognized the path to the rooftop as they climbed a winding, wrought-iron staircase.  He’d only bothered to come up here once before.  The seclusion was nice and the view would be nicer--if you were the sort of person who could look out over the Capitol’s nauseating grandeur without wanting to throw up.  Taekwoon wasn’t.

But the lights sparkling a hundred different colors didn’t catch his eye this time.   

“Why are we…?”  Taekwoon glanced at the other, puzzled.  The Axox just ducked his head, the apologetic look crossing his face making Taekwoon kick himself, and pointed back the way they came.  Sure enough, a moment later light seeped through the seams of the closed door below, and muffled voices could be heard on the other side.  It was too faint to make out the words, but Taekwoon was sure he heard the sharp staccato of his ’s voice and his mentor’s low timbre on the other side.  

Movement at his side caught his eye.  The Avox was motioning with his hands, eyes latched onto his--a point towards the voices, a hand cupped behind one ear.  

“You knew they’d be out here,” Taekwoon whispered, and the other nodded with a tight-lipped smile.  “But how did you know I was coming?”

The Avox’s mouth quirked (if Taekwoon didn’t know better he’d think he looked smug) and his hands started forming patterns, quick but precise--as if he were used to much faster but was slowing it down for his sake.  Among them Taekwoon picked out a point at himself, then back the way they came, then a fist crossed over his chest ending with two fingers held up.  Taekwoon’s brow furrowed.  The last one looked familiar--he vaguely remembered people back home motioning to old Mr. Park, deafened by a sawmill explosion.  He never learned (though now wished he had), but didn’t need it to know the answer.  “Because I’m always there,” he ventured with a half-sigh, and--yes, the other’s smile was definitely smug this time.

A/N - Apparently my reading comprehension is -5000% and I wrote 4k+ words off a District 7 tribute before realizing the original prompt said District 2 T_T  But I've dug myself too deep into the District 7 hole to back out now.  Someone go write for the prompt with a career tribute like it deserves!