Hunger Games (Peeta's POV)

5

I'm in the remake center, having long since been seperated from Katniss. They poke and prod at every part of me. There are three capitol citizens working hard to make me look my best. They chat the entire time they work on me, not ever checking to see if I'm listening. They simply don't care. I stay silent through the entire ordeal, keeping Haymitch's deal in mind. 

By the time they're done, I've been with them for hours and my skin feels raw from all the scrubbing. I thought I understood how to clean myself, but according to my team, I've been doing it all wrong for years. I wish I had it in me to be embarrassed, but I simply don't care. They don't even seem real with their appearances, it's hard to take them seriously. 

They walk out of the room to call my stylist, Portia, in. As she walks in, she orders off my thin robe and begins to inspect me. Not saying a word, just studying me as Haymitch had done earlier this morning. I stare at her as she stares at me noticing how she looks like everyone else in the capitol, hoping that she doesn't think nudity is the latest word in fashion. 

"I'm Portia, your stylist," She says, her capitol accent clear, "It's my first year in the games, but I'm going to try and help you as much as I possibly can. Put on your robe and we'll eat."

I move quickly at the thought of food. The more I've eaten here, the better it gets. 

As we enter a room where the meal is laid out, I imagine eating this at home. Majority of the ingredients being impossible to get, even our bread being a poor substitution. I imagine myself being of the capitol, would I take all this for granted? Would I see any of this as normal? The worst part is, I think I would. 

I blurt out what I've been worrying about all day, "Will I be naked for the opening ceremonies?"

The laughter I'm met with is unexpected, but not unwelcome, "I hope you're not afraid of fire, Peeta."

A few hours later I'm dressed in a simple black unitard, covering me from neck to ankle. I'm wearing brand new leather boots that go up to my ankles, leaving no skin showing besides my face and my hands. A cape has been fastened to the costume and a headpiece adorns my head. They plan to light them on fire. I can't quite decide if this or the games is a better way to go. 

Portia put light amounts of makeup on my face, highlighting some places,  darkening other places. Striking, but recognizable. 

I'm relieved to see Katniss as I exit the elevator. She looks the same as me, meaning she'll be lit on fire too. Meaning, I won't be alone. 

Everyone is quite excited about the entrance we're going to make. Everyone seems to trust that we won't be burned alive, but that doesn't give me much hope. 

We're standing in the stables of the Tribute Center, surrounded by the other tributes climbing into their chariots. We're directed onto ours and spend the next few minutes being adjusted by our stylists. 

Suddenly, Katniss is whispering to me, "What do you think? About the fire?"

Her question makes me smile, for the first time being here, I feel less alone. I reply with what I've been thinking since they proposed this idea to me, "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine." 

She voices her concerns of us doing exactly what Haymitch says, which reminds me that we haven't seen him since the train. I turn to her, asking where he is, but she replies with a joke, "With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame." 

We're both laughing. The tension easing from our shoulders, for a brief moment, we forgot where we were. The nerves silence us quickly though, it's hard to forget where you are for long. 

With a quick glance around, I can see the looks we're getting from other tributes. I should have known laughing wouldn't be advisable around this crowd. 

The opening music begins and giant doors open to reveal a crowd of thousands all waiting for our arrival. Before I have time to register what is happening, it's our turn to approach the doors. That is the moment they decide to approach us with a lighted torch and I prepare myself to pull off Katniss' cape at a moment's notice. But, when we're lit, there is no heat, simply a light tickling sensation. 

Katniss' stylist gives us last reminders before we begin, "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!"

As he walks off, another idea flashes through his eyes. He's yelling at us to hold hands. I grab her right hand and look behind me to see if I heard right. With a nod of conformation, I know we're doing everything we can to gain fans tonight. I give one glance to our hands and try not to think of all the times I've imagined this. Since, never once did I imagine us going into the games together. 

When our chariot ride begins, I realize how dazzling we must look. All eyes are on us. There are cheers of 'District Twelve'. I watch Katniss and follow her lead. As she opens up to the crowd, I do as well; waving and smiling. I do everything I can to keep the attention on us, which isn't hard when you're on fire. Flowers rain down on us in a constant stream, as they often do for the earlier Districts, but never for District Twelve. This is all a first. Soon, they're shouting our names, which they bothered to find in the programs. Something new for District Twelve as well. 

I realize, as we enter the city circle, I'm excited. We suddenly have an advantage I didn't expect. No one will forget us. Suddenly, it feels as though sponsor deals could be in the making. I can tell by the smile on Katniss' face that she feels similarly to me. 

She blows a kiss and everyone in the stands reaches to catch it, soon they're chanting for her kisses. I find myself wanted to do the same, but with a shake of my head, I know that she wouldn't get it. 

The longer we're in the chariot, the tighter Katniss' hold on my hand gets. But, I'm dreading the moment she lets go, I know this will be the last time we'll touch before I die. When she begins to loosen her grip, I talk quickly, "Please. I might fall out of this thing."

Her grip immediately tightens again, securing me in place. I note how they've presented us as a team, my mind fighting to figure out what edge that can give us. I've watched the Hunger Games enough times to know that this will stick out in peoples minds, that it'll mean something. 

We pull up to the president's mansion, allowing for one more shot of airtime for each District, without even watching, I know we got more than our share of time. 

Faster than I expected, we're back with our prep teams, them swarming around us. Each one chattering about what a show we've made. One thing they can all agree on is that, "These will be the best Hunger Games, yet!" 

It sickens me how disconnected they are from reality, but I swallow down my hatred and replace it with a smile. 

When they all finish talking, I realize I'm still glued to Katniss. We both release each other, messaging our hands. 

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," I say.

"It didn't show, I'm sure no one noticed," she reassures me, making me more confident in the show we provided. 

"I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you," I say, not considering the weight of my words, knowing that she won't understand them no matter what I say, "You should wear flames more often, they suit you."

I smile, knowing the shyness from my words is shining through. But, she smiles back, a slight shyness to her smile as well. But, as quickly as it was there, it's gone. 

To my surprise, she steps towards me and kisses the bruise on my cheek. I feel a warmth spread through me that I've never felt before. When I stop reacting from the kiss, I realize all eyes are on us.