SPARK ✩ CORIOLANUS SNOW.¹

𝐨𝐧𝐞.

          The heavy footfalls of Peacekeeper steps echoed in the alleyways outside of the Carlisle apartment building, commandant demands for the training soldiers to keep tact. Gravel crunched under their boots and the leather of Jude's shoes as he slowed himself to a stop in their presence. His hand reached out to press against the chest of his brother, Sage, halting his nervously eager jog at once. 

They were everywhere on the day of the Reaping, but Jude thought that this cluster was a bit excessive. He knew better than to stare too long though, dropping his head in acknowledgement once the Head nodded at him. The hand he held against Sage's shirt tightened into a fist, yanking once to ensure that he, too, averted his gaze. 

Just as the Peacekeepers were in multitude today, they were at large. Their brutality was relentless; always seeking a reason to drive the butt of their rifle into the nose of a potential tribute. Further punishment for the rebellion, no less, as if the Games themselves weren't enough. At least they were in 2, Jude had heard in passing once, over the immobilized body of a man who hadn't knelt in time. The others aren't as lucky. 

The boots picked up again, and Jude dared to lift his head. The dreary gray of their building loomed over him, the light from the windows reflecting dull gold on the sidewalk they stood. Next to him, Sage cleared his throat. 

Sweat still stuck to his forehead, dark blonde strands wet and stringy against his skin. His mouth opened in a small pant, chest heaving from the training and from the walk back from the Center. "It isn't much help to shove a sword into my hand on the last possible day," he heaved, one hand swiping sweat off of his upper lip. 

Jude's lip curled up in a teasing smile. "You're the one who refuses to go every year until the day before." 

"You're insufferable." 

"I'm trying," Jude huffed, slinging an arm across his younger brother's sweat-drenched shoulders, "to keep you alive." 

At that, Sage fell silent. Jude gave him a reassuring squeeze before starting to walk again, leading him toward the entrance to their apartment building. By then, their mother will have laid out Sage's best shirt -- freshly washed and dried in the place across from the Center, and hand ironed, too. She will have pressed his pants smooth and creaseless. She will have worried herself sick. 

Even despite Jude's insistence of taking Sage to the Center, she worried. Much more than she ever did with Jude. Sure, she dreaded either of her boys being Reaped into the Games, but the possibility of Sage was something unimaginable for any of them. Soft, sensible Sage with his baby face and golden blonde hair and sunshine eyes. No amount of training at the open-to-all training Center could break the gentleness in him. Nothing could break him like the Games would if he were ever to be called, and now, for the last two years, Jude was incapable of doing anything to protect him from the brutality of them. 

Every apartment door on their way inside was closed, though some restless chatter could be heard through the wood of some of them. Parents fussing over their children and their outfits, children fussing over their parents. Jude didn't miss his mother's shaking fingers as they buttoned his dress shirt, or his father's stern voice wavering. He was only partly glad to be free from it all; the other part still clung to his relentless fear for his brother. 

It was once they reached their floor three apartment that Sage hesitated at the door. His hand hovered over the knob, staring at it like it might tarnish beneath his touch. 

Jude stepped in front of him, touching in the code and pushing the door open. "There's still a few hours," he reassured, nudging Sage with his shoulder to urge him inside. Sage hesitated only once more before he stepped in. "You have plenty of time to be coddled to all hell before we go face the Capitol."