*****

The knife was a blur as it spiralled through the air, too fast to follow as it slammed into the target with a sickening crack, shaking the board as it shuddered in place.

The noise echoed around the room, barely fading before the second knife joined the first, smacking the board with a strength that spoke of long hours of training.

The third knife was even faster than the second and it hit just above the first, a cluster of knives in the centre of the target.

Kurt breathed out slowly, reaching for his fourth knife as his fingers curled around the cold handle and he tugged it out of his holster. It was too early in the morning to be up, the training room was deserted and barren but that was the way Kurt liked it.

He enjoyed being alone, he had been the centre of attention as a child but now at seventeen the silence greeted him like an old friend, a sign that he could relax and breathe.

For some reason he detested training in front of the other tributes, it made him feel self-conscious and young, his fingers fumbling with ropes as his arms shook with the strain of hauling himself through the obstacle course. The other tributes didn't have to speak the words aloud for him to know what they were thinking.

Swoosh, THUMP.

The knife flew through the air, spiralling in the practiced motion before hitting its target right next to the other three knives, directly in the middle of the board.

Kurt let himself feel a small jolt of satisfaction, letting the pride in his accuracy bubble its way through his stomach as he tried to ignore the sense of apprehension that had been gnawing away at the back of his mind ever since he had volunteered as tribute.

“It's not over yet,” he told himself firmly, “You're stronger and faster than the others give you credit for. It's not over yet.”

Kurt reached for his fifth knife, whipping it out as quickly as he could and watching as it spun through the air to land next to the others.

Of all the people he had lied to, lying to himself was probably the hardest. It had been over for a long time before his reaping day had even arrived and he had accepted that the second he stepped on to the stage, all eyes of Panem focused on his every move.

He hadn't been able to sleep at all on the train, he had barely been able to sleep in the capitol no matter how comfy his silken sheets were or how soft his mattress. If he'd been back home and given a bed such as the one the capitol had supplied he would have been overjoyed. Working as a dress maker in district eight meant he was very aware of what silk was but had never been given the chance to wear it himself.

Visiting the capitol should have been a dream come true for him and yet here he was, at 4 am in the morning practicing his knife throwing over and over again when he could have been indulging in the clothing and food the capitol had to offer.

Swoosh, THUMP.

Kurt studied the board, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension as he marched forward to retrieve his knives.

He'd been happy though, for a while at least in district eight.

He knew that most people led a hard life filled with starvation and cold but for many years he and his parents had lived simply, surviving just enough to make ends meet and enjoying in each other's company.

That is, until his mother died.

That is, until his father remarried.

That is, until, until, until…

Kurt yanked the knives roughly out of the board, slipping them back into their holsters in the loops of material crossing over his chest as he marched back to his original spot, adding five more metres so as to challenge his aim further.

This was his choice, he reminded himself firmly, he chose to volunteer and he'd done so for a reason. There was no point getting upset or angry over things that had happened long ago.

Kurt let out a shaky breath, rolling his shoulders backwards a couple of times to push back any distracting thoughts. He couldn't afford to feel anything right now; he had to concentrate on giving off a cool, disinterested air to the other tributes and perfect as many skills as he could while still in training. He hadn't given much thought to allies- he'd rather stab himself than align with any of the careers. As for the others… well, he was worried about what would happen if he aligned himself with anyone to whom he may grow close.

He'd seen hunger game after hunger game, there was only ever one winner and if he intended to survive then he'd have to ignore any offers of friendship and keep to himself.

Two small and pleasant smiles floated into his mind, making Kurt frown as he remembered the friendliness the two tributes had bestowed upon him yesterday at the feast.

Mercedes Jones from district eleven and Tina Cohen-Chang from district nine, their eyes shining with warmth as they reached out to brush his jacket, gushing about the incredible taste he had.

Kurt liked to think that if it had been under different circumstances they would have been able to be close friends. Instead, in three days' time he would be thrown into an arena and asked to kill them. Emotions were too dangerous to indulge.

Swoosh, THUMP.

Kurt reached for his next knife before the first one had even landed, throwing it as fast as he could to block out the oncoming thoughts.

Tina and Mercedes were both so young, they both wanted to go back home. They were desperate with a longing to survive that hardly bothered him when he thought about the home he would be returning to.

He remembered Mercedes' face when her name had been called, watching from his room on the train as he studied his competitors and tried to still his shaking hands, the magnitude of what he had done finally starting to dawn on him.

She had pushed off several younger siblings who had clutched at her dress and called her name, marching forward with her head held high as she walked up on to the stage and stared out over her district with a defiant look. Kurt had respected her for that, knowing how difficult it had been to mask her emotions, as he had done the exact same thing.

Tina was worse though. When Tina's name was called a man appeared from the crowd, later identified as her fiancé as he screamed her name over and over again, frantically fighting off Peacekeepers as he struggled to get to her. Tina was sobbing by the time she was escorted to the stage, whimpering helplessly as guards dragged her fiancé back into the crowd as he begged and pleaded for them to let him volunteer in her place. He was too old though, and a boy. At the very least it had given the game hosts something to gush over and would help her to stand out in the public's eye.

It would also make her death all that more tragic.

Swoosh, THUMP.

Swoosh, THUMP.

Swoosh, THUMP.

Swoosh, THUMP.

Swoosh-

“You're very good.”

Kurt's knife flew out of his hand as his arm jerked in surprise, the weapon landing several metres to the side as he whirled around to face the intruder, left arm reaching for his next knife on instinct.

Standing in the doorway was the boy from district three. His hands residing in his pockets as he brought them up quickly, eyes widening as he saw Kurt reach for his knife.

“Wow! I-I didn't mean… I'm sorry for surprising you, I just…” The boy stammered out painfully, watching Kurt's every move as he slowly released the handle of his knife and let his arm drop.

Kurt stared at the other tribute, breathing in and out deeply as his heart rate dropped down to a normal pulse. He wasn't a career and as Kurt focused on his face, an image of the boy standing upon his carriage pre-parade flashed into his mind.

The other boy had been nervous that night, tugging at the hem of his dark blue shorts that barely reached his mid-thigh as he bit and licked at his lips. His outfit was meant to be some kind of factory worker's outfit, a connection between the tributes and the many factories in district three.

That was right, Kurt recalled, district three was the district of electronics.

Unfortunately for the other boy his stylist had decided to make his costume a bit more… interesting. Cutting it in strategic places and bringing in with a belt so that it no longer resembled the drab and grey factory overalls, but instead a sexier version. Obviously a cheap shot to get the audience staring at the boy's legs and arms, only the black boots had remained the same, to the district three's boy apparent discomfort.

Kurt hadn't blamed the boy for being irritated with his costume. His own stylist by the name of Fenna had thought it would be a good idea to grab a roll of colourful fabric and wrap it around his lower half and torso as if there had been actual planning gone into his outfit.

“Honestly,” He had snapped at the women as she fastened his cape and fixed some sort of headpiece on top of his hair, “What were you thinking when you designed this? Our district is literally the district of fabric and this was the best you could come up with? Purple and blue work together but adding green throws off the outfit completely, not to mention the amount of skin I'm showing is distasteful.”

“Lighten up Kurt!” Sugar had giggled as she wobbled towards him in her six inch purple stilettos. “The costumes are amazing and the amount of skin we're showing is hot.”

“Maybe for you,” Kurt had muttered, trying to tug down on the edge of the fabric so as to cover more of his legs, “Some of us don't enjoy being objectified.”

“Whatev's,” Sugar had fluttered a perfectly manicured hand at him, “Get over it before we get out there, ‘kay babe? If nobody's looking at my boobs because your scowling's distracting them then I won't hesitate to stab you with my shoes, capiche?”

Sugar had blown an air kiss at him before climbing up on to their carriage, ignoring Kurt's muttered complaints about the obvious lack of talent in the capital's fashion department.

In that moment Kurt had longed to be back home, curled up with Rachel and Quinn as they watched the parade and picked apart the tributes' costumes with a bitchiness reserved only for the hunger games.

“I could have designed something better,” he would often complain while watching the parade. “Look at district five! I could have designed something better than that with my eyes closed.”

“Of course you could, Kurt,” said Rachel, rolling her eyes at Quinn who would be ignoring the both of them while studying her nails, “We get it. Frankly I don't see why it's okay for you to complain about your own talents going unnoticed when the slightest comment about my musical skills are dismissed and ignored in an almost insulting manner. Do you two even realize how lucky you are to be my friends? When my talents have lifted us out of this district and into the shining spotlight of the capitol I will have people begging to have me notice them, throwing themselves at my feet as they applaud until their hands bleed, chanting my name and urging me to-”

“Oh!” Quinn looked up in interest, leaning forward on her knee's as Rachel glared at the interruption, “Here comes district eight, maybe we'll have something good this year.”

Kurt shook his head, the memory disappearing from before his eyes as he remembered why he had had trouble placing the other boy's face. The district three girl tribute had been a stunningly fierce seventeen year old who had strutted around like she owned the place.

What was her name? Sandy? Sandra… Santana. That was it. Anyone standing next to Santana was doomed to be overshadowed.

“I'm sorry,” Kurt shook his head, turning back to the present, “What was your name again?”

“I'm Blaine.” The other boy smiled at him, much calmer now Kurt no longer had a grip upon his knife.

“Kurt.”

“I know who you are,” Blaine gave an embarrassed smile, “I've kind of been following you since you volunteered as tribute.”

“Ah.” Kurt paused, not knowing how to reply. It was widely acknowledged and accepted that every tribute studied their competitors so as to look for weaknesses and strengths, but Kurt still found it unsettling to think of other people studying him in the hopes of finding a way to kill him. He studied the boy's face more closely, drawing his eyes over every feature as he looked for something to make him recall more about the other tribute.

“Wait a second, I think I do remember you.”

“Really?” Blaine perked up, smiling hopefully at the other boy.

“Yeah, don't you have an older brother named Cooper?”

“Oh.” Blaine's shoulders fell, “Yeah I do.”

“He won the hunger games seven years ago didn't he?”

“Yes he did, it was really impressive, the whole district loves him,” Blaine said in an almost monotone, obviously irritated by the topic, “How long have you been able to throw knives like that?”

Kurt blinked at the abrupt change in conversation, shoulders rising warily as he wondered why the other boy was so interested.

“Not too long.” He shrugged, “I'm not even that good.”

Blaine blinked at him in confusion, glancing over at the target where the knives were clustered together in the centre.

“If that's your idea of not good then I'd hate to see your idea of amazing.” He grinned at Kurt widely.

Kurt didn't return the smile, straightening up as he studied Blaine carefully and fixed the boy with a cool, disinterested stare.

“Why are you here? Was there something that you wanted?”

“Oh, I couldn't sleep. I really didn't mean to interrupt you,” Blaine hastily added, “I just decided to go for a walk and heard noises coming from the training room so I came to investigate and well, there you were. I'm just glad it wasn't one of the careers.” Blaine smiled at him again as if they were sharing some kind of joke.

Kurt didn't change the expression on his face but allowed some of the tension to drop from his shoulders, no longer suspicious of being attacked or spied upon. Kurt wasn't naive enough to believe that every tribute wouldn't try to kill him if given the chance, but there was something about the earnest look upon Blaine's face that made Kurt believe he was telling the truth. Obviously no one had ever taught the other boy to lie properly because his emotions and thoughts were written all over him.

“Kurt,” Blaine said hesitantly, realizing that Kurt wasn't going to add anything to the conversation, “I wanted to say this to you before, but I think what you did was really brave.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Volunteering as tribute for that other boy, Arthur Abrams was it?”

“Artie,” Kurt interrupted, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he said the name aloud, “Nobody calls him Arthur.”

“Artie then,” Blaine said firmly, “I was really impressed, it took a lot of courage to do what you did.”

It was the combination of earnestness, shyness and honesty on Blaine's face that stopped Kurt from pulling back completely. He glanced to the side, thinking quickly as his eyes flickered back to Blaine's face.

A part of him wanted to keep talking to Blaine but he was scared that doing so might imply a friendship that was beyond what Kurt was capable of.

The thought of being rude, of ordering Blaine to leave, didn't settle quite right around Kurt's shoulders.

It was too early for this, but Blaine seemed so genuinely nice and open that Kurt couldn't quite bring himself to shut him down. Besides, it wasn't as if Kurt's life had been full of an abundant amount of nice people.

“He's my friend, I couldn't let him die,” Kurt started to explain slowly.  “A couple of years ago one of the machines at the factory exploded and parts of the wall caved in, he came out with a severe leg injury that couldn't be healed. Some days he can barely walk, let alone run like he would need to in the games. He would have been dead within minutes.”

Kurt sighed, rubbing at one of his arms as he started to shiver. He hadn't noticed it when he was training but the room was freezing. Obviously the capitol had no need to heat it when they didn't expect anyone to be there.

“Not only was his disability a disadvantage but the girl tribute, Sugar Motta- Artie was in love with her. He would never have been able to kill her or watch her die. I just knew when I saw his face as her name was called that he would have sacrificed himself so she could live. He would have been a dead weight though. Nobody in our district has any experience in surviving in the wild.”

“District eight's very urban, right?” Blaine tilted his head in thought.

“We all live in apartment buildings and have no experience with weapons until we're chosen for the Hunger games. It gives the other districts a bit of an unfair advantage, in my opinion.”

“All the tributes have an unfair disadvantage compared to the careers. The capitol has it's favourites before the games have even begun.”

Kurt glanced up at him sharply in surprise and for the first time since Blaine had entered the room he took the time to really look at him.

Wide hazel eyes stared back at him, unwavering from Kurt's face and although Kurt had been right in thinking he was short and small, there was a sense of confidence in the way he held his shoulders back and made direct eye contact. His black hair had been cropped much more shortly than when Kurt had seen him being chosen at his reaping, Kurt suspected that this was the influence of his stylist and approved of the way the barely there curls framed his face.

“Cute,” a small part of Kurt who lived for fashion and fawned over the top ten hottest boys at his school supplied.

Kurt pushed the thought away, turning to face Blaine with a carefully measured look.

“Listen, we really shouldn't be talking about things like that. It's late and I'm tired, I'm sure everyone has the exact same chances as each other.” Kurt's voice was controlled as he gave Blaine a warning look, hoping he would pick up on the message.

Accusing the capitol of foul play was not the right way to get yourself into their good graces and making people like you was one of the most important aspects of the Hunger games. To stand and talk about people being biased to the careers in an area that was probably being monitored was almost suicidal.

“It's not like we can pretend it's not happening, we see it every year at the hunger games and they still expect us to believe the odds could ever be in our favour.”

“Well that's your opinion” Kurt said, hands tightening on his knife holsters.

“My opinion? It's the truth, Kurt! Don't tell me you can't see it too!” Blaine stepped forward as Kurt stepped back warily, trying to keep space between them, “Everyone who has been reaped is dead. The best we have to hope for is an easy and painless death and trying to pretend that we're all on equal footing is just deluding ourselves. It's not even just about the fighting and surviving, it's about having the right look and sponsors aren't going to send money to any of the outer districts, not when they know just as well as we do that we only have a two day life expectancy. The odds are never in our favour, never, and the only way you can survive is if you fight twice as hard to overcome that.”

“I know!” Kurt snapped back, interrupting Blaine's rant as Blaine recoiled in surprise, “I know, okay? But yelling about it in a bugged room with capitol cameras trained on you isn't going to solve anything. And you know what? Maybe I don't want to think about it, maybe some of us want to believe we have a chance of surviving this thing. I wasn't aware that was a crime.”

The effect of his words was instantaneous. Blaine's shoulders seemed to slump as the frustration disappeared. He took a step forward, his face worried and apologetic as he reached out a hand to touch Kurt, only to retreat when Kurt shifted backwards to avoid contact.

“Kurt-”

“Don't.”

“I-I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking.”

“I said don't.”

Kurt stalked away, tugging his knife holsters over his head and throwing them at a storage hook on the wall. Someone else could come and clean them up in the morning, he was sure there was some Avox whose job it was to pack away the weapons.

He stormed past Blaine, wrenching his arm out of the other boy's reach when Blaine tried to stop him.

“Kurt-”

“Goodnight Blaine.” Kurt's tone was final as he angrily walked down the hallway, not looking back even when he had reached the elevator and pressed the number eight for his floor. The last thing Kurt heard before the doors closed was the sound of something heavy being thrown at a wall. Kurt forced himself not to care, breathing out deeply as he focused on the flashing numbers of the elevator.

This was what he wanted, no alliances and no way to get sidetracked. If he were to meet Blaine in the arena he would have to kill him without a second thought, that was the way the game worked. Blaine's apologetic and worried eyes floated into Kurt's mind but he quickly forced them back out again. It wasn't his fault, if Blaine wanted to die then Kurt wouldn't let him be dragged down with him. He had to fight alone, or not at all.

******

The next day found Kurt building traps, ignoring the other tributes as the career's mocking laugh carried across to him. Kurt gritted his teeth and forced himself to continue building his snares, his untrained hands fumbling with the wires as he curled them around into the right shape. He could occasionally hear the soft giggle of Mercedes or Tina as they trained together at the fire making station and a part of him longed to get up and join them. He wanted to lose himself in their company, gossiping and laughing together as they distracted each other from the games that awaited them.

Kurt knew he couldn't though.

He knew firsthand what it was like to lose people he loved and the pain had been so intense that he couldn't bear to go through it again. The more he could distance himself from the other competitors, the better off he would be. Emotional connections would just drag him down and Kurt already had enough of a disadvantage.

Kurt threw the snare down angrily, huffing to himself as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. The wire was bent out of shape and tangled- if he was really this terrible at making snares in the games then he would be dead within days.

“Having trouble?” Asked a quiet voice behind him.

Kurt gritted his teeth, swiping his fringe up off of his face as he refused to turn around.

“What gave you that opinion?” He muttered darkly.

“Kurt, I really am sorry about what I said last night.” Blaine dropped to sit down beside Kurt, “I was hoping to give you a better first impression but sometimes I just blurt things out without thinking. It's one of my worst flaws.”

Kurt didn't reply, instead reaching over for a new piece of wire and watched the trainer's movements from where she was teaching the girl from district seven.

“I just…” Blaine sighed to himself, “I'm angry. I'm stuck in these games where I'm competing against guys twice as big as me and expected to-to murder other kids so I can be crowned victor. Everyone looks at what Cooper did and expects me to be just as good but I know I can't do it. I could never kill anyone, I'm not like that. I'm just Blaine.”

“Don't be so naive, anyone could kill if they had to,” Kurt muttered irritably, “If it came down to a matter of life or death.”

“I know, I know. But when I think about it… I want to throw up or something. I look at the people around me and think ‘how could I possibly be asked to kill them?' and you, you just…”

“What about me?” Kurt asked, still appearing disinterested as his hands slowly twisted the wire into shape.

“How could I ever kill someone who I- never mind. What I meant to say was, I'm sorry if I offended you. This is a bad situation and whatever way you choose to deal with it is fine.”

Kurt didn't respond for a few moments, instead focusing on his nearly completed snare as he attached it to a fake tree trunk. He could feel Blaine's eyes staring at the side of his face hesitantly and he sighed inwardly. For some reason the other tribute really seemed to care about his feelings, something Kurt found odd considering in a couple of days they would both be dead and any disagreements would be forgotten. Kurt couldn't deny him this small peace of mind though and finally turned to him, letting the wire slip out of his fingers.

“Fine, I forgive you.”

Blaine's eyes immediately lit up with happiness as if those four words had just completely made his day.

“Thank you.”

“Don't mention it. I've got other things to worry about besides you being upset at offending me.”

“Of course.” Blaine said hurriedly, “I didn't mean to imply-”

“Just forget it. Now, was there something else you wanted or did you just come over here to apologise?”

“I- yes. Now that you mention it, I was wondering if you could help me out with the snares? You seem to be pretty good at it.”

Kurt's head snapped up to meet his gaze incredulously. His eyes travelling back to look at his first attempt, bent and twisted out of shape and then glancing at Blaine's hopeful face once again, staring at him without a trace of sarcasm.

Kurt decided to answer that with his best “Are you kidding me?” stare.

“District three isn't as bad off as other districts. We're not anywhere near as comfortable as the career districts but our climate's pretty good and not a lot of kids put in their names for tessare.” Blaine shifted uncomfortably, shuffling so he could face Kurt more clearly. “We don't have the opportunity to train for the hunger games. We're not near any forests and weapons are illegal. Peacekeepers search your house if they think you're hoarding knives or swords. We don't have any knowledge about trapping animals or making snares until we get here. Our district brings in enough money to survive and buy food for most of the population- electronics is a huge part of keeping the capitol running.”

“Lucky for you,” Kurt muttered.

“Is district 8 much different? The only thing I know about the other districts is what they teach us at school and what Cooper's told me from his victory tour.”

Kurt paused at that, wondering what to say. It's true Kurt was curious to find out more about the world around him, the books at school merely listed what each district specialised in and gave vague descriptions of their history. Still, talking to Blaine might encourage him to stay and Kurt had already put so much effort into pushing people away.

“District 8 is very… controlled.” He answered finally, “Peacekeepers are known to perform random raids on people's houses and people are whipped for stepping out of line. You can almost feel the tension whenever you step outside. Besides that, district 8 is cold almost all of the time. Occasionally we'll get a couple of days of warmth but it passes quickly. In winter snow completely covers the apartment buildings and ground.”

“Snow? That sounds amazing,” Blaine said wistfully.

“Yeah, it almost makes up for the complete lack of vegetation.”

“I've never seen snow before.”

“Well I've never seen trees. The fumes from the factory kill everything.”

Blaine paused, biting his lip as he sensed the danger of replying. He reached forward to pick up a piece of wire and slowly began to copy Kurt's movements, fingers fumbling as he twisted the wire into place.

“I-I've been to district three before.” Kurt continued as if he hadn't paused, “I was lucky. My mother was born in the capitol but used to accompany my grandfather to check on the factories of district eight. She met my father there and said it was love at first sight.”

“Really?” Blaine seemed to melt at Kurt's words, “That's amazing.”

“Hm.”

“Do you- do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I used to,” Kurt's hands stilled as he remembered back to a time when he had sighed over princes in fairytales, leaning into his mother's side as he traced a finger over the delicate pictures.

“Not anymore. Anyway she fell in love with him and decided to stay in district eight. My grandfather used to visit her for a while until he got really sick in the last five years of his life. The capitol allowed us to visit him once every year because of his position of authority and since my mother was still sort of a citizen of the capitol. He died when I was thirteen.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's fine, I didn't know him that well. The reason I've seen district three is because we used to change trains at the district's station. We weren't allowed to take the direct train, we were kind of stuck in the back with the animals. Frankly when I was younger, being allowed out of the compartment after so many hours of having to sit still was paradise.”

“I can imagine,” Blaine grinned at him.

Kurt smiled tentatively, winding the wire around his fingers.

“It'll be nice to see the capitol one last time,” Kurt murmured, letting his hand drop down to his side.

“Kurt…”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Kurt, I want to be in an alliance with you.”

“What?” Kurt froze in shock, flinching seconds later as he tightened the wire too tightly around one of his fingers.

“I want us to form an alliance.”

“I- no!”

Blaine's entire body seemed to slump forwards, his face falling into a look of utter dejection. Kurt opened his mouth but realized he had no idea what to say; there were no consoling words to give to the other boy and instead he turned his head so as to avoid Blaine's huge, rejected eyes.

“Oh.” Blaine said, “Sorry, I just thought-”

“Blaine, I don't plan on forming an alliance with anyone.” Kurt spoke the words at his lap, concentrating on unwinding the wire and rubbing at his fingers. “I'd prefer to fight by myself, it's nothing personal.”

Blaine didn't reply to that, only half heartedly shrugging his shoulders to show that he'd heard.

“I thought you were going to be in an alliance with that other district one boy anyway. Wasn't his name Sebastian?”

Blaine glanced up at him in surprise, shoulders uncurling as he stared at him in confusion.

“What? Why would you think that?”

“He's always following you around and staring at you like he'd like to- well. You could be in an alliance with him.” Kurt encouraged him, “You'd probably get a lot further with him than with me on your side.”

“It's not about that Kurt, I don't want Sebastian,” Blaine's voice was a combination of desperation and frustration, “I don't want anybody else, I just want to be with you.”

“In a couple of days it won't even matter-”

“Don't,” Blaine said sharply.

“All I'm saying is-”

“Don't,” Blaine snapped.

Blaine stood up abruptly, straightened out his shirt and stalked away. Kurt watched him leave, recoiling backwards in shock at the burst of anger.

What had he said?

What had he done that had pissed Blaine off so quickly?

Kurt turned back to his traps, breathing out slowly. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he reached up a hand to gently rub at his temple. He couldn't understand the other boy's reaction.

Kurt had been speaking the truth when he told Blaine he would be better off paired with Sebastian. There was something about the district one boy's smirky meerkat face, laughing openly as Kurt failed to fire an arrow straight that made Kurt want to pick up a knife and hurl it at his forehead, but he couldn't deny that Sebastian would end up being the stronger player.

He also couldn't deny that Sebastian would probably leap at the chance to have Blaine join the careers. Everyone in the room could see it, the way Sebastian followed Blaine with his eyes, dropping his gaze when Blaine bent down to pick something up and staring at his face with a confidence that only a career could possess.

Kurt pulled the wire around his hand so tight that it was nearly cutting into his skin. The way Sebastian leered at the other boy irritated him beyond belief but he forced himself to ignore it and concentrate on more important things. If he was being honest with himself, he liked Blaine. He'd liked him ever since he'd seen him at his reaping, withdrawn and slightly shell-shocked but standing straight and still for the cameras. Kurt had liked him when Blaine had caught his eye at the beginning of the parade and offered him a timid smile and in different circumstances, they might have been friends.

This wasn't a different circumstance though, this was the hunger games and while he didn't want the other boy to get hurt, forming an alliance would just force Kurt to watch him die. Forming an alliance would force Kurt to watch him be killed off by another tribute, all the while knowing that Kurt could do nothing to help him.

Blaine joining Sebastian was the best option for him, even if Kurt would gladly push the taller boy off a cliff.

In truth he was still a little confused by why Blaine had asked to join him out of all the other tributes. It was true he had accidently stumbled upon Kurt's knife throwing skills that Kurt had hoped to keep a secret but apart from that Kurt had practically admitted to him that he had no idea how to hunt and very little skills that could be transferred to surviving in the wild. There was nothing to gain by aligning with him; in fact by denying his request, Kurt had done him a favour.

Blaine confused him, he couldn't understand the other boy's motive at all and that unnerved him a little.

He grew up with guys like Puckerman and Finn whose thought processes, while crude, were easy enough to understand. Blaine, on the other hand, was a completely different story.

“What did the pocket sized cutie want from you? Hopefully not help with snares, that road would just lead to disappointment.” Mercedes raised an eyebrow at his lopsided traps as she and Tina sat down beside him.

“Oh, as if you could do better,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes affectionately to let her know there was no bite behind his words.

“He looked pretty upset when he left, we just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Tina smiled at him gently.

“Uh huh, I know we're not supposed to but if anyone's messing with you, you come to me and I'll sort them out, okay? We non-crazy's have to stick together.”

“Don't worry, Blaine's harmless,” Kurt said firmly. “He wanted to be in an alliance with me and I said no.”

“You said no?”

“I don't plan to join with anyone.”

Kurt could almost feel the crackle of energy as Mercedes stiffened her shoulders, exchanging a look with Tina behind Kurt's back.

“Kurt…”

“It's better this way.”

“For who?” Mercedes asked dryly, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice.

“Kurt, we just don't understand,” Tina brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and shuffled closer to his side, “Tell us why. Explain it to us.”

“You'll be better off without me, I'm a dress maker. I don't know how to survive in the wild.”

“And you think we do?” Tina asked.

“That's different, you're not… look, can we just drop it? I'm sick of talking about this when I've already made up my mind.”

Mercedes let out a slow frustrated breath, letting the tension drop out of her shoulders as she nodded her head slowly.

“Fine. I don't want to argue anymore. If you're done being unreasonable then pass over the wire, you fumbling to make a snare is almost painful to watch. My girl Tina's a genius when it comes to snares.”

“I'm not that good,” Tina said with a touch of embarrassment, “Mike taught me everything I know.” The young girl trailed off, biting her lip as she stared off to the side, lost in thought.

Kurt and Mercedes glanced at each other, sensing the danger of letting Tina dwell in thoughts of her fiancé when the day of the games loomed ever closer.

Kurt didn't know whether to count himself as lucky that he would never experience what Tina had. She was going into the games where it was unlikely she would come out and her fiancé would be left to mourn, but as Kurt stared at her distant eyes and the way her hair fell around her face to hide her expression from view he started to wonder if she would have considered it worth it. If Mike would have considered loving her worth it even though he would have to watch her die before they could be officially married.

“You can thank him when you get back home,” Mercedes said firmly, snapping all three of them out of their thoughts.

“Yeah,” Tina smiled weakly, “Of course.”

There was a painful pause for a few seconds where no-one knew what to say, before Mercedes leaned forward to pick up a piece of wire, dispelling the tension.

“Watch my hands boy,” She turned to Kurt with a pointed glare, “You'll be a snare making machine by the time I'm finished with you.”