“Kurt wake up.”

Kurt shifted in his sleep, groaning.

“Come on boy. Kurt.” The voice whispered again.

Kurt slowly flickered his eyes open, raising himself into a sitting position. He stretched his arms out, wincing as his body cracked, his muscles and back aching.

“About time sleepy head.”

Twisting himself around, he finds himself staring into Mercedes’s dark chocolate eyes.

“Mornin’”

Kurt blinks. Once. Twice. Again.

“Mercedes? Why are you… What?” He says groggily, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Kurt. You do know where you are right?” She says softly.

“My house….” Kurt lets his hands drop and looks around, eyes widening as he takes in the huddled crowds around him, all curled up on blankets on the hard pavement, cuddling with each other to fend off the cold morning chill, the giant screen suspended in front of him. “…Oh.” He replies as realization hits him.

Suddenly he shoots up, “Blaine!” He cries loudly. Beside him Finn starts a bit before sinking his head back down, pulling a sleeping Rachel closer.

“Shhh! Quiet down you don’t want to wake everyone up!” Mercedes scolds in a hushed voice.

Quieting down Kurt looks at his friend with panicked eyes. “Oh god I didn’t mean to sleep. Has anything happened? Is he-“

“Calm down he’s still asleep. I’m waking you up now because most of the tributes are starting to wake up and I knew you wouldn’t want to miss anything. Now get up and wash your face and let’s grab some breakfast.”

Kurt nods slowly, stealing a quick glance at the screen as he rises to his feet. Depicted was some random tribute crouching setting a snare. The scene switched to another asleep in a tree. Reassured he wasn’t going to miss anything, he follows Mercedes through the sleeping throng of people. Some are awake and nod at him in acknowledgement and some pity as he passes but the majority are asleep.

He used to remember that he was confused as to why people would sleep in the square, live there for the games. He used to think them shallow, since watching wouldn’t help the people at the other end of the cameras. He used to think going home to sleep the night and then returning would be the smarter idea.

Now he understood. Kurt couldn’t even bear the thought of leaving the square. The majority of District 1 was huddled together on the hard cobblestones, offering comfort and support to the family and friends of the affected. It was breathtaking.

As he carefully stepped over and around the people, Kurt scans the audience. Here and there he recognized a face: family friends, teachers, students from McKinley. As he passes a group of huddled sleeping boys in tattered navy blazers, he hears a crackle underneath his feet. Looking down and moving away, Kurt swallows down a lump in his throat as he reads the small sign he had stepped on:

Once a Warbler, Always a Warbler. Kick Some Ass Blaine!

Taking in a shaky breath, he tears his away from the sign and follows Mercedes to the edges of the square where water troughs are set up. He washes his face, blinking away the droplets that catch on his lashes, straightening his wrinkled shirt. For once Kurt Hummel didn’t care about his appearance, or that he hadn’t done his skin care routine. All Kurt Hummel was thinking about was returning to his spot underneath the giant screen.

“Take this.” Mercedes whispered, handing him a soft t-shirt. “It’s Finn’s so it might be a little big but it’s better than ruining your nice clothes.”

“Thanks Mercedes.” Kurt replies in relief, slipping off the stained button down and slipping into the old t-shirt, sighing in pleasure as the cool fabric slides down his warm skin.

“No problem, let’s go get somethin’ to eat.”

The two friends make their way to a set of long tables at the outskirts of the square, where a make-shift serving area is set up. One of the only positives about the games is that the Capitol served food. It may not be delicious, but it was food nevertheless, and for a few days no one in District 1 would go hungry.

The two wait in silence for their turn. Kurt stands, twisting the plastic plate in his fingers, exhaling softly and watching his warm breath mingle with the chill air, small wisps of grey floating from his mouth. He is brought back to a memory. The snow was falling gently around them.

A boy with dark curls was opening his face to the sky, sticking his tongue out as he tried to catch an icy flake. He was laughing, spinning in the white. Kurt remembered bending down to take him in his arms and hold his warmth close. He was kissing him deeply, was running his fingers through those dark silky curls. He remembered slipping on a patch of ice, and landing in the snow laughing. The boy with dark curls twisted from underneath him and Kurt remembered looking down into smiling hazel eyes, the only barrier between their faces the wispy fog that slipped out of their mouths. He remembered leaning down for another kiss…

Kurt blinked the memory away quickly and approached the table when it was his turn. The Peacekeepers slop the breakfast down on their plates, a small meal of stale bread and watery oatmeal.

Mercedes leads him back to their spot. Everyone else is still asleep, so the two arrange their stuff so they can sit without disturbing them. They eat in silence, wearily watching the screen, but nothing appears except images of sleeping or hunting tributes or recaps of gruesome deaths.
Behind them, Finn coughs and Kurt turns around, securely covering his step brother’s and Rachel’s sleeping forms with another blanket. He watches them sleep for a minute until Mercedes calls his name quietly, wrenching him out of the peaceful moment.

He spun around, frantic eyes latching onto the screen, but they softened. Projected onto it was Blaine. He was curled up into himself, fast asleep. If it wasn’t for the knife still clutched in his hand, it would have seemed like the most tranquil thing Kurt had ever seen. His eyes moved from behind his eyelids. Kurt wondered what he was dreaming about. He hoped it was a good dream. Blaine’s curls flopped lazily over his face, and Kurt felt his heart tug at the sudden urge to brush them away.

“He looks like such a child.” Mercedes whispered.

Kurt gave a quiet laugh, eyes still glued on his boyfriend’s sleeping face, “He’s always a child. I swear it’s like he’s five sometimes.” The smile dropped from his lips, and Kurt knotted his hands in his lap, “Mercedes… I don’t think… I won’t be able to… not without him…”

Dark warm hands covered his shaking ones, clasping them tightly. “I don’t think God will take him away from you. Everything happens for a reason. Have faith...”

“You know I have none.”

“You don’t have to have faith in God. Have faith in Blaine.”

“I’m trying.” Kurt squeezed Mercedes hand in reply, but then whimpered as the image disappeared, and instead was replaced with the District 2 tribute savagely slaughtering his companion.

After a few minutes of bloody scenes as the sun rose over the arena, Blaine’s face finally reappeared on the screen. Strands of sunlight softly stroked his face, and Kurt watched intently as his hazel eyes slowly fluttered open.