In District 1: 

The screen was black. Not a movement, not a rustle, not a sound. It is blank. 

Kurt stares, heart caught in his throat so high, he fears it will stop him from breathing. Not like he can anyway. He holds his breath so long he's afraid he'll forget how to take another. But none of that matters now. All that matters is that the love of his life was somewhere. And he didn't know what was happening.

Blaine was the victor. 

Supposedly. 

They say that he had won. That was what the announcer had echoed across the arena as Blaine, soaked in rain and blood, had stood  emotionlessly. Almost as he had stood a few weeks ago at the reaping. That day that had changed everything. It felt like it belonged to a different age, a different century, a different lifetime, a different story. 

They say he had won. That is what they had said. They told them all to go home and then return a week later to learn more. To find out whether he had survived. Whether the doctors were able to save him. And that was what Kurt had done. He had stayed at home, falling into gruesome dreams. What was worse was that they weren't his imagination. They were real. They were memories of Blaine being ripped apart by tributes, bears, and a mountain. He had stayed at home, silent and numb, staring down at old pictures and letters and a dried corsage of a better time. 

They say that he had won. And that was all that mattered. District 1 was going to get the rewards, the food, the fame, the honor.   

But don't they understand that the words "Blaine Anderson is the victor" were meaningless? Kurt wanted, no needed, to hear that Blaine was alive. Needed to hear that his heart was still beating. Needed to know that he would hold him in his arms again. 

The last Kurt had seen of Blaine he was being lifted into a giant hovercraft that soared up and out of the arena. Through the past few days, he had watched the love of his life cry, scream, shout,climb and run. He had watched him fight and kill. He had watched him fall asleep, something he had dreamed of doing while they were together. What a cruel reality it was that the first time he had watched Blaine fall asleep was while he was bloody, battered, bruised, and miles away. Miles from where he was. Miles from his arms. 

Now he stood waiting for the news. All of District 1 was assembled. And they were silent. Not a whisper. Their breath rises in whisps of white mist into the chilled air. A cough. A sniffle. A cleared throat. 

Suddenly the screen flickers to life. There's a Capitol announcer upon it, with her ridiculously done make-up and hair. A smile is plastered onto her face, as it always is. 

"Ladies and gentlemen of Panem," She giggles, voice high and insincere. "I am pleased to announce that your victor of this year's Hunger Games, Blaine Anderson of District 1, is alive. The doctor's were able to keep him stable and were able to operate. He will make a full recovery. The odds were certainly in his favor! Join us tomorrow with Ceasar Flickerman, who will interview this young man on his victory. Later tonight, we recap the highlights of this year's exciting games." 

The Capitol anthem plays, and the screen switches off again. 

Silence. 

And then cheers. Roars of laughter and applause as the district celebrates the survival of their son, friend, brother, student, and victor. 

Kurt is being hugged from everywhere but all he can do is smile, unable to keep it from spreading across his face and lighting up his eyes and the relieved tears from streaking down his face. 

Blaine was alive. Against all the odds he had survived. 

Blaine had won. Against all the odds he he had won. 

Blaine was coming home.