Ship: Kazama/Tsukamoto Fandom: DAYS Major Tags: Violence, character death Other Tags: it's been so long since I've read/watched THG that I can't vouch for this, main thing is murder kids though right, I wanted to put Mizuki in here too but then the whole thing would be Mizuki ('Bfffffff. That's the sound of his head exploding.') Word Count: 714
Tsukamoto wasn’t one the youngest tributes selected that year, but with his rosy cheeks and dark, startled blue eyes, it was easy enough to see why he’d stir up some sympathy among the sponsor-class. Not enough to help him, of course, there were kids like Tsukamoto in the Games every year. It was the aim of the Games, after all, to destroy youth and innocence and that Tsukamoto had in spades.
Jin was the same age as Tsukamoto, but he was a Career. He’d done his time in the arena two years before and emerged the victor in one of the shortest Games in recent history. Indou, a past winner who had decided to take him under his wing, said that Jin’s win had displeased some of the higher ups -- his brutality made for good television, but his efficiency did not.
Jin watched Tsukamoto run into the woods as the starting bell went off. If nothing else, he ran well. If only that could save him.
*
Past victors didn’t tend to watch the Games. Indou didn’t, even though he had trained the tribute for his district this year -- Narukami, who was small and deadly -- and when Jin asked why, Indou had shrugged. “It doesn’t help me to see him suffer, and it doesn’t help him either. If you want them to win, you have to convince the sponsors to support them.”
He looked at Jin, his eyes sharp. Jin understood him well enough.
If Tsukamoto won, then Narukami would lose.
*
Everyday, Jin dreaded getting the news of the tributes’ deaths. He scanned each update as they came in, but so far, Tsukamoto’s name wasn’t on them. He seemed to be surviving by eluding the rest, but that wouldn’t last forever, not as the number of tributes continued to fall. Jin was finally able to convince a sponsor to donate a blowgun and twelve darts -- the number of the still-living tributes -- to Tsukamoto. Jin watched long enough to see him receive the gift and look up to the sky in wonder. He wondered if Tsukamoto knew that he existed.
*
Only two left now. Tsukamoto and Narukami. No one was betting on Tsukamoto.
No one but Jin.
*
Narukami had done so much damage to Tsukamoto that there was doubt that this year’s Hunger Games would even have a winner. But despite everything, Tsukamoto held on stubbornly to life, day after day, and Jin was forced to act as his spokesman, do the rounds, charm those who needed to be charmed in order for Tsukamoto’s medical bills to be paid for. He hadn’t talked to Indou since Narukami’s death. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.
Jin didn’t actually meet Tsukamoto until six months after the Games were over.
Tsukamoto’s cheeks were still pink and his eyes were still blue. But he looked back at Jin with an expression that Jin could easily recognize, because he’d seen it on his own face often enough. It was doubt and pain so deep that it couldn’t be hidden.
He wanted to take Tsukamoto’s hand and shake it, to tell him that he was his friend, that he had helped him survive. But had he been a friend, to do all that? Or did he just want another person to be broken in the way he was?
“Why did you help me?” Tsukamoto asked, not looking at him. His eyes were trained on his bandaged hands, folded neatly on his lap.
“You were so unlikely,” Jin said with a smile, “I mean, you were so hopeless that I had to help.”
Let Tsukamoto look at him now and hate him. Let him see what a rotten person he was. Instead, Tsukamoto looked at him and burst into tears. Jin was so startled that he almost fell over, scrambling to find a tissue or something for Tsukamoto to wipe his face with.
“Tsukamoto -- Tsukushi, don’t cry, it’s all right,” Jin muttered when he found it, handing a fuzzy tissue that had been in his pocket for days. Tsukushi stopped in mid-sob.
“Sorry,” Jin said, “don’t you want me to call you that?”
“No, I -- it’s been so long since -- I like it. Please don’t stop.”
Carefully, Jin placed a small kiss on top of Tsukushi’s sweaty forehead. “All right. Welcome back.”
FILL: Team Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, M
Fandom: DAYS
Major Tags: Violence, character death
Other Tags: it's been so long since I've read/watched THG that I can't vouch for this, main thing is murder kids though right, I wanted to put Mizuki in here too but then the whole thing would be Mizuki ('Bfffffff. That's the sound of his head exploding.')
Word Count: 714
>:(
Also on AO3
***
Tsukamoto wasn’t one the youngest tributes selected that year, but with his rosy cheeks and dark, startled blue eyes, it was easy enough to see why he’d stir up some sympathy among the sponsor-class. Not enough to help him, of course, there were kids like Tsukamoto in the Games every year. It was the aim of the Games, after all, to destroy youth and innocence and that Tsukamoto had in spades.
Jin was the same age as Tsukamoto, but he was a Career. He’d done his time in the arena two years before and emerged the victor in one of the shortest Games in recent history. Indou, a past winner who had decided to take him under his wing, said that Jin’s win had displeased some of the higher ups -- his brutality made for good television, but his efficiency did not.
Jin watched Tsukamoto run into the woods as the starting bell went off. If nothing else, he ran well. If only that could save him.
*
Past victors didn’t tend to watch the Games. Indou didn’t, even though he had trained the tribute for his district this year -- Narukami, who was small and deadly -- and when Jin asked why, Indou had shrugged. “It doesn’t help me to see him suffer, and it doesn’t help him either. If you want them to win, you have to convince the sponsors to support them.”
He looked at Jin, his eyes sharp. Jin understood him well enough.
If Tsukamoto won, then Narukami would lose.
*
Everyday, Jin dreaded getting the news of the tributes’ deaths. He scanned each update as they came in, but so far, Tsukamoto’s name wasn’t on them. He seemed to be surviving by eluding the rest, but that wouldn’t last forever, not as the number of tributes continued to fall. Jin was finally able to convince a sponsor to donate a blowgun and twelve darts -- the number of the still-living tributes -- to Tsukamoto. Jin watched long enough to see him receive the gift and look up to the sky in wonder. He wondered if Tsukamoto knew that he existed.
*
Only two left now. Tsukamoto and Narukami. No one was betting on Tsukamoto.
No one but Jin.
*
Narukami had done so much damage to Tsukamoto that there was doubt that this year’s Hunger Games would even have a winner. But despite everything, Tsukamoto held on stubbornly to life, day after day, and Jin was forced to act as his spokesman, do the rounds, charm those who needed to be charmed in order for Tsukamoto’s medical bills to be paid for. He hadn’t talked to Indou since Narukami’s death. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.
Jin didn’t actually meet Tsukamoto until six months after the Games were over.
Tsukamoto’s cheeks were still pink and his eyes were still blue. But he looked back at Jin with an expression that Jin could easily recognize, because he’d seen it on his own face often enough. It was doubt and pain so deep that it couldn’t be hidden.
He wanted to take Tsukamoto’s hand and shake it, to tell him that he was his friend, that he had helped him survive. But had he been a friend, to do all that? Or did he just want another person to be broken in the way he was?
“Why did you help me?” Tsukamoto asked, not looking at him. His eyes were trained on his bandaged hands, folded neatly on his lap.
“You were so unlikely,” Jin said with a smile, “I mean, you were so hopeless that I had to help.”
Let Tsukamoto look at him now and hate him. Let him see what a rotten person he was. Instead, Tsukamoto looked at him and burst into tears. Jin was so startled that he almost fell over, scrambling to find a tissue or something for Tsukamoto to wipe his face with.
“Tsukamoto -- Tsukushi, don’t cry, it’s all right,” Jin muttered when he found it, handing a fuzzy tissue that had been in his pocket for days. Tsukushi stopped in mid-sob.
“Sorry,” Jin said, “don’t you want me to call you that?”
“No, I -- it’s been so long since -- I like it. Please don’t stop.”
Carefully, Jin placed a small kiss on top of Tsukushi’s sweaty forehead. “All right. Welcome back.”