Jayce wasn't sure he wanted to win anymore.

He'd spent years convinced otherwise. District 2 made sure of that. Training since childhood, volunteer mentality drilled into him with every cracked bone and mantra. The Games were supposed to be glory. Legacy. Proof that the winner was better than the rest.

It had been easier, then. When it was all just numbers and odds, sparring and simulations. When the academy taught him what to hit, where to stab, learning how to kill clean and fast. He had volunteered without hesitation. He knew what was expected of him.

And yet.

And yet, Jayce found himself frozen behind the treeline, heart thudding too loud in his ears as he watched you, kneeling in the stream. You were alone. No traps, no backup. Not even a weapon at your side. Not even a shirt on your back, just you, the water, and a brief illusion of safety.

His first thought was that he shouldn't be there. You must have been thinking that he was still sleeping, exhausted from the previous night's kill. He was an intruder, here. Disturbing this fragile peace you were desperately grasping onto. He shouldn't have been there. And yet, he was, staring at a drop of water making its way down your back.

His second thought was that this was the perfect moment. He had a clear shot. His knife was grasped tightly in his hand, still sharp. The scene was playing by itself in his mind. The sound of bubbling water could cover the sound of his footsteps until he was right behind you. And then he'd slit your throat. Your body would fall into the water with a splash. You wouldn't even have time to realise what had happened before the cannon would ring out.

It would be so easy. Child's play. The kind of kills that they'd put in the easiest simulations, the ones that they showed the first years. One swift motion, before everything got worse. Because it would get worse, Jayce was sure of it. He had to get rid of you, and your laugh, and your smile, and the way your skin gleamed in the morning sun, before he let himself hope.

And then your head turned to look at him. As if you had always known he was there. And his resolve crumbled in an instant, drowned out by the sound of water and your laugh. Your lips parted to say something that he didn't hear. That he didn't listen to, too distracted by the mirth in your eyes.

For a second, he was disgusted. Disgusted at himself, for even considering killing you here. Disgusted at the games, for forcing someone like you into a place like this. Disgusted at you, for daring to still be so alive.

Jayce shook his head slightly, the knife slipping from his grasp. It fell to the ground, half-forgotten at his feet. He swallowed. "You, uh, you look stupid."

It wasn't a very pretty thing to say. And it broke the moment. But it was better than letting his thoughts fester, the realisation rot. He wasn't sure if he wanted to win anymore, because that would mean you losing. Losing you.