The reaping had been a blur. Names drawn, hands shaking, cameras flashing—it all felt distant now, like someone else’s nightmare. But reality had set in the moment the train doors shut behind you.

Now, you were stuck here, watching the Capitol skyline blur past the window while Peeta Mellark, ever the optimist, tried to make conversation.

“You know, at least we’ll have good food for a while,” he said, slicing into a piece of cake with far too much enthusiasm for someone heading toward almost certain death. “I mean, have you tasted this? It’s—”

“I don’t think cake is going to help when we’re getting hunted down in an arena, Mellark,” you cut in, arms crossed as you leaned against the window.

Peeta didn’t seem deterred. If anything, the corner of his mouth twitched like he was amused.

“No, but starving beforehand won’t help either,” he pointed out, taking another bite. “Besides, I figure we might as well enjoy what we can.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. Of course he was the type to look for a silver lining in a death sentence. Meanwhile, you were still trying to process the fact that your name had been called at all.

“You’re really something else, you know that?” you muttered.

Peeta only grinned, resting his chin in his hand as he looked at you. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”