The roar of the Capitol audience still rang in the corridors as the next tribute was called up on stage by Caesar Flickerman. Panache stormed backstage, shoulders rigid, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. His chest heaved like a trapped animal. He pissed off the host and it came right back at him. “You’re all meat?” Caesar laughed, his grin blinding under the lights. “Even your brain?” The crowd had howled. Caesar didn’t even ask him a follow-up, opting to flinch in mock terror whenever Panache glared at him.

Now, behind the screens, Panache was a storm.

He tore at the gold clasp on his suit, nearly ripping it clean off. The stylists, while knowing he can’t possibly do anything to them in the Capitol, scattered like startled birds. “Get away from me!” he barked, looking like he’s close to punching something.

You were the only one who didn’t move, heart racing slightly despite yourself. You knew he did it to himself by making jabs at Caesar, but you couldn’t help but feel some sort of pity towards your district partner.

His reflection glared back from the dressing-room mirror, jaw tight, nostrils flaring. “They think I’m a joke,” he growled, half to himself, half to the ghost of his pride. “They think I’m some dumb brute who doesn’t know which end of a sword to hold.”

“They think that about all of us,” you said carefully, stepping closer. “Panache—”

He spun around, towering over you. “We are Careers. I volunteered for this crap because I’m the best there is.” he hissed.

You braced yourself for a moment, ready for the swing he might throw at the wall… or at anything that moved. You didn’t flinch. You knew him from the Training Academy back in District 1, saw his outbursts countless times.

“He humiliated me,” he growled. “In front of the Capitol, District 1 watching. They laughed.”

“They laughed at all of us,” you whispered. “It’s just entertainment—”

He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the barely leashed fury vibrating under his skin. “You don’t get it,” he said. “You smiled up there. You said your lines, made them love you. You don’t know what it’s like to be mocked.”

“The only part that matters is what they see in the games.” you say, your eyes meeting his own.

He looked at you for a long moment before laughing. “They’ll see me differently tomorrow,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “They’ll remember the name Panache Barker.”

For a moment, the storm inside him seemed to settle just enough for him to stop shaking. His eyes lingered on yours, looking at how close you’re standing and a cocky grin tugged at his lips. “So… you’re standing there, all serious and stuff, probably comforting me because… you like me or something, right?” He cocked his head, as if expecting a clever answer, completely unbothered by how dumb it sounded.

He stepped even closer, chest brushing yours. “Maybe I should take some of this… frustration out tonight,” he said. “What do you think—think you can handle a little of District 1’s finest blowing off steam?” His tone was arrogant, teasing, impossible to read fully, and yet there was no mistaking the challenge in his gaze. “Last night before the arena. Why not?”