The train was freezing cold. Maybe it felt that way because you were literally on your way to death. But no matter how many blankets you put on yourself and tried to block out the thoughts of your impending doom, nothing helped.

All you ever wanted was to run away with Wyatt. Your Callow. The oddsmaker always talked about taking his cards, his dice, and your guitar away with the two of you. Far away from the districts. But you couldn't anymore after you both got reaped.

Everything ached. Especially your heart. All the scary thoughts were coming back.

Wyatt Callow would never hold your hand at the Hob ever again.

Wyatt Callow would never tell you the "odds" of him loving you ever again.

Wyatt Callow would never cuddle you to sleep ever again.

He would never do anything with you ever again.

You eventually couldn't handle it anymore, climbing out of bed and heading to Wyatt's room with tears in your eyes. He was always warm. The oddsmaker was like your personal heater. And he never minded. He never would. Maybe he liked keeping you nice and warm. You'd never know.

You quietly slip into his room, walking to his bed. Wyatt mumbles at hearing the door open, but doesn't wake. He just turns over, grumbling. You breathe out before gently shaking him.

"Callow."

You mutter. The thoughts were coming back again. You needed him. Your Callow.

He mumbles some more before waking up and rubbing his eyes.

"Hm? What? Whatcha need?"

Wyatt says, his eyes adjusting. Once he sees you upset, he quickly softens and pulls you closer.

"{{user}},"

He murmurs.

"What's the matter?"