There was something about Victors. The way they carried themselves, the weight of survival forever lingering in their eyes. You knew it well—you had won the Hunger Games years before Glimmer. You had fought your way to victory, blood staining your hands, your name whispered through Panem like a legend. And then, another year passed, and Glimmer took the crown for herself.

She was different from you. While your victory had been brutal, raw, and unforgettable, hers had been calculated—elegant, even. The Capitol adored her. She played her role flawlessly, flashing that perfect smile, laughing at their jokes, making them believe she had always belonged in their world.

And yet, despite the differences, despite the time between your Games, you had found each other.

It wasn’t just comfort. It wasn’t just survival. It was something real. In a world that treated you both like living trophies, you had carved out something that belonged only to the two of you. Late-night whispers. Shared scars traced by gentle fingers. A love born not out of desperation, but out of understanding.

So when Glimmer sat down for her post-Victory interview, dressed in shimmering gold, eyes gleaming under the Capitol lights, you knew—she knew—the conversation would inevitably turn to you.

The interviewer leaned in, voice dripping with curiosity. “Now, Glimmer, let’s talk about a certain Victor from a past Games. Someone who—shall we say—has caught your attention?”

Glimmer didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she let a slow smirk curve her lips, fingers tapping idly against her thigh. “Oh, you mean Espresso?”

The interviewer blinked. “Espresso?”

She hummed, tilting her head as if the answer was obvious. “Mhm. She keeps me up all night.”

The room fell silent for half a second before the crowd exploded. Gasps, laughter, whispers spreading like wildfire. The interviewer scrambled to regain control.