Altalune and Aeolus return, although not often, and never together. They creep up with a knock on the door or a letter sent days beforehand, and every time I am taken by surprise. 

If I were in their position, if I ever met the fifteen-year-old boy from District Two who killed Salacia, I wouldn't forgive him. If I met Taura, there is no way in the entirety of Panem I'd ever forgive her. 

And yet, Altalune sits in my kitchen, slowly taking sips from a cup of tea. We don't get along too well, but sometimes the conversation is interesting, so she keeps coming over. 

With time I've found that Altalune is generally a very complicated person. She gets mad at comments that I wouldn't find offensive at all, and calm--or even proud--of things I'd call disgusting. 

We tell each other things. Not everything, because everyone has secrets, but enough. 

Altalune listens. She nods her head at the right moments and offers advice when I ask for it but holds her tongue if I don't. I like knowing her. 

But then again, she is my first true friend--maybe I'm just not used to having them; maybe she is a horrible person. 

Aeolus is my second true friend, and I'd say probably a better one than Altalune. 

While Altalune listens with a serious face, he laughs and smiles, but is the smartest person I've ever known, with a calm demeanor that draws me in like his own personal force field. 

Aeolus has been coming around more often lately, and he is here today, lounging on my couch while I sit in the chair that Altalune stole that very first day. 

"So, how long 'til your tour?" he asks, in a joking tone that suggests I'm more of one of those music artists from centuries ago than a Victor of the Hunger Games. 

"A week," I grumble, because of course, I don't want to go. I honestly don't know who would. 

"You excited?"

"To see the families of the kids I contributed to the murders of? Yeah, totally! So excited," I say sarcastically, dramatically pushing my face into a pillow. When I look up from my soft hiding space, I find Aeolus staring at me, a small smile gracing his face. 

"C'mon, it won't be that bad."

"Be better if I could bring friends," I say, returning his smile. It's not true, though. I would never put Altalune or Aeolus in the position of seeing me in that state, or seeing the families in that state, or forcing them to uproot their lives to go on a vanity trip around Panem with me. 

Plus, I doubt they'd want to go, even if they could. 

"Yeah, wish me and Looney could come," he says, using his nickname for Altalune he'd never say around her, or risk some serious death glares. 

I groan. "It'll be all over with soon, and then I'll get to live my life normally. No victor drama."

He doesn't respond, and I can hear his silent answer in the air, clear as day: "Until you get selected as a Mentor, and have to watch two more kids die in the same way as Apollo."

We are both quiet for a moment, a long one. "Maybe I'll move out, get my own house here," I say, just to break it, and he nods, still facing away from me. I wish he'd turn around, just so I could read his expression, get something more than silence. 

"I bet the Capitol would let you," he agrees, and that is that. 

His voice sounds neutral. Does that mean he doesn't care if I'm drawn as a Mentor in a future Games? Would he so much as frown at my misery?

But more importantly, what if something happens while I'm on my victory tour, and he gets hurt? What if I never get a chance to say goodbye?

The Games are different from real life, obviously, but sometimes it doesn't really feel like that. Sometimes it feels like real life in Panem is just an endless continuation of the Games. And in those moments, I see why my father turned to alcohol, deciding to block the world out instead of living in it. 

I've never spoken to either Altalune or Aeolus about my father, but now seems like a good enough time to start. "I wouldn't want to leave my father alone, though."

He finally turns, revealing bright blue eyes I always find myself lost in. "You don't mention your father often."

He says it as a fact, not criticism, and yet still I frown. 

"You've heard the stories."

"No, actually," he says, "I mean, yes, but I doubt any of them are even close to right."

He's giving me a chance to open up, to spill my heart out to this boy I've known for maybe two months, without directly saying it, the way Altalune would. She'd tell me that the only way to get past hard situations is through, and if you try to go around, it's only gonna bite you in the ass later on. 

I hesitate, picking at my chair. This one is not yellow, instead a strange shade of blue, faded from the years. "What have you heard?"

"That he's an alcoholic." Another fact, even more monotone. My frown doesn't waver. 

"Yeah, he is. Has been since my mom died... but you know how it is, with victors. Doesn't really get better."

I shiver slightly, just remembering that I, too, am a victor, and I, too, am destined for the same fate as my father. Some things are hereditary, whether you want them to be or not. 

"Everything gets better, if you try hard enough," Aeolus says, patting the couch next to him, retracting his feet to offer me a seat. 

I accept his offer, curling up on the soft cushions and resting my head on the back of the couch, facing him. "Not everything. My mom still died."

He meets my gaze, smiling softly. "Most things then, I guess."

It's refreshing, that he corrects himself, admits he's wrong and moves on like nothing's happened. Most people I know--including Altalune--would never. 

Terra would never. 

Or would she?

Honestly, I have no idea. I never really knew her. Relationships develop quickly when there's the very real possibility of death brushing the back of your neck constantly. It's no excuse that we first met in the training center, because even that added only a day or two to our total days spent together before her death. 

The words 'her death' still hurt to think, but I can manage it now. I couldn't before. It didn't feel real that this girl I thought I knew so well, thought I loved so completely, was gone for good. 

But that's how the Games work, and that's why they're so deadly, even if you survive the actual killing part. They mess with your mind, give you a hint of Capitol life and fuck you up so badly you'd never do anything to try to obtain it. 

There is a familiar thump from upstairs: my father rising from his chair, most likely heading over to his bed. Shan brings him meals, and he watches TV all day, according to her. I haven't dared to step foot near his room in weeks. 

I lean my head back against the couch, sighing deeply. "He was bad before I left, but he's been so much worse since I got back."

"He thought you were going to die," Aeolus says softly. "I'd go crazy too if I thought I was going to lose the last member of my family, especially after your sister."

I shiver, because Aeolus has called my father 'crazy,' and it feels too true to deny. 

And yet, I can't bring myself to leave him alone, to let him live out his remaining days drunk in front of a TV screen. There wouldn't be many more days, at this rate, anyways.

But he's my father. I would never do anything to hurt him, not if it wasn't absolutely necessary. 

A warm hand brushes against mine, and then, after a moment of hesitation, during which I glance over at Aeolus to find he's not looking at me, holds mine gently. 

I squeeze his hand, mirroring his small smile. "I really do wish you could come on the tour with me. Then it'd at least be bearable."

I don't want him to come on the tour. It is a lie. But Aeolus will be happier thinking that is what I believe, and so it is what I say. 

He smiles wider. I've succeeded.