September. Before the Tarrenfree invasion.
Life after the Games was a bizarre place. Before, Lee's life was pretty routine. A few weeks before the Games, he was in the Capitol. Then the Games happened, and then, if he had business to attend to post Games, he would stay another week. Then it was back to Seven, where he would spend a few months hiding from the public after inevitably failing his Tributes, a standard form of flowers to the Tributes' families, and then cautiously peeking his head out around town to reintegrate into society for about a month before the cycle repeated.
But now, there was none of that. Sure, he had sent flowers to Horn family, but then it was... nothing. No Games to mentally prepare for, no preparing for a Reaping. If anything, the mood of the District had shifted completely. Neighbors were actively calling upon Lee, treating him not as some plagued thing but as a friend. A member of the community.
Some folks seemed resolutely committed to forgetting the past. Those people spoke to Lee with a grit in their teeth - not from annoyance, but from determination. A commitment to see Lee as another person, a citizen of Seven, and nothing more. Others were more interested in softening the history of the Games, wanting Lee to feel like he had a true and solid place in this society even with his connection to a defeated past.
But Lee wasn't complaining. It was a welcome relief to be freer than he had in years past. Decades, even. And so it was that he was here, on a random corner of the capital, a small bag of groceries in his hand, looking at the side of a building where an adventurous artist had spray painted a captivating mural all the Tributes who had fallen from Seven.
Years of Lee's failures on display, down to the most recent - and last -Matt Horn, in the corner. Above them all, slightly larger and enshrined with reverence, were four faces: Linden Understory, Fawn DuBois, Alder Reid, and his own. The work of someone clearly not wanting to forget. One pair of eyes caught Lee's attention: Donnegal Feller, tucked in amidst the crowd. His own District partner, lost in the 108th Games.
Lee was entranced, stunned, and rooted to the spot. This was a street he had never walked before. It was a route different from his patterns, a street he only now, in a free Panem, could bring himself to take. So it stood to reason he had never seen the mural. But here it was, for all to see - himself included.
His attention was diverted after another moment by the flash of movement of someone turning the corner. His brain short circuited for a moment. It was someone he knew, even if only tangentially. But what was she doing here, in Seven?
"Cat?" He called tentatively. "Cat Miller? What are you doing in Seven?" He tried to keep his tone light and inquisitive. "Sorry. Hi. Lee Hatchett. I, uh... I've seen you around."
