Maysilee 🌸 @maysileeewrites - Tumblr Blog

bittersweet symphony || chapter 7

Haymitch Abernathy x f!reader || series masterlist

Summary: After the chaos following your engagement to Haymitch, you come to a terrible realization … 5.5k

AN: Happy (super) belated birthday, Haymitch! I’m truly sorry for not being able to get this chapter out sooner, but life really has been kind of chaotic lately and I’m still trying to (re-)establish a more consistent writing schedule. Anyways, here’s chapter seven - it’s got loads of drama and emotional turmoil, some Hayffie friendship crumbs and more! This chapter was particularly difficult for me to write - I hope you like it and I really hope that Effie’s characterization doesn’t feel too far off! I debated whether to include so much of her in this chapter, but she’s always been a super intriguing character to me and an important part of Haymitch’s life as well - and maybe even a key to the past? We’ll see! ;)

Hand shaking, Haymitch reaches for his almost empty liquor bottle, filling himself another glass. He’s gone through almost an entire bottle in what feels like a just few minutes, which is a new low, even for him.

But there’s nothing else he can think of doing to stop his thoughts from spiraling.

All of the lights are on them and he can feel the weight of hundreds of hungry eyes on him, but when she catches his gaze, everything else fades away, even if just for this one moment-

He can feel her shaking in his arms, can smell the sweet and subtle, yet intoxicating scent of her perfume, has to resist the urge to-

The sensation of the liquor bottle slipping from his fingers, accompanied by the loud clattering noise of it hitting the floor and the glass breaking into pieces harshly draws him out of his thoughts.

Cursing under his breath, he leans forward to clean up the mess he’s made, but then his eyes catch on the wedding band on his ring finger, and everything comes crashing back down on him again.

It’s like waking up from a nightmare, startling to sit upright, heart still pounding in his chest, his body drenched in cold sweat-

Except that there’s no way out of this, no way to put an end to this particular nightmare. He can try to drown his sorrows in alcohol all he wants, can try to numb his thoughts and feelings the only way he knows, but the outcome won’t change.

It never does.

He is going to marry her.

They are going to get married - and then they’ll live out their unlikely yet providential happily ever after for the Capitol and all of Panem to witness.

To partake in.

To distract themselves with.

To exploit.

Blindly, he reaches out with his free hand, grasping for another liquor bottle, anything, anything else that he can throw against the wall and watch it shatter into a thousand pieces. The urge to destroy not just his own thoughts and feelings but something else has never felt as intense and all-consuming as it does now, and he’s really not quite sure why this whole marriage thing bothers him this much - after all, it’s not as though his life has ever really been his own.

Everyone and everything he ever cared about has already been taken away from him, killed and destroyed, their blood as much on his hands as it is on Snow’s, except-

Except that that isn’t true, not anymore.

Not everyone he’s ever cared about has been taken away from him.

No, there’s still someone left he cares about - he can try to deny it all he wants, can try to be angry at himself that despite all his better reasoning he eventually broke down his walls and let her in, but the truth of the matter still stands - and now, he’s basically handed her life to Snow on a silver platter.

He thought that he was being clever, thought that he was protecting them both, but what if he only made matters worse for the both of them? What if there is truly no way out of this, no way to ever stop the sun from rising on Reaping Day?

Crying out in anguish, he falls back against the chair he was sitting on earlier, barely registering the pain of the glass pieces digging into his skin.

Distantly, he registers the new blood stains on the carpet, registers the pain in his arms.

But nothing is worse than the pain of a broken, shattered heart, and so he just continues to sit there slumped against the chair, staring off into nothingness, letting his thoughts spiral and spiral and spiral.

Until someone else enters his room.

It’s the middle of the night.

The clock next to your bed reads 4.13 a.m, and yet you’re still wide awake.

You’ve been lying awake, tossing and turning, trying to get your anxious mind to calm down for what feels like an eternity now and yet nothing works. Of course it doesn’t - not after Haymitch publicly proposed to you on national television and the chaotic celebrations that followed immediately.

A number of Capitolites had taken matters into their own hands and thrown together an impromptu party which you’d only managed to excuse yourself from sometime after midnight.

If your own situation weren’t so dire, you’d probably stop and wonder if there’s anything else these people in the capitol do besides throwing parties and attending parties and living vicariously through the thrilling dangers of the Hunger Games - the words from one of your sponsors, not your own.

As it is though, the question of what these capitol people do on a daily basis is the least of your concerns. Instead, thoughts of whether you truly did the right thing or whether you’ve only made matters worse for yourself and Haymitch, and of what is going to happen next have been plaguing you all night.

You know that you’re not going to find any answers to these questions, lying here in the dark of your bedroom, your far too smooth satin sheets already thrown to the side a few hours ago. And even though he might not be able to give you any reassuring answers, you know that there’s only one person you want to talk to right now.

So, you do what you’ve secretly yearned to do from the moment you’ve managed to excuse yourself from the festivities and returned to your room - you get up from your bed and leave your room.

Since you’re once again staying at the facilities above the training center, you know your way around these rooms, even in the pitch black of the night, the lights in the hallway leading to the dining room only shining dimly. Quietly, you close the door to your room behind you, allowing yourself a moment to let your gaze linger on the door to the room next to yours. It’s the room Kai stayed in before the Games.

Kai. What would he say if he were still here with you right now?

Briskly, you turn around, hurrying through the hallway towards Haymitch’s room, and knock on the door. Thinking about Kai feels like re-opening a barely healed wound, and you’re not sure whether the pain of losing him will ever become bearable. Probably not.

You knock again - still no answer.

After all, he was your best friend, the person you trusted most-

Just then, you decide to throw caution to the wind and carefully open the door to Haymitch’s room. And the moment your eyes take in the chaos in front of you, all thoughts about Kai are instantly wiped from your mind.

„Haymitch?! Haymitch are you - what happened?“

Letting the door fall shut behind you, you hurry over to Haymitch’s side. „Haymitch? Haymitch, can you hear me?“

Panic surging inside you, you kneel down next to Haymitch, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him. You probably shouldn’t shake a what you assume to be unconscious person this roughly, but there’s so much blood on the carpet and Haymitch is still slumped against the chair and-

You can’t lose him.

Not like this.

Not now.

„Haymitch come on, talk to me! Haymitch!“

You’re so caught up in all the horrible, gruesome scenarios your anxious mind keeps coming up with that you almost miss the faint cough coming from Haymitch. But then his grey eyes find yours, and for just this moment, your mind stops spinning.

„S-sorry Princess“, Haymitch says, coughing weakly, „probably not my best look.“

„You idiot!“

Your hand moves of its own accord, faintly punching Haymitch in the shoulder, before your mind has caught up with the movement. Haymitch winces, and your lips are already forming an apology, but then he grins crookedly, causing you to glare at him.

„Haymitch, you can’t - you can’t just do something like that, I-“

You can feel your throat closing up. Your eyes are filling with tears, threatening to spill.

„You’re such an idiot, Haymitch“, you whisper, your voice strained, as you once again throw caution to the wind and throw your arms around Haymitch, hugging him to you. Convincing yourself that he’s still here, still by your side.

Don’t scare me like that again.

Haymitch lets out a surprised noise, but then you can feel his arms closing around you, his hands soothingly rubbing your back.

His head resting on the crook of your shoulder, he whispers: „I won’t, Princess. I promise.“

Squinting against the cold, bright light of the bathroom, you dip the cloth into the warm water in the basin, watching as the water turns an even darker shade of red. Fortunately, most of Haymitch’s wounds are just shallow cuts, but there’s a few deeper ones that have you feeling out of your depth just by looking at them.

Maybe you’re overreacting or maybe it’s just everything that’s happened in the last few hours finally catching up to you, but cleaning up Haymitch’s wounds and trying to think of what you’re going to do to treat the deeper cuts has you feeling as though you’re back in the arena, taking care of an ally’s wounds.

The part of you that’s still able to think rationally knows that right now, you’re in the rooms above the training center, cleaning Haymitch’s wounds. Still, all of the blood and the sight of his injured arms and hands reminds you of that time you’d stitched up a wound in Kai’s arm with shaking hands-

„- you still with me?“

In fact, your hands had been shaking so badly that to this day, you’re still surprised that you’d managed to not make Kai’s injury even worse. But he’d desperately needed stitches and by this point in the Games, your allies were either dead or separated from you, and so you were the only option.

„Princess?“

Haymitch’s fingers gently touching your wrist is what finally snaps you back to reality.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment.

You’re here. You’re safe, you try to tell yourself.

You’re not in the arena - you’ve survived the Games.

Or at least the part of the Games you always knew about.

„Hey.“

Haymitch says your name and something in the way he says it causes you to look at him. His grey eyes find yours.

For a moment, neither one of you says anything.

You can see the way Haymitch looks at you, the way he’s searching for answers, trying to decipher what exactly it is that’s got you so shaken up. And you - you want to confide in him, you do.

Still, you find yourself saying: „Haymitch, I mean it - you have to keep still.“

„Sorry, Princess.“ Though his words are accompanied by his signature crooked grin, you can see the still-lingering concern for you in his eyes.

Breathing in deeply, you wring out the washcloth. „I’m sorry - I - I didn’t mean to …“

You trail off, not entirely sure how to finish your sentence. There’s a lot that you want to say to Haymitch - that you’ve been meaning to say to him, actually. How you’re concerned about him and his alcohol consumption. How you want him to get better, even though you know that it’s entirely his decision and no amount of well-wishing on your part can force him to become sober. How you’re even more worried for him now, with everything that’s happened during your victory tour. How you’re worried about your family - will the capitol find a way to somehow drag Felix and Will into this mess? Because while you might be a victor and safe from ever getting reaped for the Games again, the same can’t be said for your brothers.

And they’re both still so young-

„No, I get it“, Haymitch says while you tend to another wound. „You can’t save everybody …“ The far-away look in his eyes tells you that he’s most likely reliving painful memories of his own as his voice turns bitter. „Believe me, I know.“

„Haymitch …“, you whisper, not quite knowing what to say.

You want to tell him that it’s alright, that he can trust you, that you’ll listen to whatever he wants to tell you next, but when your eyes find his again, you know that you’ve already lost.

Because while just a few moments ago, his eyes were full of concern and empathy, now his expression is guarded and closed-off. It’s an expression that you’ve come know only too well.

„Haymitch, I-“

„You should leave - get some rest“, he says, not looking at you. „I’ve already held you up for too long, and you …“, he trails off, his eyes briefly meeting yours, but before your can say anything else, he’s already shaking his head, his lips twisting into a bitter smile, before he finishes his sentence. „You should get some rest.“

„Haymitch.“

You want to plead and rage at the same time. You want to tell Haymitch that he needs to stop being an idiot and that he’s no reason to be scared of confiding in you, but you know him too well to know that your conversation’s reached a point where it’s useless to try and argue with him now. Not when his eyes have taken on that far-away look and when he’s already closed himself off from you.

And even though you’re beyond frustrated at him for shutting you out right now, you also understand him. Or at least you think you do - because even though you might not have Haymitch figured out entirely, after becoming a victor yourself, you understand this deep-rooted, almost desperate longing to be left alone with your fears and worries only too well, even if it’s at odds with your equally strong desire to not have to deal with everything alone.

Still, you can’t help but wonder whether it will ever end, this feeling as though you’ve finally broken through his walls, only to realize that your one step forward was accompanied by three backward steps.

You’re too exhausted to ponder the question, though. And so you leave the cloth in the basin, leaving the room without glancing back at Haymitch.

The next morning, he wakes with a throbbing headache.

Which he more than deserves, he thinks, unable to think of anything else but the sad, resigned expression on her face after he’d told her that she should leave and get some rest.

He’d wanted her to leave the room to get a moment alone to try and sort out his confusing, terrifying thoughts, but the moment the door had closed behind her, he’d already regretted his words.

He didn’t want to be alone, not really.

But then, he’s never truly wanted to be alone, despite spending the last eleven years doing his best to shut himself off from the rest of the world entirely.

He doesn’t want to be alone, has never enjoyed not being surrounded by friends or family, yet he only has to remember all the blood on his hands to know why he isolated himself from everyone else.

And now, isolation is no longer an option.

Of course, he can still shut her out emotionally, but knowing Snow, the President will have them both paraded around the entirety of Panem for all that it’s worth. He won’t be allowed to be district twelve’s sullen town recluse anymore, at least not for the following weeks.

This whole marriage thing puts him right back into the limelight, and yet he can’t say that he regrets proposing the idea to her. Not if there’s even the slimmest chance that it might actually save her, save them both, from an even worse fate.

A persistent knock on his door, followed by Effie telling him to get up because there’s a big, big, big day ahead finally interrupts his thoughts from spiraling, if only temporarily.

After changing into wrinkle-free, bloodstain-free clothes and splashing some cold water on his face, trying his best not to look at his reflection in the mirror in the process, Haymitch steps out of his room, walking through the hallway towards the dining area. He doesn’t feel particularly ready to face whatever might await him next, but then, it’s never really been a question of whether he’s feeling up to dealing with whatever fresh horrors Snow and the capitol decide to throw his way next.

Rounding the corner, he wishes more than anything for a drink. For a glass, or even better yet, an entire bottle of white liquor, to quiet down his thoughts, to numb his rising panic. To forget, to return to the state of blissful, confusing ignorance.

He needs to obtain more liquor, he vows, if he’s to get through these next few days. He needs to obtain more liquor and-

The dining area is abandoned, save for Effie and a dark-haired Avox standing off to the side of the table.

Immediately, his mind supplies him with the worst possible scenarios - some faceless capitol people coming to take you away in the middle of the night, the President himself entering your quarters or, possibly even worse, Turpitudos. Haymitch’s never had a talk with the man himself, but he can very well remember how his hungry, dark gaze had followed you through the ballroom of the President’s mansion, how he’d leered down at you when you’d been forced to dance with him-

Your name falls from his lips in a desperate question as he hurries over towards Effie. „Where is she? Is she alright?“

Effie, seemingly taken aback by the sudden intensity in his voice, looks up at him, a familiar expression of heartfelt empathy entering her eyes as she takes in the sight of him. Haymitch can only imagine what he must look like to her - his hair unkempt, dark shadows under his bloodshot eyes, madness written all over his features.

„Yes“, she reassures him, her eyes searching Haymitch’s, „she already ate.“

He nods, trying - and failing - to feel relieved.

She’s alright, he tells himself. She’s safe - at least as far as he knows.

And that has to be enough. It’s a starting point, at least.

„She’s not feeling too well though“, Effie now says, her eyes finding his again, „but who can blame her, after all the excitement of last night!“

Haymitch nods grimly, forcing himself to calm down, to stop worrying in front of Effie. He’s already shown her far too much of his worry and desperation, he can’t chance her catching on to the gravity of the situation.

The less she knows, the better - not just for him and you, but for Effie as well. Because while Effie Trinket might be the escort of district twelve and just another capitol citizen buying into the whole the Hunger Games being for the greater good thing, she’s also Effie, one of the very few people from the capitol to ever show him true kindness. Her kindness might always come with an off-hand remark about how great and exciting the Games are, but Haymitch thinks that after all these years, he knows Effie well enough to know that deep down, she truly does have a kind heart.

Sometimes, he wonders how she’d have turned out, had she also grown up in one of the districts, instead of the capitol. Would she still be the same Effie, just with her heart actually in the right place?

It’s no use pondering over that question though, not when there’s a lot more troubling things to worry about. Like how to move forward with this whole engagement thing - will they even be allowed to come up with a plan of their own or will Snow dictate their every move from now on?

„I just wanted to tell you that I’m really happy for you, Haymitch“, Effie now says, her words bringing him back to the present moment.

Haymitch looks over to Effie, who’s looking at him with a knowing expression in her eyes. „You deserve some happiness after everything that you’ve been through, both of you do.“

She seems so honest, so genuine, yet Haymitch can’t help himself from waiting for the other shoe to drop. Any moment now she’s going to say how great it is that the Hunger Games brought them both together, and shouldn’t he be grateful for that?

So, he forces himself to nod and smile.

„Thank you, Effie.“

Effie returns his smile, and there it is again, that expression in her blue eyes that seems to say that she knows something that he doesn’t. „Of course, Haymitch.“

President Snow - gracious as he is - is throwing you and Haymitch a grandiose, ostentatious engagement party.

According to Effie Trinket, who’s currently going over the time plan for tonight with you one last time, everyone who’s anyone in the Capitol is going to be there this evening. It’s likely going to be the party of the year, forget the celebrations after you were crowned victor of the Games or the closing banquet of your victory tour.

You try your best to follow Effie’s words, to keep in mind everything that she tells you, but you’re far too distracted to really care about every little detail of tonight’s plan, when there’s so many other things you’re worrying about.

You haven’t really talked to Haymitch since you cleaned up his wounds after your interview with Caesar three days ago. You’ve only seen him in passing, since you’ve opted to stay in your room at the training center whenever it was possible. You know that you won’t be able to avoid him forever, but that night, you were just beyond - well, exhausted.

Exhausted and frustrated because he keeps shutting you out time and time again. Every time you think that you’ve finally broken through to him, that the fragile trust you’ve been building since you’ve first met him on the train to the capitol all these months ago is growing stronger, he shuts you out again, the walls he’s built around himself appearing even stronger than before.

And the worst thing about it?

You get it, you really do.

Or at least you think that you do - but you think that by now you know Haymitch well enough to know that his proposal of a pretend marriage was sincere, that he genuinely wants to help you. You know that something terrible must have happened to him after his Games to turn him into who he is today - and it’s not just your gut instinct telling you that, it’s also all these hushed whispers you’ve heard over the years in district twelve.

District twelve - what must the people of your district be thinking about everything that’s happened in the last few days, your father and brothers, Ellerie and Kai’s mother? What was their first reaction when they saw Haymitch getting down on one knee during the interview with Caesar, asking you to marry him in front of the entirety of Panem?

Your little brothers, who are still under the impression that you don’t particularly like Haymitch. Your father who, despite not really knowing any details, knows how complicated and strained your relationship with Haymitch has always been. Ellerie, who, every time you see her is a haunting reminder of Kai-

„- isn’t that right?“

In the mirror, you catch Effie looking at you with an expectant expression in her eyes, clearly waiting for you to say something.

„I’m sorry, what?“

Effie just smiles, shaking her head at you - not in the way you’ve seen her do so many times whenever something is threatening to interrupt her carefully planned schedule, but with a rather knowing expression in her eyes. As though she knows a secret of yours that you’re not even aware of yourself. „You must be pretty excited“, she says, her eyes scanning the hairstyle your stylist did for you one last time.

When she seemingly finds everything to her liking, no stray hairs out of place, she nods, satisfied. „It’s very generous of President Snow to throw this engagement party for you …“, she continues, and now her voice takes on a hit of the steely edge you’re so used to from her. „But then, what better way to close off this victory tour - and this year - than with a celebration of young love, right?“

You force yourself to nod, trying your best to appear as normal as possible. „Right …“

Young love - sure. That’s one way to describe it.

For a moment, your eyes meet Effie’s blue ones in the giant mirror that’s set on the vanity.

Of course, she looks just like the Effie Trinket you’re used to - ridiculous gigantic wig, wearing a dress in the style of the lastet capitol fashion trend, her lips curved in the same tight smile you’ve seen countless of times before.

But there’s something else, something in her eyes - a flash of knowing, of recognition.

Your heart starts pounding faster and you force yourself to take a deep breath, to remain calm. Effie Trinket is not President Snow, you try to remind yourself. She might be an integral part of the Hunger Games machine, and for that, you might not particularly like her, but she also knows how to navigate the limelight and the many narratives people are spinning better than almost anyone.

„It’s just so wonderful to see both of you finding love again“, Effie now says, her eyes taking on a far-away expression. „Even better that it should be with each other - district twelve’s two victors, together.“

Absentmindedly, you nod.

To find love again - that sure is an interesting way to put it, isn’t it? Because you’re pretty convinced that Effie can’t just be talking about you and Kai - whatever else you might’ve felt for him besides a deep, lifelong friendship, in the Games you’d only ever been two best friends.

Is she hinting at Haymitch’s past, could that be it?

„I mean, it’s still so sad to think about what happened with Haymitch’s girlfriend - and so soon after he’d won his Games and his mother and brother had that accident, too …“

Your heart starts pounding.

There it is - confirmation for what you’ve been speculating for quite some time now. Haymitch had a girlfriend going into his Games, and she died, shortly after he won the Games. Just like his mother and brother.

You gulp, your throat suddenly feeling dry. Because it doesn’t take much to put all this together and to figure out what likely happened - to figure out why Haymitch’s loved ones died right after he’d won his Games.

President Snow had to have been involved somehow, you’re sure of it. Which begs the question - why? Why would he want to kill Haymitch’s loved ones? Because while the Hunger Games are more than enough proof that he’s not above killing children, that he simply doesn’t care about the people in the districts besides the ways their lives can benefit the capitol, he wouldn’t just go around killing district citizens just because - or would he?

Because, after all, this is President Snow, someone that doesn’t exactly need a reason for killing people.

„Are you quite alright, dear?“, Effie suddenly says and her voice seems too loud and too close, the question entirely harmless, yet it still fills you with dread. „You look quite shaken-“

„Don’t worry about me“, you interrupt her, forcing yourself to laugh. It sounds dry and brittle and entirely unconvincing. „I’m just - really nervous about tonight, I - these past few days have been a lot.“

There, that’s close enough to the truth, isn’t it?

Effie nods, laughing as well, seemingly buying into your excuse without questioning it further.

„I understand … oh it’s all so exciting, isn’t it?“

Effie laughs, entirely oblivious to the chilling panic threatening to take hold of you. You’re torn between wanting to ask Effie further questions about Haymitch’s Games and what happened afterwards and the icy dread flowing through your veins.

You know that you can’t appear too interested in Haymitch’s Games - after all, with him and you seemingly all loved up, why wouldn’t you know this crucial piece of information about his past? Also, you can’t be sure that Effie would be the only one aware of your question - who knows what eyes might be on you in the current moment.

So, you force yourself to laugh and nod, to appear as though nothing has changed and say: „Yes, it really is, Effie.“

Exhausted and dizzy, you excuse yourself from the newest group of capitolites trying to rope you into a conversation with them and fight your way through the throng of people to the bar.

You need something to drink and a moment to yourself.

A moment away from all these prying eyes.

Really, you just want to be alone, just want to be back in your rooms above the training center or, even better yet, back in district twelve where-

„There you are!“

Suddenly, there’s a hand on your wrist and someone’s forcing you to turn around to face them.

Immediately, you free yourself from the unwanted touch, turning around with your heart pounding wildly in your chest.

„Excuse me, I-“

The man just chortles, reaching out for you again but you immediately take another step back.

„I wondered where you’d run off to after our conversation!“

His face is red and sweaty and his pupils are dilated, but you recognize him as one of your sponsors Snow had introduced you to earlier. You’d finally managed to excuse yourself from the conversation, only to promptly run into another one of your sponsors.

By then, you’d lost track of Haymitch, who’d said that he’d go to get a drink from a bar, where he’s apparently still at.

„I’m sorry“, you say, the words sitting heavy and bitter on your tongue. Because really, you’re not the one who needs to apologize here. You’re not the one who should need to be polite, always watching your every word, despite your instincts screaming at you to just tell all these people with their hungry, leering gazes to just leave you alone.

But, as you’ve come to realize over the last few days, these people don’t see the world the same way you see it. For them, the Hunger Games are business as usual - every year there’s a new cast of characters engaged in a brutal fight to the death that they can obsess over and immerse themselves in.

The most traumatic experience of your life is just another hour of entertainment and distraction to these people.

„Oh don’t be!“ The man laughs good-naturedly, as though you’ve just made a joke. You feel sick to your stomach, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

„I understand how it is, everyone wanting to have a piece of you to themselves-“

„Excuse me“, a familiar voice interrupts him.

Though the words are coming out slightly slurred, there’s an edge to Haymitch’s voice you’ve rarely heard until now.

Haymitch’s hand settles on your waist and though your first instinct is to stiffen and to fight off yet another unwanted touch, you find yourself leaning back into his touch.

„But I really need to steal away my fiancée for this next song, it’s one of our favorites.“

Haymitch doesn’t wait for the man to reply, immediately steering you away from him. You follow him numbly, thoughts about what position this man holds in the capitol, and whether his behavior is a sign that your desperate distraction ploy has already failed to protect you.

What else does Snow have in store for you? Will it ever end, these people’s unquenchable blood thirst to be entertained and distracted?

Haymitch cuts his way through the people on the dance floor, not stopping until you’ve made it out of the ballroom and into a hallway with marble floor leading to a grand staircase. His hand is still on your waist and though your heart is still pounding wildly, an anxious, icy panic flowing through your veins, some part of your mind is still stuck on the way he’d called you my fiancée and the way his voice had sounded when he’d said the words, rough and strained-

„In here“, he says, before opening the door to an opulent bathroom and you’re instantly taken aback to a different bathroom in this very mansion, just a few nights ago. How can it be that’s it not even been a week since this whole madness started?

Haymitch locks the door and then turns around to face you, a concerned expression on his face. His hand is still on your waist and you follow his gaze to where his hand still rests, can see him bite down hard on his lip, before his grey eyes find yours again, his hand staying where it is.

„What’s wrong, Princess?“, he says, an intensity and urgency in his voice you’ve rarely heard from him before.

You shake your head, trying to fight off the panic threatening to overtake you.

Your mind is jumbled, images of the sponsor from earlier immediately followed by an oblivious Effie Trinket telling you about Haymitch’s girlfriend.

Haymitch’s girlfriend that died, shortly after he won his Games.

Just like his family did.

„Princess?“

Haymitch runs a hand through his curls in distress and you bite down hard on your lip, willing yourself not to cry, not right now.

Do you know?, you silently ask Haymitch, meeting his gaze, do you know just how much danger we’re in?

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