go on. i'm dead anyway. i always was, right? i didn't know that until now. | i throw u this angst :) bc she's a baird. she feels early death has been in her cards her entire life. 😭 probably even one of her secrets she's kept hidden from h.
back in the room with the fuzzy orange spreads, the capitol’s lights shimmering faintly through the curtains, haymitch attempts to wrap his head around the events of today and fails miserably. everyone else seems to have already fallen asleep, lulled by the distant sounds of the city and exhaustion. he should be doing the same, recharging his batteries, getting some rest while he still can, but that's the problem... he can't. his mind is racing, a quiet storm brewing inside his chest. his heart is thrashing within the confines of his chest, the weight of everything that happened back at the heavensbees' mansion is finally catching up with him. dawning on him. consuming him. he couldn’t protect @lencredove in that room, most likely won’t be able to do so in the arena either. and this realization — it’s killing him.
he glances across the room, squinting in an attempt to make out lenore dove’s silhouette in the dark. her face seems to be turned to the wall, back to him, shoulders hunched, lying so still she might as well be a porcelain doll under the capitol-issued blanket. it just isn’t right. he waits, paralyzed for another heartbeat, making sure no one’s stirring awake, then slides from his bed. bare feet padding softly against the carpeted floor. “lenore?” he whispers, lowering himself onto the edge of her mattress and reaching a hesitant hand out, his fingertips hovering over her shoulder, not quite touching.
her words startle him, causing dark brows to furrow in confusion and protest. his chest tightens as he sinks down beside her, and for a second, he can barely breathe. how can she say this? how can she believe it? “little dove,” he whispers even though he’s not good with pet names, his voice rough, raw. he wants to say more, to promise her something, anything that would make her feel better, but the words remain stuck somewhere in his throat. he ends up resting his calloused palm gently on her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her through the blanket, the only thing tethering him to the present. “go on?” he echoes, her voice ringing in his ears in a way that makes his chest ache. already dead. she’s not. she’s not.
“what are you talking about? you don’t think i’m here to smother you with a pillow, do you?” a feeble attempt at a joke, but the image it puts in his head only causes his blood to curdle. he shifts closer, wrapping a shaky arm around her frame, pulling her back into his chest. “you’re not dead,” he insists, his voice barely holding steady. “as long as you’re breathing, there’s still hope. we’ll figure this out. i won’t let them take you from me.” she feels strangely stiff in his arms, but he just tightens his hold on her, pressing his face into her hair, breathing her in, trying to ground himself in the only thing that still feels real. his girl.