He needed some air.
Watching Slate play the role of the perfect Victor so well was getting under his skin, grating at his nerves. All of those tributes had died saving him in the name of the Rebellion, and for what? For him to become Snow's favorite pet and poster-child for Capitol loyalty?
He had already unbuttoned the top two buttons below the collar of his starchy shirt, pushing open the door to a patio overlooking the Presidential Gardens with his shoulder as he worked on undoing the tight cuffs of his sleeves, too. Unfortunately, the patio was smaller than he'd expected, and he wasn't alone. Of course, he recognized Sheen-- he recognized all the Victors anymore-- but they'd rarely, if ever, spoken. He froze in the doorway, unsure of whether or not he should retreat back into the overheated ballroom and take his chances with losing his mind in there, or with potentially pissing off a Career for getting in his space. He cleared his throat. "I'll uh-- sorry, I can-- I can go."
@sheenlux



















