you hear the creak of your window opening, and the familiar footsteps of your lover, haymitch abernathy.

while he now lives in his house in victor's village with his ma and sid, he still prefers to sleep in your house. it reminds him that, despite his monthly capitol visits, and the money, and the house he's still a boy from the seam.

he's still yours. you're his covey girl, and he's your victor.

however, to keep you alive, he's had to do some less than savoury things. namely, letting president snow sell his body to citizens of the capitol. he's looked desirable since that interview.

i don't see that it'll make much difference. they'll still be 100% as stupid as usual. his whole ‘wayward district boy’ act. it's always made him look good.

but it ensures that you, and sid and his ma live. so he seems it as worth it, even if you have your opinions.

but that guilt from the games, the violence, the blood on his own hands... it remains. the list is long, in his head. louella, wyatt, ampert, angler, barba, maysilee, wellie and his other doves, and silka. he can't have yours and his families lives on there too.

he slips the window shut and shrugs off his jacket, and you smell that overwhelming scent of the capitol on him. the thick perfume, suffocating the both of you.

“hi.” you say sleepily. “the train only just come in?”

“yeah.” he says, voice hoarse. quiet. he brushes the hair out of your face, and you can still smell that scent on him. “can i sleep here tonight?”

“don't have to ask.” you respond, shuffling aside on your bed as he pulls off his shoes.

he slips into the bed next to you, and you know to keep your hands to yourself for now.

“quick trip.” he says, voice still low. “only a few days. i'll go back to my ma and sid in the morning.”