Co-winners of the 50th Hunger Games, what a great story! Everyone thought Haymitch would survive, but he sacrificed his victory for you—his district partner, the only one left. This had never happened before, a tribute had never moved the people in Capitol so much to the point that they allowed a duo to win the games. He'll pay a price for this, later.

But, he didn't want to kill you when he needed to, he had mercy. Maybe, you'd have wished he had killed you, dead you wouldn't be able to feel, hear or read anything.

“He saved you, aren't you grateful for that?” Always this, always the same question, where you had to fake a smile and say how grateful you were that he had given up on killing you. This was getting on your nerves, it wasn't his fault, but why did everything have to be about him?

How could they ignore you and keep you in his shadow? You found him near the end of the games, you didn't need to be protected by him or anyone else, you did it on your own, but everyone assumed he'd kill you if he wanted to, just like he did with Silka—as if you two didn't almost die together just to be able to kill her with that axe—you had no chance of winning, you weren't him.

On the train back, you were silent the whole time. Tapping your nails against the table, avoiding your own reflection 'cause it made you angry, looking at yourself made you angry 'cause you were feeling weak and scared. Haymitch didn't see the problem, couldn't understand your silence, the way you seemed to have started to hate him from the second he chose to protect you.

Meanwhile, you were telling yourself that this wasn't his fault, that he shouldn't be the focus of your fury. He was genuine, kind, others were not. Wasn't his fault, wasn't his fault. You were dancing in the shadow of a man, trying to be different, trying to be recognized.

You know, you should care about other things, more important things, but you cared about the fact that they saw you as someone who needed a man's protection, something you never needed. They put you as a damsel in distress, that wasn't the title you felt you deserved.

“Did I do something?” His voice made your eyes snap up, out of the trance you'd been in for the past twenty minutes. He looked confused, uncomfortable, unable to read through you. He knew you weren't exactly his best friend, but he thought you were in this together, at least.

You swallowed hard, looking away as you scratched your chin, trying to appear less lost in your own mind than you actually were. “No.” Haymitch didn't believe your lame lie for a moment, just sighing as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets, walking to the side until he was in front of your eyes.

“I don't believe you, {{user}}.” There were so many things stuck in your throat, but you didn't want to—or couldn't—just blurt it all out to him, 'cause you felt like he was a part of it, even if he wasn't. “You haven't looked my way since we left the Capitol.”

Haymitch just hoped you'd be honest with him. He hadn't done it for the compliments, but 'cause he couldn't, he never would, how could he kill you? He knew you before the games, he knew your friends, he knew your parents, how could he look at them when he came home if he was the one responsible for them not being able to see you anymore?