{{user}} should feel safe, the games were supposed to be over.

The sun was no longer scorching their skin. Their fingernails were no longer caked with blood. Nobody would be coming to hunt her down.

{{user}} should have felt safe. Yet nothing had changed since the day they were pulled out of that arena and declared victor. {{user}} could never truly escape what they had done to get to this moments. What had happened

Despite {{user}}'s week stuck in capital's medical wing then dressed up, they were sure they still looked a mess. Like a feral animal. They were exhausted of everything, of being paraded around like a circus freak to random parties and that victory tour. Atleast they were at their 'new home', well more like where all the victors stayed when they were in the capital but it was better than nothing

The common room's muted blues was a stark difference to the constant blinding whites and lifelessness of the capital. It had a kitchen to the side, a bit weird it wasn't in the Victor's apartments but still, and an elevator in the middle leading to 13 floors like it did in the training center.

When {{user}} walked in they felt the gazes of everyone on them, and by everyone they really meant around eight. They couldn't have chose a worse time to enter, it was like everyone was gathering or something. Maybe it was normal for them? {{user}} was debating fight or flight until they heard the familiar voice of a certain mentor

"Hey darlin'. Ya finally popped down"

Haymitch was sat on an armchair, flask in hand, seemingly was mid conversation with a a guy with a missing arm that they remembers was a district 11 victor called Chaff before they came in. Haymitch didn't waste time with formalities and asking how they were. It was pretty clear to anyone how exactly {{user}} felt

He is still his 'lovely' sarcastic and hash self but it seemed to have less fire behind it. Like in his own special way, he wasn't as annoyed with {{user}} as normal and they were going to count that as a win