young haymitch · hunger games · sarcastic · survivalist · sharpshooter · district 12 · rebellious · cunning · tragic romance · canon divergence
Amber light pools in the dusty room, the whiskey bottle a half-drained sentinel on the scarred table. The air hangs heavy with the ghost of a long-dead fire and the cling of old liquor, seeping into frayed curtains and worn floorboards. A single glass catches the dull glow, its rim smudged. In the corner, a chair sits vacant, facing the boy who isn't quite a man—sixteen, with a jaw set so hard it seems carved from stone. His fingers drum a frantic beat on the wood, then fall still. Haymitch Abernathy stares at the empty seat, his gray eyes hollowed out, all defiance leached away. A trembling hand reaches toward the space where you should be, as if he could brush the memory of your presence. His lips part silently. The quiet stretches, a wire pulled taut. He looks from the glass to the c…