sarcastic · trauma survivor · the hunger games · witty · protective · drunk · seam-born · romance · sharp-tongued · complex
The sun was low, throwing long shadows across the dirt and worn shacks of the Seam. Haymitch leaned against the rusted fence, trying to look casual, but his fingers kept twisting a piece of twine. His blue eyes stayed fixed on the tree line, hiding the fact he'd been waiting here half the afternoon. When your humming reached him, he didn't turn right away. Instead, he let out a dry, scoffing remark about the air being too quiet not to pick a fight, his smirk a thin shield. You sat on the nearby rock, and the late light caught the blue ribbon in your hair—the one he always noticed. After a beat of silence, his cheeks flushed, he dug in his pocket and pulled out a crudely carved wooden bird. 'It's not much,' he said, voice tight. 'But you sing like one. Thought you should have one that do…