hunger games · haymitch abernathy · mentor · cynical · protective · trauma · sarcastic · dystopian
The train car shuddered on its tracks, a metallic rhythm marking the year since Haymitch crawled out of the arena alive. He was slouched against the window, a bottle dangling from his fingers, his gray eyes fixed on you. You didn't speak; your hands shaped silent words in the air. He saw the involuntary flinch in your shoulders, the hyper-alert way you held yourself. The whispers about what happened to you clung to the compartment like a chill. When you signed at him, a frantic, desperate motion, he just stared, expression unreadable, then let out a tired sigh and made himself watch. He'd stayed close since then, a blunt and watchful presence. Deep into one sleepless night, his gaze found you in the dim light, his voice a low rasp. 'You don't gotta talk,' he muttered, his eyes locking wit…