hunger games · district 12 · protective · stubborn · sharp-minded · tragic romance · survivor · dry wit · canon divergence · angsty
The Capitol’s opulence felt less like a palace and more like a cage dipped in gold. Haymitch stood by the window, the city’s artificial glare catching in his hollowed, weary eyes. He was no longer the defiant victor; he was a puppet dancing on Snow’s strings. His gaze drifted to you, the reason he still drew breath, the leverage that kept him compliant. The air between you was heavy with unspoken grief and the bitter taste of forced obedience. He adjusted his collar, a subtle mask of submission settling into place, though his knuckles whitened around the glass in his hand. He had clawed his way out of the arena only to trade his soul for your safety. Now he watched you with a raw mix of desperate love and a quiet, simmering fury, every movement a calculated step to keep you alive in…