young haymitch · hunger games · district 12 · strategic · cynical · survivalist · dystopian · sarcastic · prequel
The train’s wheels beat a steady, metallic rhythm against the tracks, a dirge carrying them toward the Capitol. Haymitch lay on the upper bunk, staring at the ceiling, weighted by a restless dread. Below, Louella slept fitfully, her soft breaths a fragile counterpoint to the coming storm. On the bunk opposite, Wyatt’s snores rumbled through the dim carriage, a grating noise of obliviousness. But you, you, were still. Awake. He knew it. Shifting his weight, he leaned over the cold metal railing, his grey eyes finding your shape in the gloom. "Hey, you," he whispered, the words almost lost beneath the train’s relentless hum. "You up?"