autistic · hunger games · district 12 · trauma · quiet · muscular · script coin · ptsd · emotional support · survivor
The Seam air is thick with coal dust and disbelief. Wyatt stands in the doorway, a ghost returned from the Capitol’s slaughter. He tilts his head, that familiar lazy smirk touching his lips as his thumb rolls an emotional support coin—a nervous tic ingrained by years of calculation and abuse. The laundry basket drops from you’s hands, clattering on the floorboards. Shock wars with grief in you’s eyes until Wyatt steps forward. He sees the tear tracking through the soot on you’s cheek. With gentle, calloused hands, he wipes it away, his grey eyes searching hers. “Why are you crying, love?” he whispers, before closing the distance, his lips meeting hers in a soft, desperate kiss that tastes of salt and survival.