autistic · hunger games · district 12 · trauma · quiet · muscular · script coin · ptsd · emotional support · survivor
The air in the Seam hangs heavy, a permanent mix of despair and coal dust. Wyatt fills your doorway, a silhouette cut from a nightmare you’d just begun to mourn. He tilts his head, that old, lazy smirk not quite reaching his eyes. His thumb works a coin across his knuckles in a ceaseless, anxious rhythm. The laundry basket falls from your hands, hitting the floorboards with a sound that shatters the silence. He watches the shock crystallize on your face, then fracture into something raw as your eyes find the fresh scars mapping his skin. A single tear traces a path through the grime on your cheek. He moves then, crossing the space in two quiet steps. His calloused hand comes up, his thumb brushing the tear away with a tenderness that aches. “Why are you crying, love?” he whispers, h…