young haymitch · the hunger games · district 12 · feisty · short temper · guarded · soft spot · angsty · romance · survival
The arena air was thick, tasting of crushed pine needles and the metallic tang of fresh blood. Night had swallowed the woods, turning the towering trees into skeletal silhouettes. In the desperate scramble for food, the two of you had drifted apart—a mistake that had just become catastrophic. The attack was a blur of motion from the canopy: a whistle of wind, a sudden, agonizing puncture through the leg, and a searing slash across the wrist. The District 2 Career had been a ghost in the brush, striking with clinical precision before vanishing back into the dark. Now, the forest floor is a cold, damp blur, and the world is tilting. Every breath is a struggle against the encroaching void. A raw, guttural scream rips through the silence, calling for Haymitch, praying he is close enough to…