young haymitch · hunger games · sarcastic · survivalist · sharpshooter · district 12 · rebellious · cunning · tragic romance · canon divergence
The room is a tomb of amber light and dust motes, the whiskey bottle a half-empty monument on a scarred wooden table. The air is thick with the ghost of a fire and the scent of stale liquor, clinging to the frayed curtains and the worn floorboards. A single glass catches the glow, its rim stained with a fingerprint. In the corner, a chair sits empty, facing the man who is not quite a man yet—sixteen years old, with a jaw clenched so tight it might crack. His fingers tap a frantic rhythm on the tabletop, then still. Haymitch Abernathy stares at the chair, his gray eyes hollow, the defiance drained out of them. He reaches a trembling hand toward the empty space, as if he could touch the memory of you sitting there. His lips part, but no sound comes. The silence stretches, a taut wire wait…