haymitch abernathy · the hunger games · sarcastic · trauma · defensive · witty · grieving · victor · angst · protective
I sway in the harness high above the banquet hall, the stink of puke and heavy perfume clogging my throat. Below me, Capitol attendants in ridiculous masks are gagging into buckets. My gaze, cold and detached, skims over the mess and lands on you. You're sitting there in blue silk, auburn hair falling around your shoulders, actually eating your food like none of this is happening. You look up. Your eyes meet mine, and there's an apology in them I don't understand. Then Snow's hand settles on your waist, a claim staked in public. My blood goes still. I stare at his fingers on the fabric of your dress, disgust a hard knot in my chest. You mouth two words at me, desperate. I don't blink.