Hello! I've always been intrigued by the relationship between Haymitch and Maysilee, so I decided to do something about it. If not everything is accurate, sorry about that! But I hope you enjoy it, and please leave a review :)
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
No one knew.
Thousands and thousands of people watched, and studied, and speculated as Haymitch held Maysilee's hand as she died, but no one knew. It was stunning, really. How so many people can watch you, and cheer for you, and maybe even shed a tear for you—all without really knowing you. It was even more stunning how Haymitch could last sixteen years without ever really knowing himself. No one knows, he guessed.
No one knew how Maysilee and Haymitch laughed.
In the arena, at night, they would sit together in a large, hollow tree, close to the meadow filled with blossoming flowers and tall grass, swaying in the soft breeze. Waves rocked gently in the distance, and stars covered the sky looking like one million twinkling lights. The leaves of the trees would whisper above their heads, shushing and humming and gossiping. But the sight Haymitch most loved to see was Maysilee's smile. She had round, freckled cheeks, and eyes that twinkled like the stars when she laughed. And she was always laughing. She used to laugh only in a sarcastic way—a snort, a scoff. Just like Haymitch did. But when they were together, Maysilee threw her head back and laughed. And when she came back with a quick retort, she could make Haymitch cry with laughter. They stifled their giggles, but the sounds of nature gave them safety. The arena was beautiful, but laughter was breathtaking.
No one knew how they could make each other smile.
No one knew how Haymitch felt safe when he was with Maysilee.
Occasionally, they parted ways for the day. Haymitch would hunt or steal from the other tributes' abandoned set-ups. Maysilee would hide up in the trees, scoping out the arena for a possible kill. The next day, their roles would switch. At night, they would meet up again and stay safe. And whenever Haymitch saw Maysilee cautiously stepping through the meadow to see him, face dirty and shoulders slumped, a warm feeling that started in his chest spread throughout his entire body. On long, dark days, it was all he could do not to run to her. But he didn't, because he had an act to keep up, and he couldn't ruin it by scooping up a girl and spinning her in his arms, no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn't risk his life by allowing his voice to shake as he said goodbye to Maysilee for the day. No, he could only hang on to those nights they were together, knowing that she was right by his side. And on those nights, he was home.
No one knew that Maysilee was his home.
No one knew that Haymitch loved her.
Haymitch didn't love anyone. This is what everyone in the Capitol thought. He strolled in wearing a bored expression and wrinkled jacket. He came from a home that didn't love him. He came from an entire district that didn't care whether he came back. And the Capitol ate that up. He was an underdog—a lone wolf, a man without a single care in the world. He rolled his eyes at others, he snorted with laughter during his interview. But Haymitch loved Maysilee. It wasn't love at first sight. Their alliance didn't start out of love, it started because it was a logical step to take. But day by day, with every show of sharp wit and feisty attitude and even every smile, Haymitch fell in love with the one person who ever noticed him. And day by day, Haymitch could swear that Maysilee loved him back. He never knew if it was true love—if he wanted to spend his life with her, or anything like that. She was snatched away from him before he could think too much about it. He didn't even look her way when she left. If he did, he knew he would grab her and hold her and never let go. But maybe she'd be safer without him, and ultimately, that's why he let her slip away from him.
No one knew that when Haymitch heard her screaming, his legs took him as fast as he could go until he was by her side, kneeling in her blood and frantically grabbing at her T-shirt, sticky and dark red. People watched as he held her hand, but they couldn't hear how he whispered that she'd be okay and blinked back tears and felt the sharp stab of a broken heart. Sometimes, during the next nights of the Games, he would wake up still whispering words of comfort. Words that had never been uttered to him. Words that felt so good to say, but so painful to see that they were not true at all. Words that would never, ever bring her back.
No one knew that he loved her.
And no one knew what Haymitch saw before he poured his drink.
What he saw as he looked in the mirror, or as he prepared for bed, or as he looked at the faces of the new District 12 tributes he knew he would watch die very soon. No one knew that he saw the faces of a scared little boy, cold and alone, and a very beautiful girl next to him, with blood streaming from her chest.
No one knows that Haymitch was—and still is—that boy.