He cocked his head slowly to the side, a flash of amusement crossing the innocence plastered on his face. Then the little boy laughed. And Gale Hawthorne stood, his mouth twitching into what seemed to pass as a slight grin.

The little boy crept by the river, seemingly oblivious to the watchful audience. He picked up some thread and stones, and dirt. He drew small crosses on the ground, which soon started to take form into cities and tiny buildings. He had, after all, the same artistic capability.

"She's okay," he quipped simply.

Gale smiled again, walking slowly to meet the young one's eyes. He placed his calloused fingers on his chin, and tilted it up to meet his own tired expression. There she was, in those searching grey eyes, in his pursed small lips, in the calculating look indicated by those thin meeting eyebrows. He was, quite annoyingly, he admitted, just like his mother.

"You could pass by, you know," the child tried again.

He flipped his disarrayed hair casually to the side, the gleam of blonde strands catching sunlight. Gale blinked, his lips still curled. He was, after all, also just as much as his father.

"I do have some bread for you."

Gale laughed. "I never asked you for bread, although i appreciate the gesture, i suggest rather you share those with your sister."

The little boy nodded obediently, and the man kissed his forehead.

Gale Hawthorne slung his bag over his shoulder, spun his heel and left. The small grin slowly started to inch down, the weight of his dark circles starting to take effect. But he kept his pace. The boy was still watching.

"Stay safe." He lifted his arm slightly in a farewell gesture, still not glancing back. He wasn't going to show the boy anything his fragile facade would quickly give away. Not with those pining grey eyes. Not when she felt so close. So close, to the feel of the hems of his shirt. So close, to everything they were, are, and would never be.

"You're not coming back, are you?" The little one whispered, his slightly hoarse voice just as audible as the friction of paper, but Gale heard him as clear as ringing bells.

It was fun, teaching the child to build some snares, helping him create a few designs, sharpening the blades and ruffling his golden hair. It was aching. It was a short source of nostalgia and quiet satisfaction that a fancy job couldn't give him. It was the feeling of her so close to him, but not entirely, that shook him to come back time and time again.

"No." He answered softly, and he knew, he chose the right answer. He could almost hear the tiny 'ding!'

Gale Hawthorne broke off, ironically, into another smile. He just wanted to know if she was okay. He needed an excuse to drag himself back. But he knew, the answer was entangled in the young one's eyes, blinding him in the sunlight, it was there on his feet, contrasting the soil, it was... always, always there. Katniss Everdeen was happy.

And so, he never went home.

Ah, title was random, I know it's in some MCR song, The Ghost of You, if I'm not mistaken. I, personally, think that I could've done better with this oneshot, but oh well. I wrote this because I was very frustrated with the ending of Mockingjay (#unpopularopinion). It lacked something. I felt bad about the quick ending of Katniss and Gale's friendship. I believe that it couldn't have been dismissed just like that! Not after all they've been through. It made me sad, it felt anticlimatic almost. He didn't even say goodbye. And I believed throughout the three books that Gale wasn't like that, that he wouldn't be wandering, finding other girls to kiss after Katniss.

Anyway, first Hunger Games oneshot. Please do review, I'd love you forever. 3