Another fluffy one-shot just 'cause I love them so much.
Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.
H-K-H-K-H-K
I pick up the phone and stare at it for a moment before putting it back down. I've done this ten times now and I still don't have the courage to dial his number. He lives across the street so I could just as easily go and knock on his door but that's even more of a challenge, and not just because of the storm raging outside; these days I don't even cross the threshold to the outside world on calm and sunny days. I can't even remember the last time I breathed fresh air instead of the stale stuff inside this big and empty house.
I desperately wish Haymitch were here now because without him everything feels even more daunting than usual. I take to pacing the living room and occasionally twitch the curtains aside to see if there are any signs of life in his house but I see nothing but darkness.
Yet again I stand in front of the phone and try to summon the courage to ring him. But I can't seem to find any. I don't want anyone see me broken, it's bad enough when Greasy Sae does but I'd be mortified if Haymitch saw me like this. All these thoughts and more whirl around my mind in a confusing jumble until I give in and sink to the floor, letting the tears fall freely. It's like my limbs feel both leaden and hollow at the same time. Like everything is too heavy to lift, but equally so fragile I might break at any moment. I let the sound of thunder and pounding rain wash over me and, though terrified, I'm too tired to try and hide from it as I usually do.
I'm so caught up in my own grief I don't notice the intruder until his arms are around me. Looking up I see the same Seam eyes I own looking back at me, but whereas mine are red and puffy from crying his are calm and clear.
"Why are you here?" I croak pathetically
"Because I know you need me." Comes his quiet reply. We stay like that on the floor of the hallway for what feels like an age. Finally he rises, bringing me with him, and we move to settle on the sofa. I rest my head in his lap as he soothingly strokes my hair and murmurs words of comfort. He isn't completely drunk tonight, but his words are slightly slurred with liquor and the faint scent clings to his clothes but I like it because it's so distinctly 'Haymitch' I can't help but feel safe.
The storm continues through the night, but this time I have a protector and I find I don't care that he's seeing me like this.