Day 3: Family, Friends and Enemy
I chose to center this one around Chaff even though a few other friends and ties of Haymitch appear in there. I just love Chaff a lot and I have a lot of headcanons around him and his friendship with Haymitch I can never place anywhere so… They're here. Because he's Haymitch's best bro. I hope you enjoy it!
And Yet
1 – Second Quarter Quell
Haymitch awoke to an irritating beeping sound.
He fought to open his eyes, automatically trying to shrug off the numbness that wouldn't let him panic properly. He needed to panic. He needed the kick of adrenaline. What was going on?
Maysilee, he thought and then he remembered. Maysilee was gone. All that was left of her was the pin buried deep in his pocket.
Maysilee was gone but Nya wasn't and the girl from One was after him.
The beeping picked up and he managed to pry his eyelids open this time only to be assaulted by a light that was blinding and not natural.
"Easy." a deep rough voice ordered.
It wasn't Nya's and it didn't make sense because they were the last two, weren't they? Had they forgotten someone? He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings, trying to sit up…
The tinge of pain was enough to make him groan and something pressed on his shoulder, pinning him to the bed.
"Easy, I said." the same voice – a man's voice – repeated. "Go on like that, they're going to rush in and drug you again."
Drug you again.
Drug you.
And suddenly he remembered.
He remembered the seething pain, the mad dash up the cliff with his guts in his hands and oh god the pain and the terror and… His guts had been in his hands, literally in his hands… And then… Then… The cliff. He had wanted the cliff. It was all he had been able to think about. Nya had followed. She had tossed her axe. He had collapsed. Then… Then was a blur.
Drug you.
He focused on the guy standing next to his bed, still pinning him to the mattress, too big and too threatening when he was lying down, drugged out of his mind, vulnerable. One of his hands wrapped around the guy's wrist, the other felt around for his knife – stupid, of course, there was no knife…
"It's okay." the man said, his face softening. "You're out. You won, buddy. You're out. Nobody's out for you right now."
There were scarred tissues under his fingers and he realized with a sickening jolt that no hand was holding his shoulder. The guy's forearm ended in a stump. The face was familiar and he would have recognized him faster if the drugs hadn't been clouding his mind.
"Chaff." he slurred. A shot in the dark, really. He wasn't sure it was his name. Forty-fifth Hunger Games, he thought. The hand had been bitten off and swallowed by an alligator mutt.
The young man's face broke into a grin. "Why, you're a fan. I'm flattered. Love your style, by the way. The force field thing? Smart."
Force field… He remembered kicking pebbles over the cliff edge… He remembered them bouncing back… He remembered thinking there was no way out but it could become a possible weapon…
And he had run for the cliff.
He didn't think he had even meant to do that. He hadn't been in any state to think. Running for the cliff had been the only move. The smart move.
Haymitch blinked again, the drugs in his system made it difficult to stay focused. He looked down at himself and let go of the victor's arm to tear off the needles stuck to the crook of his elbow.
"Oh, you don't want to do that…" Chaff made a face. "They patched you up but that was ugly, buddy. It's gonna hurt."
"I'm not your buddy." he growled, gritting his teeth and sitting up. It hurt his pride to admit he would have probably fallen over if the guy hadn't supported him and arranged the pillows behind him. He batted the hand and the stump away not because he was afraid of the victor but because he didn't want his kindness. He didn't deserve any sort of kindness. The things he had done in that place…
"You're a charming one, aren't you?" Chaff snorted, sitting down on a chair that had been left by the bed. Clearly, he had been there for some time if the book abandoned at the foot of the chair was any indication.
Haymitch gave the room a glance. It was white, very white… Floor, ceiling, sheets, walls, furniture, equipments…
"Where are we?" he asked.
"Games' Clinic." Chaff answered in a calm, almost bored voice. "That's in the Training Center, deep under. You've been out for five days. The crowd's hungry for you." The man looked at him from head to toes and snorted, a little bitter. "They're gonna eat you up. Should have taken the axe in your face instead of the stomach, you're too handsome."
He didn't know what that meant but it made his stomach churn in unpleasant ways. He gingerly probed at his chest. The shot of pain was immediate but manageable. He figured it was thanks to the drugs in his system.
"It was touch and go for a while." the victor offered. "You gave the Gamemakers a scare. No victor to parade around would be bad for business."
"Why are you here?" he snarled.
He wasn't sure what had happened to Eleven's tributes. He wasn't even sure what had happened to Tim and Pia, the other Twelve's kids. He and Maysilee had never crossed path with them.
"'Cause you've got no mentor." Chaff shrugged. "And I drew the short straw. Mags' been by. Seeder too. Woof. Beetee and Wiress… A few others. But, like I said. You've got no mentor."
"I had no mentor in the Games and I didn't do so bad." he spat. "Where's my escort?"
He hated Amelia. He had hated her for years just like he had hated the escort that had come before her but she would have been a familiar face. And she had come through in the end… She had managed to send him and Maysilee some sponsors' gifts. It must have been her since Twelve had no victors, she had all the power.
She had been dismissive of the four of them ever since the Reaping. She had been unhelpful, mean at times and hadn't bothered trying to coach them but… She was familiar.
"On a talk-show or another, already boosting her promotion." Chaff shrugged. "She's moving on to Five. You'll be better off without her, if you want my opinion."
"Didn't ask for it, did I?" he retorted, eyeing the victor, looking for a trap. "What do you want?"
"Told you." Eleven's mentor repeated, still calm. "You need someone to show you the ropes. An ally, if you want to think about it like that."
"I don't want any ally." he barked, his mind flashing to bright pink birds and blood soaking the dirt, blond hair turned crimson and blue glassy eyes that saw no more. He wanted to throw up. The beeping started in earnest again, it came from a machine on his right and he ripped the sensor away from his finger. It didn't help with the nausea. "I'm gonna be sick." he muttered.
"No, you're not." Chaff countered. "You're going to lie back down and you're going to breathe. 'Cause if you're sick, I'm pretty sure you're gonna tear those stitches away and then they'll have to operate again and… Yeah, there's the small matter of you maybe dying this time…"
He did lie back down and breathe because it seemed like the cleverest thing to do.
"Very helpful." he commented after a few minutes, once he was sure he wouldn't throw up. "You're a great mentor. I can see why you win every year."
"Watch the tone, kid." Chaff warned.
Haymitch chuckled even though he was far from being amused. "You're what? Five years older than me? Cut the crap." He sulked. "I don't need you to mentor me. I already won."
"You're cute to think it ends there." Eleven's victor sighed. "Fine, you don't want an ally, you don't want a mentor… How about a friend?"
Friends die.
"I want to go home."
The words slipped past his lips without his consent, too whiny and too vulnerable. He felt himself blush and he turned his head away to hide the tears burning his eyes. He didn't know why he wanted to cry so badly. Maysilee? The pain? The exhaustion? The terror that had been gripping him for weeks now? The guilt of everything he had done to get to this bed? The knowledge he didn't deserve to be in this bed? He longed to hug his brother, to breathe the familiar scent of his home, to kiss his girl until he couldn't think anymore, to bury his face in his mother's neck and to finally let go…
"That's not going to happen right away." Chaff said, not without sympathy. He had been there, Haymitch figured, maybe in this very bed, staring at the stump that now ended his arm. "There's the Crowning, parties, interviews… The whole shebang."
"I don't care." he spat. "I won. I can do what I want. That's the deal, right? You win and you do what you want?"
The stump patted his shoulder in an awkward attempt at comfort. "You get some sleep now, buddy. I'll stay right here, alright? I'll be right here every time you need me."
"Why?" he frowned. "You don't know me."
"Told you." Chaff shrugged. "I like your style. Plus, we're friends now."
Eleven's victor announced it as if it was decided.
Haymitch was too tired to argue the point further.
2 – Second Quarter Quell's Victory Tour
Haymitch sneaked away from the party and hid into the first empty room he found. He didn't bother turning the lights on, he angrily tore the tie away from his neck, not caring in the slightest that Amelia would have his head for it, and slid down the wall.
Eleven was the first stop of the tour and if every one of them was like that it would be unbearable.
Standing out there, making speeches, shaking hands, facing the giant pictures of four dead kids he had seen every day for two weeks during training, following the mayor around the District and pretending to look interested for the cameras, having to listen to his escort's rambling about etiquette and protocol and what not and resisting the urge to simply snap her neck…
He pressed his shaking hands against his face and took a deep shuddering breath, willing the pain to stop. It didn't. It never stopped. It was a burning hole in his chest that was threatening to swallow him whole, an endless echo of cherished voices in his ears murmuring your fault, your fault, your fault…
The lights were turned on abruptly and he blinked, blinded. It immediately made him reach for the knife he kept at his belt at all times. He didn't care what Amelia or his stylist had to say about it. He didn't care about ruining the suit's lines or how rude he looked coming armed at a dinner party. He hadn't parted from the knife since he had been let out of the Clinic. He slept with it, he ate with it, he showered with it… The knife might as well be a part of him now. Without it he felt dizzy, lost and vulnerable. He needed it to protect himself.
"Don't stab a cripple." Chaff mocked. "Didn't your mother tell you it's bad form to attack disabled people?"
The mention of his mother was too much.
"Shut up." he growled, tightening his grip on the knife so much his knuckles turned white.
Chaff didn't flinch or look wary but his eyes remained on the blade for a few seconds.
"You're having a flashback?" Eleven's victor asked in a matter-of-fact sort of voice. "Seeing the pictures of the other tributes… It does that sometimes. Flashbacks. No shame in that. Not really a nice thing to go through but we've all been there."
"I'm not." he spat. "Leave me alone."
He didn't understand why Chaff was so bent on helping. At some point, after his release from the Clinic, Haymitch had relented and accepted his near constant presence at his side if only because the relief of seeing Amelia's familiar face had quickly faded into annoyance and hatred toward her. Chaff was always calm, always diffusing the tension with a joke, always drawing the attention back on him when it became too much for Haymitch… Chaff had remained true to his promise, he had stuck close, had taken Haymitch under his wing so to speak, had introduced him to other victors who had all been… nice even though he had killed some of their tributes… Chaff had taken over what should have been Twelve's mentor role, arranging things for him, coordinating with Amelia…
"Look, I'm not going to say everything's going to be magically better." Chaff stated, taking a seat in one of the armchairs. They were in a sitting-room, Haymitch realized belatedly. "'Cause that ain't gonna happen. What you do in the arena, it stays with you forever. But it dulls after a while. You'll learn to deal with it. 'Cause that's what people like you and me do. Wanna hear a secret, buddy? There are no winners, only survivors."
"It's not that." he argued. Although it didn't help. He didn't think he had slept more than two or three hours at a time in six months. There were the nightmares and then there were the ghosts. That was how he called them anyway. He knew they weren't real. He knew they were most likely hallucinations conjured by his exhausted brain or by his guilt but there were always there, lurking in the shadows of the huge empty house they had allotted him. He couldn't stand the dark anymore. He couldn't stand the fear they were about to pounce on him and tear him to shreds and he knew he deserved it, he knew, but he couldn't accept to go down easily because Chaff had a point: he was a survivor. "I want to go home. I just want to go home."
"You just left there." Chaff pointed out. "It will be a couple of months before you go back. We can find you a phone if you're homesick. Fuck, you're a Quell victor, Haymitch. Use that. You need to call home, you say, I'm the Quarter Quell's victor I fucking want a phone."
He shook his head, burying both of his hands in his hair and pulling. It was too long, longer than he ever had it, but he had refused to let the prep team trim it. His mother always cut his hair. His mother…
"I've got no home left." he whispered.
"What?" Eleven's victor frowned.
"There was an accident." He spat that word with bitterness and sarcasm because he didn't believe in the accident theory. He didn't. "There was a fire, it spread. Four houses burned to the ground. Six dead. Mama and Hayden… They were inside. The mayor told me after the train arrived home." He started laughing. It was hysterical. He had been hysterical since then, slowly cooking his madness inside his empty house in that Victors' Village that looked like a graveyard. "I thought it was odd there were no cameras at the station."
Chaff's face was blank. "They tried to sell you and you said no?"
He looked up at his friend, confused at first and then feeling sick. "Is that what they do to other people?"
"Sometimes." Eleven's victor shrugged. "If you're handsome enough. Thought I had bought you some time after the Crowning, you being deadly injured and all."
"They'll touch me over my dead body." he growled. "Is that what they did to you?"
"Nah." Chaff denied, waving his stump in the air. "Seeder stopped them from giving me a prosthesis. Capitols don't pay for cripples. Creeps most of them out." Eleven's mentor pursed his lips tight and dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry about your family, buddy. You've got a girl though, right? You've got to do what they say or…"
"She was caught poaching." he cut him off flatly. "Bullet in the head. The Mayor told me that too. You know you get whipped for poaching? You don't get executed." He rested the head against the wall and closed his eyes. "There was a white rose on each of their graves."
"That's Snow's signature." Chaff offered.
"Yeah, I figured." he said. "I've been thinking… All this time… I've been thinking about why… And I think I know. I was clever. I used the arena against Nya. I've showed them off. God forbids a District dog to be clever, right? All the more so someone from Twelve…"
"Probably." Eleven's victor agreed. "I know it doesn't mean much but I'm sorry, buddy."
"You've got a family?" he asked.
"Yeah." Chaff nodded. "A sister. Three nephews. Lost my mom and dad a couple of years ago though. Legit accident, not…"
"When does it stop?" he cut him off, almost begging. "The pain? When does it stop? 'Cause I can't breathe."
He hadn't been expecting an answer and he wasn't surprised not to get one. Chaff studied him for a moment and then he shrugged. "I don't know but I know what can help. Greensbe is useless as far as mayors go but he's got fine booze." Eleven's victor stood up and rummaged around the room for a while before eventually coming back to hand Haymitch a glass, the bottle wedged beneath his armpit. "Here's my advice… When it becomes too hard to bear, you have a glass. Makes the world look less gloomy."
The whiskey burned on its way down his throat but he accepted another one and another one.
After a few, he was completely smashed and he was vaguely aware of Amelia ranting in the background. The next morning he only remembered Chaff helping him back to the train and having slept through the night for the first time in six months.
A week later, when he was so exhausted he couldn't see straight anymore and the nightmares were entirely too much, he didn't even hesitate before snatching a bottle from the bar car.
3 – Fifty-three Hunger Games
The mentors' lounge was crowded but Haymitch found his way to the bar where Chaff was sitting, flipping through some file or other – hunting for sponsors, no doubt, Haymitch didn't have this problem, Twelve had been out of the Games ten minutes after the launch. It was sickening how quickly he had gotten used to losing tributes – maybe getting used to it wasn't the right phrasing, maybe it was even worse: he didn't expect anything else.
He sat on the stool next to his friend. Chaff glanced up from his papers and lifted an eyebrow, immediately barking with laughter. "Well… Someone's got laid. Good for you. It was getting sad, man. Nineteen and still a virgin."
Haymitch scowled, the tip of his ears was burning red.
"Don't know what you're on about." he mumbled. It was an atrocious lie. And there was a vicious hickey on his neck. He had tried to hide it but short of stealing some of his escort's awful make-up, there wasn't much to do.
Chaff had been on his case for years now, always trying to hook him up with silly Capitols who would have liked nothing more than taking the Quell's victor for a spin… At first he had been reluctant because of Mabel. He was still grieving for her, still grieving for the life they should have had, still regretting they hadn't done it before the Reaping because… The truth was, he couldn't afford to get close to anyone in Twelve and he didn't want his first time to be with a Capitol. He had kissed a few of the girls Chaff had thrown his way in bars and clubs, he had kissed them and fumbled under their dresses and had let them touch him and he had pretended it was all fine but… It had never felt right and he had never gone through with it.
"It was Grave, wasn't it?" Chaff insisted. "That girl's been drooling after you since last year."
"She's not." he grumbled. "We're friends."
Alina had won the previous year. It was Eight's first victory in a while and the pressure on her shoulders was huge. She was pretty which didn't help and she was popular. Eighteen and I feel like I'm fifty, she had confessed one night over a drink. He could relate.
"Friends, right." Chaff snorted. "You could do worse for a girlfriend…"
"She's not my girlfriend. I don't do girlfriends." he snapped. "It was a one-time thing between friends. That's it. Now shut up." He signaled the Avox bartender he wanted something to drink, too aware Chaff was staring at him. "Drop it. I mean it. It's none of your business and I'm not going to share the details with you." She deserved better than him telling his best friend all about it behind her back. He could be a gentleman like her mother had raised him to be.
Alina was sassy and kind. He liked her. Maybe given time and in other circumstances, he could even have grown to love her but love wasn't something he was willing to contemplate anymore. Love made you weak. Love made you hurt.
"It's a bit early for a drink, no?" Chaff said, taking him aback. He had been expecting more lecturing about Alina, love, and why it wasn't a good idea to stop living completely. Although maybe Chaff wouldn't have. That was usually Mags' line. Chaff understood. If you had no one, you had no one to lose. It was safer this way. Lonely, maybe, but safer.
Haymitch shrugged, not bothering to check his watch. "It's party time somewhere."
"You're drinking a lot, Haymitch." Eleven's victor commented, pushing his papers aside.
Haymitch told the Avox to leave the bottle and took great pleasure in downing the first glass only to provoke his friend. Did they think he didn't hear them when they talked behind his back? Mags and Seeder? Beetee sometimes… He's drinking too much. He's losing grip. "Not sure you're the right person to lecture me on booze, Chaff."
"I drink too much, true." his friend argued. "But I can go without."
"Sad life you have." he snorted.
"Haymitch." Chaff insisted, his frown deepening. "When I said: get a drink when you feel you need it, I didn't mean get wasted every day."
"Should have been clearer then." he mocked. "Runs in the family, see? My dad was a drunkard. Worst piece of shit ever. Took off when I was a kid. Never went looking. He might still be kicking. How ironical is that? My dad could be alive and my mother's dead." He toasted the security camera in the far end corner of the room. "Maybe they'll find him and kill him. Wouldn't shed a tear."
He was in a good mood.
Getting laid would do that to a man, he figured. Maybe he wouldn't be so squeamish about going with clueless Capitols anymore. Sex was just sex after all.
"Look…" Chaff pressed "Trust me, I get the need to numb things and…"
"No, you don't." he interrupted. "'Cause your family's not dead 'cause of you. So, here's how it's gonna play out. You're gonna be my friend and shut up about the booze 'cause friends don't make each other feel like shit and victors don't comment on each other's way of coping. We've got a deal?"
Eleven's victor clearly didn't like it but in the end, Chaff forced a smile. "You're right. Whatever helps you cope. Just be careful."
"That's my middle name." he snorted.
4 – Seventy-fourth Hunger Games
"So, you won." Chaff said, clasping his shoulder with his good hand.
The party was outrageous and too loud. Haymitch hadn't slept, eaten or even drunk properly in days, he was worried about Katniss and Peeta who were still unconscious in the Games Clinic, and he was sporting a headache. He was desperate for some fresh air and quiet but he knew that it was important to play the game the right way now more than ever. On the dance floor, Trinket was making a good show of pretending she wasn't dead on her feet. Sometimes they exchanged a glance and he could see the same wariness in her eyes he felt deep inside.
The euphoria of the victory had quickly died down. The implications of Katniss holding out the berries, Peeta's leg, the Gamemakers' quiet but persistent displeasure, Crane sending Trinket a note stating Twelve's team should stay as far away from him as possible…
"Yeah." he said, not bothering to fake enthusiasm.
He had been faking all night. For the cameras, for the sponsors, for the other victors who had congratulated him… He wouldn't fake for his best friend. Instead, he shoveled another handful of appetizers in his mouth – he had stolen a tray from a passing Avox despite his escort glaring daggers from the other side of the room – they weren't his favorite but he was starving, he thought his last sandwich dated back from two days earlier at least. He and Trinket had been living on coffee and the occasional muffin alone.
"Two victors." Chaff insisted. "You know…"
"Yeah." he cut his friend off. "Trust me, I know all about it. Cinna's brought me to speed." He had too much on his mind. Katniss, Peeta, Thirteen, a possible rebellion… "Can't focus on any of that right now."
His friend nodded, clearly understanding the predicament. Chaff had had one or two victors in his time.
"I'm glad your girl made it." Eleven's mentor offered. "Rue…" Chaff shook his head, his face hardening. "I knew she had no real chances but I liked the kid. What your girl did for her… It was brave. And decent."
"And stupid." Haymitch added with a sigh. "But that's Katniss for you. Brave, decent and stupid."
"Says the boy who hold his ally's hand until she died." Chaff snorted.
The mention of Maysilee made him clench his jaw. Maysilee had been on his mind too much as it was. He had done a double take when he had glimpsed the pin on Katniss' shoulder. He had taken that pin off his friend's dead body and there it was again, twenty-five years later, as if to better assert that Maysilee would never stop haunting him. The pin had felt like a sign. The scene with Rue had only strengthened that feeling.
"Didn't cover her with flowers." he pointed out, aiming for detached and only managing to sound pained.
"No. Don't think anyone ever did that before." Chaff answered. "Nobody ever sang someone to death either. Good girl, you have."
"Did I thank you for the bread?" he asked, rubbing his face.
"Trinket sent a thank you card to our floor." Chaff replied with obvious amusement. "Flourished style, she's got."
"Yeah, well… That's Trinket for you." he commented. "Flourished." His head was pounding now. He wondered how long they would have to stay there. He wanted to go back to the clinic, check on the kids… The doctors had said it would be some time yet but he didn't want them to wake up alone. – Peeta particularly, he wanted to tell the boy about his leg himself… He wanted to soften the news as much as he could… He studied his friend's closed face. "You're okay? The kid… You got attached."
"How not?" Chaff scoffed. "She was twelve, smart and fucking cute as shit. It's unfair every year, but there are years, you know?"
He nodded his understanding, snatching flutes of champagne from a passing Avox. It wasn't their favorite poison but it would have to do. They downed it at the same time and with the same tiredness.
"Champagne is meant to be savored, you know." Trinket sighed with open disapprobation, joining them.
"What do you want and when can we leave?" he grumbled.
"I want you to dance with me and right after." she retorted without a blink, not even calling him out on his rudeness.
"Don't want to dance." he mumbled.
"I am not particularly in the mood either but it is expected." she hissed. "Stop being difficult."
He rolled his eyes but gestured at her to go first. He discarded his empty glass on a nearby table, trying not to mind Chaff's disapproving stare.
"What?" he snarled after a few seconds, almost expecting a comment about whistling and puppies that came running.
"Nothing." Chaff answered. "Be careful with that, that's all."
It wasn't the first warning of that kind his friend imparted on him and, just like every other time, Haymitch ignored him. He was in control. So what if he danced a little too close to Trinket? What if he enjoyed holding her tight?
It was his business.
Not Chaff's.
5 – Third Quarter Quell
When the elevator chimed in the silent penthouse, Haymitch thought it was Trinket. She was stupid enough to brave the interdiction for escorts to come back to their respective floors.
He was surprised when Chaff appeared on the living room's threshold. He hadn't bothered switching on the lamps, the bay windows provided enough light and casted the room in a soft glow. It suited his gloomy mood.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Haymitch snorted. "Got an important appointment in the morning or something, no?"
"You suck at mentoring." Chaff chuckled, making a beeline for the liquor cart. He poured himself a whiskey and joined Haymitch by the bay window. They watched the city for a while. The glass was soundproof but the people rioting in the streets were impossible to ignore. They looked like tiny ants from there. Tiny ants calling for a stop to the Quell, something that would never happen in a million year. They would have forgotten their outrage the next morning probably. "I need something."
Haymitch took a sip of his own glass, trying not to make a face at the watered down liquor. He had been cutting out as much as he could, he had been fighting the impulses to drink. There would be no booze in Thirteen and he needed to be ready for it. It didn't make the prospect any less daunting.
"Anything." he offered quietly.
Anything that wouldn't hurt his kids, he amended in his head. The plan was in motion but there were no guarantees everyone would survive. All the victors involved knew that.
"If I don't make it…" Chaff said. "My sister and the kids…"
"Yes." he cut him off. "You don't need to ask."
His friend studied him for a moment and then gave him a brief nod. "We don't need to do the thing when I say mushy stuff and you answer soppy things, right?"
Haymitch cringed. "Hell, no."
"Good." Eleven's victor chuckled.
"Good." Haymitch echoed, the tinge of worry and pain in his chest worsening at the idea that almost all his friends would be sent to the arena in the morning. They drank in silence for a moment and then he couldn't keep it inside anymore. "Don't get your sorry ass killed."
"I'll do my best, buddy." Chaff promised.
6 – Rebellion
It wasn't until a doctor led him into the hospital room that would be his for the duration of his withdrawal that everything sank in.
Haymitch lied down on the bed because there was nothing else to do and he stared at the walls. Everything was turning and swirling in his head: the kids, Twelve, Thirteen, Coin, Katniss, Finnick… The room looked strangely like the one he had woken up in after his Games except this one was grey instead of white. There was a chair next to his bed, probably meant for visitors…
And that was when he finally realized.
Chaff was dead.
He had known for a while, he had seen it happen on screen but it hadn't felt real until then, until his eyes fell on a chair that would have been stubbornly occupied by his best friend if he had still been alive.
Chaff was dead.
Haymitch hadn't known he could feel emptier than he had all those years.
And yet.
