prompt/ : haymitch tells effie that sometimes he purposely makes her mad because he thinks shes kinda cute when shes mad

Cute Madness

Effie was still positively furious.

The problem was that she didn't have any energy left to act on it.

She was lying half naked on the penthouse's living-room floor and she didn't even care. Her dress was bundled up at her waist, she was flashing the whole world – even though the whole world was limited to Haymitch at the moment – she was still a bit out of breath and she didn't have it in her to even glare.

Being screwed out of their brain would do that to a person, she supposed.

She wasn't sure how exactly it had happened, this time – she was never sure how it happened, really. They had been bickering since early afternoon and it had seemed to her he had been intent on pushing all her buttons, on driving her to the edge.

She watched him haul himself off the floor and kick off the pants and underwear trapped around his ankles to make his way to the liquor cart in the corner of the room. He didn't seem to care about being naked either – but when did he ever?

Her mother would have said it was only natural, after all. Animals didn't care about clothes – and what were District people if not advanced animals?

She waited to see if he would pour her a glass and, when it became clear he wouldn't – no surprise there – she huffed and felt around on her left side for the purse she had tossed in her wrath earlier. She eventually located a cigarette and wedged it between her lips, looking for a lighter she didn't find. She kept losing them one after the other.

"Would you happen to have a match?" she asked, keeping her tone polite through sheer force of will.

"Maybe." he answered in that somehow mocking voice of his, turning around to face her.

She waited a couple of seconds but she already knew he wouldn't oblige her, so she rolled her eyes and nudged his pants closer with her foot to search his pockets. He always kept a box in his pocket. Who knew why? She found it and lit her cigarette, blowing out the smoke before turning her head to watch him once more.

It was a shame he was so handsome. A shame. He had lost his jacket and his waistcoat at some point and there was something absolutely… tempting to his half-buttoned shirt that barely covered his bits.

"Like what you see, Trinket?" he challenged.

He was watching her watching him but it didn't stop her from openly ogling him.

She took a long drag of her cigarette, letting herself relax.

"Why do you enjoy infuriating me so much, Haymitch?" she retorted, flicking ashes in the glass of whiskey that had been abandoned on the coffee table hours earlier.

She had been Twelve's escort for four years and she had the intimate conviction they could have worked well together if he hadn't been so stubbornly fixated on driving her to quit by any mean necessary.

They certainly worked well on other… levels.

"Why do you like annoying me?" he shrugged.

Because when he grew angry, she felt a thrill. It was dangerous, he was dangerous… But she knew he would never hurt her, not physically at least. He liked to think he was a beast, a monster, but the inner demon he feared so much was on a leash and he kept a tight grip on it.

"You are a master at deflecting questions you do not want to answer." she scoffed, wedging her cigarette between her lips once more. She pulled down on her dress to make herself decent and stood up before blowing up another puff of smoke. She dropped the cigarette in the glass of whiskey, snatched her purse from the floor and headed out, a little less confident on her high heels than she would have liked. "I expect you to be ready for tonight's party in an hour. Do not think I won't hunt you down."

"Looking forward to that." he sneered, lifting his glass in an ironic toast. She was at the door when his voice briefly stopped her in her tracks. "You're cute when you're mad, sweetheart."

A smile played on her lips but she didn't gratify that observation with an answer.