Prompt: I know you have very long list of prompts but I found this quote "I like to rub your back and play with your hair because I'm checking to make sure you are really there. Because having you feels like a dream come true.— H.J" and I think this is Effie post-MJ. Maybe you could do something with this ?

I don't know yet if there will be a prompt out tomorrow. As some of you know I'm giving out private lessons and I'm not sure I will get to come back home in the afternoon yet. Schedule looks a bit hectic. So... Don't worry if nothing happens ;)

Nighttime Rituals

Effie had never been a great sleeper but after the war and the months she had spent in prison, it had grown worse. She fled sleep like the devil because she knew it would bring nightmares she didn't want to face. She usually put on her pajamas and settled on the couch after dinner to watch TV, mindlessly channel surfing until she found something that caught her attention or leaving it on and focusing on something else, like the notepad she had started to fill with sketches of dresses.

It was habits to spend half the night like that now.

"You know, we could always get one for the bedroom." Haymitch snorted, nodding at the TV, as he ran his fingers up her shin and thigh so she would lift her legs off the couch. "The bed's more comfortable." He slipped underneath them and coiled his hand around her knee. She didn't look up from the notepad balanced on her thighs, trying to decide if she wanted to add a hat or not to that particular dress.

"Absolutely not." she hummed. "TVs in the bedroom are detrimental to couples' sex life."

"Don't think we have to worry about that." he chuckled, bringing the mug he had been carrying to his mouth. The mug was for appearance's sake and to avoid a fight, she figured, because she knew whatever tea was in there had been spiked with enough liquor to make it tea flavored alcohol rather than alcohol flavored tea.

She watched his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he drank before letting her eyes trail down his bare torso, wishing he would put on a shirt because nights were starting to get chilly and she was scared he would watch a cold. His chest wasn't as firm as it used to be but it was pleasant enough for a man in his forties who didn't exercise. She was keeping an eye out for that small pouch of fat though, she didn't enjoy beer bellies and she was not shy of telling him so.

"So you say now." she retorted, looking back at her notepad. "Wait a couple of years."

"It's been eleven years, sweetheart." he pointed out. "Never grown bored with you, did I?"

Her lips stretched into a smile and she glanced up at him, warmed by the tenderness in his twinkling grey eyes.

"But I have been living here with you for a few months only." she argued. "It changes things."

"Sure." he smirked. "Makes waiting for the night to end so I can go to bed much nicer."

If she spent half the night awake, Haymitch had a tendency to come to bed in early morning only when the darkness receded enough that he wouldn't find it oppressive. She hoped they could start behaving like normal people with time. She hoped.

Eventually, she put the notepad down to watch whatever talk show was on and he finished his mug. It was late enough by that point that they shifted so they could both lie down on the couch, on their sides, so his back was to the edge and turned to the TV because he didn't care to watch and he wanted to bury his face in her neck. His hand slipped under her pajama top, coming to rest at the small of her back, his leg slipped between hers and she trapped it there with her thighs, hooking her ankles together so he had no chance of escaping. Not that he wanted to. He nuzzled her collarbone for a moment and she knew he was going to drift off. He had that sleepy look on his face.

He didn't suggest they went up to bed though, because she wasn't ready yet.

She distractedly ran her fingers though his hair, her other hand roaming at random on his back and shoulders, drawing silly patterns on his skin or sometimes retracing the line of a scar.

The talk-show was boring and she didn't know any of the celebrities invited on it. She supposed that was a proof the wheel had truly turned. She used to know everyone of importance in Panem.

"You can't keep your hands off me." he accused, pressing a kiss against her neck.

She rested her head on his if only so he wouldn't see her sad smile.

She couldn't – and not only out of desire although it was always a prime factor in her urge to touch him.

The simple ugly truth was that she had thought she would never see him again, never mind kiss him or do something as intimate as trailing her fingers down the bumpy bones of his spine.

She needed this, this cuddling and touching, she needed it to remind herself this was real life and the nightmare was nothing but that, a bad memory she should forget.

But to tell him that…

She didn't think she could.

"You know I cannot." she joked instead, inserting enough cheer in her voice that he wouldn't look further.

He snorted, clearly amused but too sleepy to act on it. "Minx."

She pressed a kiss on his temple and let him fall asleep.

It was only fair.

One of them should sleep in peace at least.