prompt :hayffie have a big fight and try ignoring eachother all day but they have a rule that they never go to bed angry at eachother.

Truce

Haymitch spent ten long minutes leaning against the doorframe of their bedroom, watching her aggressively rub cream on her face where she sat at her dressing table. When she stopped examining her face in the mirror and started tidying up her jewelry box even though he was entirely convinced it was already perfectly organized, he let out a sigh.

He would have to be the bigger person, then.

Usually, it was her who sought him out and coaxed him out of a sulk when bedtime was coming dangerously close and they were still fighting. They tried to never go to bed angry at each other.

It wasn't a rule they had ever voiced. It dated back from her first weeks in Twelve, where she had still been so mentally fragile. Arguing had happened, awful fights had happened. But at night she had needed him to keep the nightmares away and so they had more or less tacitly agreed that fights and arguments were to be forgotten when they went to bed even if they would be brought up again the next day. It was a truce of sort.

"Are we done?" he asked, sounding more tired than angry. He wanted to be angry and petulant because he had a right to be angry.

She shouldn't have given away entire boxes of his old stuff without asking him first even if there wasn't really anything he cared about in those boxes. It was the principle of the thing. But he shouldn't have said she was always meddling where she wasn't wanted and that she had no right micromanaging his life like she was still his escort.

"You tell me." she huffed. She was staring at her jewelry box, moving necklaces and rings left and right without apparent reason… Her voice sounded hurt and tired too.

"Don't be like that…" he scowled. "You know I didn't mean it."

"Do I?" she retorted. "Perhaps I should…"

"Don't even start trying to say you're gonna pack up and go back to the city." he cut her off. "Cause I know you don't mean that but you're stubborn enough to go through with it and I'm stubborn enough to let you."

Maybe that was why they had started the truce in the first place. To prevent that sort of disasters from happening.

She spun around on her stool and studied him with a pout. "You hurt my feelings."

"Good thing you're used to it, then, yeah?" he snorted without much humor, crossing the room in a few strides. He brushed his hand against her cheek. Something uncoiled in his belly when she leaned against his palm instead of pushing it away. "Sorry."

She took a deep breath and sighed. "I am sorry too."

He brushed her hair back and used that gentle grip to tilt her head up. She was smiling when he leaned down to kiss her.

"Truce." he called against her mouth.

"Truce." she agreed.