May i prompt? Hayffie living together and haymitch makes a comment that her breasts are small. She gets embarrassed or insecure and thinks he doesnt really like them since he has never comented on the size before. But he reassures her.

Something Good

"It is bad enough that the clothes they give us are horrible." Effie grumbled, fighting with the clasp of the washed off grey bra she had on. "Do they have to give us terrible underwear too?"

She was standing in the middle of the sleeping area – which meant in the narrow space between the two bunk beds – and she was trying, and failing, to get into her night clothes. That bra had been acting up ever since she had first put it on weeks earlier – not like they were given a lot of outfits to wear in this place – and she was strongly reminded of why she chose to do without most days. Except when she didn't put one on, it tended to show because Thirteen was like a freezer and then Haymitch would pout and sulk because soldiers stared at her nipples.

The things she did for him.

And he wasn't even grateful, was he? He was sprawled on her bed, already in his pajamas pants and not much else, looking very appealing and watching her with a mocking smile on his face – wearing that particular expression he always did when he thought she was being ridiculous.

"You're done complaining?" he taunted. "I'm pretty sure there are sport bras somewhere in that load of uniforms."

There were. It was standard outfits for the soldier she was in title only. But really. Sport bras. She had to fight a shudder at the very idea. She would rather go without than wear one of those. Perhaps she should start wearing them. See how he liked it, then. No easy access, absolutely no sex appeal… Sport bras. She was used to corsets made of silk and lacy lingerie not… Sport bras.

Finally she managed to unclasp the bra and she glared at it before tossing it on the pile of dirty clothes she would have to leave for the laundry people to collect – that wasn't something she minded overly much even if the people in charge of laundry clearly were not experts.

"It does not even offer support." she grumbled, rubbing the tender areas between the sides of her breasts and her armpits. Not the sexiest attitude but she couldn't help it. Every time she took it off, she felt like a roast which strings had been cut.

"Like you need support." Haymitch snorted.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped, snatching the long-sleeved shirt she used at night from the second bed – the one they used to stock his clothes on since he was officially sharing Plutarch's compartment still even though he spent all his nights in there with her.

"You've got small breasts. How much support do you need?" he chuckled.

It was a good thing she had her back to him at that moment. She froze for a second, one arm in the air where she had been slipping it in the shirt's sleeve, the other hand clutching the collar of the frayed shirt.

Given the sudden silence behind her, she supposed he had realized he had put his foot in his mouth.

"And they're perky." he added in what seemed like a hurry to her. "They don't need support. They support themselves. Yeah?"

She finished putting on her shirt and took her time switching her plain washed off white panties for the pajama pants she hated having to wear. Before Thirteen, she had never slept with long-sleeves or pants in her life. She hated it. She hated feeling constricted at night. But it was so cold in this place that she would rather be constricted than frozen. She took her time because it meant avoiding turning to face him.

She knew her breasts weren't her greatest assets. They had been more than sufficient when she had been a model. Nobody wanted a model with big breasts, it didn't flow with the figure required to walk runways. And she was beautiful, the only people who had ever remarked on the size of her breasts were the occasional lover and her mother who had been insisting ever since she had more or less left modeling behind that she should have them redone.

In Thirteen, thanks to the rationing and the quality of the food, she had lost weight. She hadn't wanted to linger on it because it was terrible enough to feel plain and ugly without her wigs, her make-up and her clothes but she knew her body was paying the cost of working for the rebels too. Her ribs poked out in the most unappealing way, her ass was losing its natural curve and as for her breasts… She was pretty sure she had lost a cup. Half of it at least.

"Effie…" he sighed, a touch of impatience in his voice. "I've been up since before dawn… I'm tired… I don't have any energy for stupid fights…"

Tired planning a war that was spreading across Panem when she spent most of her days either trailing after Heavensbee like a secretary or staring at the Mockingjay outfit making sure there were no flaws to correct. Busy doing important things in Command when she was only allowed in to take notes and type briefings.

"Why would we fight?" she answered in a cheerful voice. "Do not be silly."

He had never made that sort of remarks about her breasts before. Chaff had made plenty of those and he had always snapped back at his best friend that he didn't know what was good. She had asked him a few times if he wouldn't have liked her to have bigger breasts, willing to face her fears about plastic surgery for him and he had always said he liked them because they were natural. He had never…

She turned off the light and then climbed into bed – something she hadn't yet mastered how to do gracefully – passing over him to take her usual space between him and the wall. She arranged the blankets over them while he spooned her with a content sigh, his warm palm finding its way to her stomach under her shirt.

She waited but he didn't slid the hand up or down, he simply tugged her closer against his body. She felt the tension slowly leave him as he got ready to sleep. Without having sex with her first.

She had marveled at this, for the past few weeks, at the fact that they were now sharing a bed even when sex wasn't involved – something that might have tentatively started on the children's Victory Tour but not to the scale it had reached in Thirteen. They lived together. Sure, he was still officially sharing with Plutarch but, in practicality, he was living with her. He slept in her bed, he shared her bathroom, his clothes and the rest of his belongings were there… They lived together.

And she had been so happy at this new development, at finally being treated as more than a sex toy after all those years… It was a little unfair, of course, he hadn't been treating her like a convenient way to scratch an itch in a long time despite what he claimed. It had been… More for a while. But he hadn't been willing to admit it. If he sought her out, it always involved sex in some way. It was the only way he convinced himself to accept cuddles, comfort and tenderness.

So she had been thrilled by the new intimacy.

But now she was starting to wonder if the reason they didn't have sex all the time anymore was because Thirteen had stolen her beauty away from her.

She curled up around his arm until her knees bumped against the wall. If the bed had been less narrow, she might have scooted to the edge of the mattress just so she could get some space.

Maybe the lack of sex wasn't a good thing. Sex was what had brought them together and, for all intent and purposes, what was still keeping them together. If his desire for her waned, she was afraid he would simply move on.

But desire always waned, didn't it?

Men got bored. Men cheated.

She had learned those two facts long ago. If you loved them enough and they treated you right, you pretended to be blind. If not, you took measures and tried not to look a fool.

"What's wrong?" Haymitch grumbled. "Can hear you thinking. Careful… After so much time not using your brain, you're gonna sprain it…"

The teasing was obvious.

She had never thought he believed her to be as stupid as she sometimes acted. He knew it was all an act.

But did he?

He had never made any derogatory comment on her body before. Her clothes, her make-up, the wigs… It was fair game. But her body? He had always claimed she was beautiful. Always.

Men lied.

That, too, she knew.

"Nothing." she whispered, reaching up to arrange the pillow under her cheek. Pillows were saggy and almost entirely useless in this place. One day, she vowed, she would find something good about Thirteen. One little thing. They must have one.

"Come on, Princess…" he sighed against her nape. "Didn't mean anything by it…"

It was perhaps the proof that he knew her better than she would have liked him to that he was perfectly aware of what was troubling her.

"Didn't you?" she challenged. She was careful to keep anger and hurt out of her voice, to express just a touch of detached curiosity.

His fingers danced up her stomach and playfully tapped on her nipple before he cupped one breast in his hand. "You know I love them. They're perfect." She scoffed at that. They were far from perfect and he was overdoing it. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "They are. So what if they're a little small? Fit in my palm better. Like they're made for me. I like that."

He nuzzled her hair off her neck and pressed a kiss on her nape.

Her body relaxed into his out of habit.

"Once the war is over, I could…" she started.

"No." he cut her off without letting her finish.

He knew what she was going to say, probably. It wasn't the first time she offered to alter herself to better please him. She wouldn't have minded much. Haymitch was the only man she had ever wanted to keep that badly. If he had asked her to dye herself blue, she might even have done it, fashion be damned.

"I want to please you." she confessed in a whisper. "I do not want you to ever stop wanting me…"

"Sweetheart… We've been together ten years…" he snorted. " That's ten years more than I ever spent with anybody. I ain't gonna stop wanting you any time soon."

Together.

Such a small word for something so big.

He had never acknowledged it so plainly before.

She swallowed hard and covered the hand that was still resting on her breast over her shirt. "Alright then. If you are sure."

"I'm really sure." he promised. "And I'd prove it to you but I'm really dead on my feet…"

He had barely stirred against her ass so he was either very good at lying about his attraction to her or really tired. The pills they gave him to help with the withdrawals – pills he didn't bother always taking – weren't helping matters on that front, she had noticed.

"I am tired too." she lied. "Maybe in the morning."

"Right. Good idea." he yawned. "I'm gonna fuck you tomorrow."

Her lips stretched into a small smile because he didn't make it sound like he used to, like something dirty and shameful – not that she had been better at handling the toxicity in their relationship.

Maybe that was the only good thing about Thirteen.

It was the worst place in the world but it had brought them much closer, it had allowed them to be Effie and Haymitch without the weight of the escort and the victor dangling from their neck.