leigh

Ray had put his name into the draw for the walk, the death march that stretched as far as young men's feet could take them. You had always adamantly been against, most people were, but that didn't change the fact that it was there and the reward was something that plenty of people needed, himself included, but that wasn't why he had done it.

He wanted to personally see to the Majors failure, to have the entire system backfire and explode back into his face, to be the one to win and do exactly what had been done to his father—

"You're being weird," your voice broke his train of thought.

Hw hummed, bringing his attention back to you, you who sat across from him in the same booth that you had sneakily carved your initials into together at fourteen, you who had no idea what he was going to do.

"I'm not being weird," he responded with a shrug, glancing to the window then back to you.

"You're being quiet." You corrected, "That's weird."

Ray scoffed at that, rolling back his shoulders in a shrug, his fingers tapping on the sticky table that separates the two of you, "Just thinking."

"Mmm, that's dangerous." You teased, setting the menu down but faltering when he didn't seem to lighten up despite his attempt of forcing a small smile. "What is it? Is it the walk?"

He froze for a moment, looking to you— there was no way you knew, right? He hadn't told you, he hadn't told anyone. "What, the walk?" He managed, hoping the tension in his voice would go overlooked, you only shrugged which eased him slightly.

"Yeah, the walk," you repeated, "I heard that guy down the road from us put his name in, but he didn't get picked." You continued, "Good thing too, I mean— can you imagine if someone that close got picked? That'd be horrible, I mean, it's already horrible, but seeing a familiar face being in a televised death march would be awful.

Ray let you ramble, his heart sinking with each word. Sure, he agreed, it would be awful, but now he was going to be that familiar face. He was going to be the one that you would be hearing about on the walk, you would have to hear whether he won or if he died.

"It's stupid. Who would put their name in?" You finished, turning to the waitress to order with a polite smile, he glanced back out the window, staring at the nearly vacant street as he tuned out the conversation, he wasn't sure he felt like eating anymore.

He could hear you talking faintly, but it took him a moment to catch up before he turned to face you again, "Maybe he needed the reward."

"What?"

"The reward, the money, the wish." Ray clarified, "You asked why anyone would put their name in, that's a reason."

You frowned, "Yeah, well, it's still a pretty shitty reason." You told him, "We all need the winnings, but there are other ways to get steady money, ways that don't included dying because you're too exhausted to walk however long—"

"Not quick enough. A lot of people don't have that option."

"Ray, what's going on?" There it was, now your suspicions were on high alert, this wasn't usually a topic that you both argued on, he was never so defensive talking about the victims of the system— he had always wanted better.

"Nothing, I'm just saying that's the reason people put their names in." He tried, but there was no escaping this conversation now. "Or maybe, people have ulterior motives."

The last part caught you, he could see the realization creep on your face, the way your features dropped and panic became apparent in your eyes.

"Did you put your name in?" You whispered and all he could do was stare back silently. "Ray, did you put your name in? Were you picked?"

Silence for another long moment before a deep sigh left him, a stiff nod, "Yeah," he murmured, "I did."

The confirmation was enough, it was as if the entire world stopped. He could see the way you shut down, he watched as you stood from the booth and hurried out, too much in a panic to think to do much else. He knew you were angry, that you were upset more than anything, and so he let you go, covering the bill before making his own way home.

. . . Days passed without the two of you seeing one another, an occurrence that was extremely rare. Ray couldn't find it in himself to go to you, knowing that he would see nothing but sadness in your eyes— a sadness that he had put there.

However, the days leading up to the walk were becoming less and less, so you were the one who sought him out first, arriving at his door one night, his mother letting you in and to his room where you stood in front of him with arms wrapped around yourself.

"You could've told me that you were planning on putting your name in." Your voice came, quiet.

Ray shook his head from where he sat on his bed, looking up at you. "No, I couldn't have."

You shuffled on your feet, eyes cloudy as you blinked tears away. "You promised that you would never sign up," you murmured, "What would your father say?"

His eyes darted up at that, "He's not here to tell me, is he?" He shot back sharply, swallowing back the lump in his own throat. "You don't understand, I'm doing this for him. For everyone."

"How is this helping anyone, Ray?"

"I'm going to kill him. The Major, I'm going to win and I'm going to kill him."

You scoffed, "And what happens after that? What do you think happens to you? You— Do you think that they won't just put someone else in his position? That the walk won't go on?"

"That isn't the point."

"That's exactly the point."

There was a tense silence, crushing over the room like all four walls were about to start falling in until there was nothing left, part of Ray wish that was possible.

He rose to his feet, "You know what he did!"

"And you think I'm okay with just losing you too?" You retorted, arms dropping. "You stop walking, you die. You win and kill the Major, you die, or they take you and lock you away somewhere I will never see you again. How is that fair? How is that good for anybody?"

Another quiet stare down, "I'm not dropping out." Ray broke it this time, but his voice was quiet as if he was scared that noise would be what destroys everything, but his words held more impact than anything. "That's not a choice."

"It is a choice, it just isn't one that you'll make."

There was too many emotions for either to really make sense of— frustration, anger, sadness, fear.

He couldn't even tell you that you were being unfair, because he was the reason and he was hardly being fair either. Again, there was silence, but this time it wasn't broken by speaking, rather you had hurried forward to plant a kiss on his lips, catching him by surprise.

When the surprise had faded and he kissed back, you were already pulling away again, peering up at him with wide eyes, his own flickering between to see if he could gauge just what your reaction was, what you had meant by kissing him so suddenly.

"I didn't want you to leave without me doing that at least once." You whispered, the worry in your tone was hardly disguised and now you were taking a turn to take in his features.

He wanted to tell you to do it again, that maybe if you did then he would think about it— that the taste of your lips that he had gotten so briefly would be enough to get him to forget his plans and unenroll from the walk just so he could spend his days kissing you, tasting you.

Except he didn't say that, he didn't say anything. He knew he should have, especially when he could see the way regret filled your eyes, thinking he hadn't wanted it, but in reality he was hoping that you would do it again without him having to ask.

"Ray, say something." You pleaded, and he couldn't find the words even though he felt them sitting right on his tongue.

"I'm gonna win," he whispered, more determined this time, "and- and if they take me away, I will make sure that the money goes to you and my mom." He could see you ease slightly now that he had spoken, but he knew you had wanted more. He could see the words that you were about to repeat, urging him to drop from the walk and so he spoke first, "I'm not changing my mind. I'm not giving up, I can't."

"Okay." You had whispered, and Ray would have been surprised, would have wanted you to keep arguing with him, if it wasn't for the way defeat settled in your words. "Okay, I'll come see you," You promised, and Ray fought the urge to tell you not to, to not even think about standing aside and seeing him in that situation. "When you walk through town."

Ray nodded instead of arguing, half because he knew it was pointless, but the other half of him was selfish and wanted to know that if he were to make it that far, even if he died soon after, that at least he would be able to see you. He'd walk forever for you and the march hadn't even started.

Not much was said after that, you had given up arguing and he had nothing to say that would make you feel better, leading to the two of you simply laying in his bed together, just feeling and taking in the presence of one another while you still could. Tracing faint patterns on skin, gazing over features to commit them to memory while reminiscing on every other time when it didn't feel so temporary to do so.

The only thing that was really left to say was repeated every so often in the night, breaking the sounds of breathing and efforts of trying to not cry—

"I love you, Ray."

After that, he thought that he was in the clear, nobody wanted to bother him. He was miserable, taking up drinking heavily, he rarely left his new house in Victors Village, if ever. He just sat in one of the stiff chairs that wrapped around a dining table with nobody to fill the other seats, and drank, trying to not think about everything that had led to this point. As if he could close his eyes and not see those he lost. It had become routine. He almost felt like he was back in that damned building, living off of bread and milk with no sense of when it would end, if ever.

Tonight was another familiar agenda, that was until the soft knock on the front door, but Haymitch made no move to answer, half hoping that it was an animal hitting the wood, or if it was a person that they would turn and leave easily. Luck had never been on his side, however, and he cursed when he heard the door open despite no answer.

"Haymitch?"

That voice, that sweet voice. His eyes finally darted over, standing and walking to the front of the house, eyes landing on you, looking just as sweet as the last time he had laid his gaze upon you. His throat felt dry, staring you down, he took you in for a moment until his mind caught up with him, your features warped in his thoughts, how Snow would see that you mattered to him, that you would be used against him. He would only make you suffer.

"What are you doing here?" The question was quick, coming out of his mouth harshly, he had never spoken to you in such a way, but fear had a way of making anyone act out. That coupled with the drinks he had already downed, but you still didn't look alarmed, that scared him more.

"I didn't ask you to be here, get out."

"I wanted to see you."

Haymitch swallowed at that, the two of you standing still, face to face. "Well, I don't want to see you. You've had your peek, go home."

He should have known better than to think that you would listen to him, he couldn't get himself to protest your visit any longer when you stepped forward, instead he forced a scoffed and turned back, walking back to the kitchen to pour himself another drink.

Footsteps followed him through the house, “Burdock said you hit him in the face with a rock.”

“I did.”

“Are you gonna throw rocks at me?”

Haymitch took in a deep breath, staring down with a clenched jaw. “No,” he practically sighed the word out, but there was no relief in his town. “But that doesn’t mean you can stay. I don’t want you here."

“I think you’re lying.”

You and your damn stubbornness were always going to be the end of him, but he didn’t want it to be your end too. Not now, you were both still young, you had a chance to be safe. You were so close to being out of the reaping, if you could only keep your mouth shut and your feet on the ground.

“I’m not, if I wanted to see you then I would have found you when I got home,” He spat, looking to you. “I didn’t want to see you then, I don’t want to see you now. You seemed fine with never seeing me again when I was going to the arena.”

“That’s not fair.” You replied, and he already knew that much, but he didn’t care about fair, not now. What about the world was fair?

“No? It’s not? Tough.”

“You don’t have to tell me about what happened, Haymitch. Can’t I just see you? I miss you, and don’t act like you’re doing just fine. I know you better than that.” He couldn’t argue with that.

He wanted you to stay, so badly did he want to get on his knees and cry into you, beg you for forgiveness for the things he had done, to share his fear, but you were far too good for that, too good for him how. He didn’t deserve your kindness, not when he knew what it cost.

And so, he acted out in anger, intimidation, something that would scare you off and make you leave, throwing his glass at the wall so it shattered.

“What can’t you understand about the fact that I don’t want you here?” He glowered, biting back any other emotion when he caught sight of your expression. The hurt, the betrayal, you were frightened of him, and he needed you to be.

“Go.” He said again, voice firm with a finalized tone. He couldn’t argue over this, he wouldn’t, and he couldn’t even tell you why, but he would die before he put another person in danger. He could not protect anyone. He knew that now, he was stupid to even hope to begin with.

He turned back around when you left, basking back in the silence of his loneliness, shoving chairs out of place, shouting with frustration. The frustration that this would never end, and he had not been able to save anyone, he hadn't been able to break the arena, he hadn't been able to put an end to the games. Haymitch was now condemned to this existence, and he would have to watch others try for it over and over again, like winning was truly a victory when death was a much more comforting ideal.

You would be able to live without him, he had no doubt, you were the kind of girl who was always set out to do whatever she wanted. You could love again, you wouldn't have to feel the need to fix what he had broken beyond repair, and he knew it would hurt, to be without you, but he would rather than be the reason for your demise. He had to.

. . . If only you could get the message that Haymitch was trying to give. Your visits didn't end there, sometimes they weren't even full visits, Haymitch would wake up to find everything back in order in the house, sometimes there would be water waiting for him that he never drank from— he didn't know if it was out of spite or because it reminded him that you had been there, and there had been the occasional note left behind that got stuffed into a random drawer where he'd stumble and trace and the handwriting some nights when it got too loud in his mind.

He wished that he could tell you to stop, he knew you wouldn't, but he wanted to warn you again, he'd gone to locking the door, checking it twice. That resulted in a few days of quiet before gifts— no, reminders— were being left at his door.

So, he waited, just on the other side of the door and whipping it open as soon as he heard rustling from outside. Nothing was surprising when he saw you there, wide-eyed beneath the moon that was slowly retreating to let the sun take its place.

"I thought I told you to not come up here." Haymitch rasped.

"You told me you didn't want to see me." You corrected and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at that, it was so very you.

"I'm not the same guy who you saw leave here." He said carefully, he felt silly for saying it, like he was still playing his role as the rascal, but it was true all the same.

"I'm not asking you to be."

His heart stuttered, "Then what are you asking for? Whatever it is, I can't do it. I don't want to do it."

You only shook your head, because you weren't asking anything of him, of course you weren't, that's what made his chest sting just a little more.

"You don't know what he does." Haymitch whispered, the closest that he would likely get to a admission about what happened and how he had been the one to set Snow off, how it was all his fault.

"If you keep coming here, you're gonna end up just like Ma and Sid, maybe worse, and I won't be able to help you." He told you, wishing you would stop looking so understanding and just turn and go.

"I"m not scared of that, Haymitch."

"You should be."

"I'm not."

"Then you're dumber than I thought you were." He grumbled, and yet, when you stepped forward to come inside, he stepped so you could enter, shutting the door loudly behind you. He didn't care how the place looked, he knew you had seen it the times you snuck in to fix it. He wished you didn't waste your time.

You jumped right into doing it anyways, he sighed and sat back on the couch, watching you silently, the silence didn't deter you at all, because you eventually got comfortable enough to start rambling on your own whether he answered or not. It made his stomach twist and his chest ache, to listen to you talk about thing happening in the Seam, about your home, he had missed this so much, he had stayed up many nights before the games wanting this, he had spent his time during the games wanting it, hoping that the image you got of him back home didn't disappoint you.

An hour went by, maybe more, he just let you continue talking as you tidied up until you finally landed in the spot beside him, looking to him with kind eyes, the sort of look that let him know that you were more scared of living without him than dying for him.

"You're giving me the stay the night look." He murmured, the familiar phrase rolling from his tongue from many nights where the two of you had stuck up in your bedroom secretly. "This is my house."

"Can I still stay?" You whispered hopefully, and how he wanted to let you, to curl into your side just like he had before, breath you in and be able to wake up in the morning with the reminder that you had chosen him.

"You gotta go home." He said instead, though the heartbreak was clear in his voice. "You've got people waiting up for you, but," he hesitated, "you can come back tomorrow." The way your face brightened almost made it all worth it, you nodded and stood, he followed right behind.

"Alright." You agreed and made your way to the door.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Haymitch." You bid, he gave a half smile.

"See you." Haymitch murmured, watching you make your way down the cobblestone until you passed the arch at the entrance, he let out a breath and brought himself back in.

The door shut and locked, he stood there with his hand resting on it for a moment because he knew that it would stay this way, that he wouldn't get up tomorrow to unlock it, that he would stay silent and still when you tried to visit again.