the doors ajar and he could peek, just barely inside to see boots hanging off the edge of one of the beds. he expects it to be katniss, but when his knuckles wrap against the metal face of the door, it opens just enough to see @70won propped up and with their back to the wall. gale goes stiff, spine straightening at the sight of someone else. β excuse me, β he clears his throat, hand brushing along the back of his neck. he's only slightly uncomfortable, but it's just because he doesn't know her well, or really any of the victors.
β i was expecting katniss, didn't mean to just barge in. β though he hadn't quite done so, he still hasn't stepped over the threshold to inside. the quarters look like his own, but he's realized that there's not much to make a place look home like here. he misses the seam, the old houses that get too cold during winter or too stuffy in the summer. he misses the green life that he'd walk for game or just because. he finds it hard to complain though knowing that he meals don't depend on him anymore.
he wonders where katniss may of gone, if she's off to find peace in solitude. he knows the places she frequents, but he likes to leave her to sort her thoughts. he clears his throat again, posture relaxing. he knows that johanna fights some of the same ones that katniss does, sorting thoughts. β how are you? β it's a stupid question. he knows that recovery from torture isn't an easy one, there's marks embedded in his back still to show.
