no matter how many years she’s lived here, katniss has never really gotten used to the METRO. she has to close her eyes as she descends underneath the earth, trying to put as much distance between herself & thoughts of how many pounds of dirt & rock coalesce above her as she moves. she spends each metro ride counting down the moments until she can exit & put as much distance between herself and the dank, dark underground as possible. her closest friends call it PTSD. maybe. she just is careful to walk and ride her bicycle as often as possible.
but the dreary weather makes this impossible, & katniss is shaking from cold & from being underground for too long as she emerges from the station. she makes her way into a dark coffee shop, buying a mocha to warm herself up before she takes the only open seat available in the inviting room, next to the fireplace.
a man somewhere in his thirties is in the seat across from her, and she tries not to look too curiously at whatever paper he’s marking up as she wrings out the water in her braid, sipping carefully at the warm liquid.