It was strange to think that a place could be so beautiful, and hold such ugly secrets and practices at the same time. From below, the city was alive with light and color as the after parties raged on. Vaguely, Prim could make out the sound of music, the soft thud of a bass line that had floated itself all the way up to their suite. The blonde didn't understand how the Capitol citizens could be celebrating when so many would soon be dead, or how they could sit idly by and mistake murder for entertainment. Seventy-five years ago, something had gone terribly wrong and Prim had never considered just how bleak and terrible the world could be until she had been Reaped for a second time. Fate had to be accepted, and Prim knew that she could no longer ignore the circumstances that currently surrounded her.

The warmth of Gale's hand on her was surprising, enough to dull her somewhat dangerous thoughts. His hands were so much bigger than hers, rough and calloused from all of his time in the woods. She was used to seeing them with a scrape or two, and had come accustomed to the scar on the side. That was all gone thanks to the Capitol and Prim understood where he was coming from when he spoke. Slowly, her fingers moved between his, touching his skin, committing the feel of him to memory as her heart jumped inside of her chest. “You know it's there,” she said, referring to his newly healed scar. Prim didn't want Gale to feel bad about this, to feel like he was losing part of himself or that the Capitol had the final say in who he would be.

In a way, Prim understood the loneliness he felt, but she wished with everything in her heart that Gale had never volunteered. When they had discussed in months ago, Prim had wanted him to stay for the most selfish reasons, but now she just wanted him to be safe. Gale was a good person, and a very vital part of what kept the people in the Seam fed. If he wasn't there when Katniss couldn't be, they were going to starve to death come winter. Then there was his family to think of, how his mother must miss him terribly, how Posy who would never know just how wonderful her big brother truly was. It made Prim teary-eyed just thinking of it and subconsciously, she found herself giving Gale's hand a squeeze.

“You got a hair cut, Gale,” she finally told him, laughing softly. “You're still you and they can't take that away.” Prim looked up at him, the side of Gale's handsome face was bathed in the softness of the colorful lights below them. He was perfect, but she couldn't stop herself from disagreeing with his words. “I wish you hadn't volunteered.” It wasn't meant to be mean, and it wasn't out of anger, it was just the truth. “You're too good for this.” They all were, Katniss, Haymitch, every former Victor and unnamed tribute who had been stolen from their families over the years. No one deserved such cruelty.

Again, his hand had found hers and their fingers twined once more. She may not have been glad that he volunteered and got himself into this mess, but it wasn't all bad. “I'm glad for this moment, though,” she paused, “if that makes any kind of sense.” She laughed and shook her head, cheeks flushed as she chanced a glance at Gale.

The air in the living room had felt incredibly tense, but all of that seemed to melt away with the sound of Katniss's laughter. She had a way about her, for being so incredibly strong, the moments when she allowed herself to be vulnerable, when she relaxed, were the times she was most likable. It was those times between them, each moment added up, that Haymitch had finally acknowledged the truth that he had been avoiding for nearly a year. Everything about the situation was incredibly unfair and Haymitch knew that he would have to keep himself all the more guarded until he died. Katniss didn't need to know.

Relaxing, Haymitch found himself laughing at the dark-haired girl's joke. Johanna was intimidating, but Katniss needed to realize that they had more in common than just a bad attitude. They could use each other in the thick of it, and once he, Prim and Gale were gone, she would need someone to get her all the way to the end. “She's really not as bad as you think,” he insisted with a small smirk, and didn't protest as Katniss took hold of his arm.

It was too late for him to speak up before Katniss was already wiping off her make up on his sleeve. Effie was going to love this, that large black stain on such expensive fabric—it was sure to be the only topic of discussion come dinner time. “You're the worst person I've ever met,” he said once Katniss had released his sleeve, although his tone did nothing to back up his words and he even found himself laughing again. Although most of her make up was now gone, there were remnants of black mascara stubbornly clinging to her skin, but she looked like less of a raccoon.

“I looked good in it until you used it for a rag,” he corrected, although he wasn't all that bothered. She continued to speak, though, mentioning Johanna again and Haymitch vaguely wondered if Katniss had been jealous. Perhaps Peeta's participation had nothing to do with her storming off of the elevator, or the way she had snapped before going to change. Had they been back home, out in the woods or in her living room in front of the fire, Haymitch might have allowed himself to read deeper into her actions. But he was going to die, and accepting that finally felt unfair.

Running a hand through the hair that had been saved from the scissors earlier, Haymitch shrugged his shoulders lightly. “I didn't let them cut it the first time, and I wasn't going to let them do it this time,” he explained. “They can only change you if you let them.” Because that was what the Capitol liked to do, it was what they were good at.

Haymitch reached over and gently rubbed away a stray streak of black below Katniss's right eye. “You looked nice tonight. I don't know if you believed me before.” He meant it, though and he meant it now too; smeared make up, no make up, it didn't matter.