mmidnight — Roleplayer Guild

The day had been incredibly long and filled to the brim with anxiety. Even after going on in front of the whole country with Caesar, and now being relatively sure that the citizens of the Capitol liked her, there were still knots in Prim's stomach. She couldn't stop herself from thinking of everything that could go wrong come more, every what if scenario that was beyond her control. Although she trusted Peeta, she didn't know Plutarch enough to trust him and knowing that he would be shepherding not only her life, but the lives of her loved-ones was troubling. Despite the planned promise to break free from the arena, Prim knew that Plutarch still had a job to do, a show to put on, and that she and her friends would suffer for their freedom. 

The Mockingjay whistle was something that Prim and the rest of the competition now knew all too well, but the blonde had to agree that they needed a way to find one another in the thick of things. It would have been stupid to assume that the four of them could stay together the whole time, or that the Gamemakers wouldn't try their hardest to break them apart. “I remember that song,” Prim spoke, nodding at the mention of The Hanging Tree. She knew the words from her father, who would constantly sing it to Katniss, and after his death, Prim would sometimes find herself humming the melody. The song had been passed down from generation to generation and Prim didn't doubt that both Haymitch and Gale knew the words as well.

At the very least, the others were planning to find one another again when they eventually lost one another tomorrow morning. From the standpoint of a mentor, Haymitch could say with certainty that he was proud of them. Although Katniss had changed from the moment she volunteered, Gale and Prim had come a long way, and even if the younger blonde was still the weakest link in their chain, Haymitch no longer thought of her as a burden. “Sounds like a plan,” he nodded, not caring what the signal was as long as they had one.

Now that the drinks were gone, and the sun had fully set, the air had turned colder and it seemed as though everyone was ready for bed. The night before the Games was always the worst, and Haymitch remembered the sleeplessness that had plagued him twenty-five years ago. In the pit of his stomach, he was sure that history would repeat itself and that he would be up until the quiet, early hours of the morning. The only difference this time around was that Katniss would be with him; there was someone to empathize with, someone who understood just how hard it was to revisit a nightmare and duplicate the near impossible task of cheating death. 

As a group, the four made their way back from the roof, descending the stairs and entering into the quiet penthouse suite once more. Upon entering the main lounge area, Haymitch's eyes immediately fell onto the vase full of white roses. While Prim and Gale seemed to be confused by the gesture, the former Victor knew exactly what those flowers meant, and who the threat was aimed for. Months ago, back when the ground had still been frozen over and before the Victory tour had kicked off, Katniss had told him about Snow's sudden visit and the words that had been spoken between them—this wasn't good.

“Goodnight,” Haymitch said, keeping his voice casual as Gale and Prim left down the opposite hallway. When the two were out of sigh, Haymitch put his hand on Katniss's shoulder, hoping to keep her grounded in reality. “Don't let him scare you,” he told her, although it was unsettling to know that Snow could come into their suite whenever he pleased. It made him wonder if the old man was listening too; eyes in the back of his head and an ear pressed to every door. There was nothing to be done about it, not now when the Games were mere hours away. The arena would settle the score, and start a war that could only be finished by the very people the Capitol had been oppressing for much too long.

Following Katniss to her room, Haymitch allowed the door to close behind them. “My plan is the same as last time,” he told her, desperately wishing that he could have told Katniss the truth. She deserved to know, even if Snow was watching her like a hawk. “Just stay alive, sweetheart. Stay alive and watch your back.” Speaking of which, Katniss was currently having a hell of a time reaching hers, and Haymitch smiled softly as he stepped forward and clasped the zipper between his fingers. He gave the metal tag a tug, the fabric parting to reveal her creamy skin. He leaned in a placed a kiss at the nape of her neck, taking in her warmth and the way she smelled. Little things were easy to remember when things got hard, and Haymitch didn't want to lose the image of Katniss before the Capitol attempted to damage her even more. 

Before Haymitch allowed himself to become too caught up in everything that Katniss was, he stepped away from her and tugged at the blue suit coat, now feeling too confined. He tossed the jacket onto a nearby chair as Katniss waxed poetic about that tired song from District 12. “I always hated it,” he mentioned, laughing softly. “I never really cared what it was about, and it doesn't apply to any of us. We're just using it to keep in touch.” He knew the lyrics well enough, everyone from 12 did, Haymitch just hoped that random bursts of song within the arena wouldn't make them easier for their enemies to find.

After taking the vest off as well, Haymitch took a seat on Katniss's bed. His eyes followed her around the room as he tried to think of a good way to kill some time. “Are you tired?” he asked, although it wasn't hard to guess the answer. There was always more training, but that seemed like a waste of time—they were as prepared as they could be. “I just want to let you know...” he began, his voice suddenly taking on a softer tone, “I'm not going to let anything happen to you tomorrow. You matter the most.”

Across the suite, Prim followed Gale back to his room with new questions on her mind. Mostly, she wondered what the white roses meant, and who they were for. During the interviews, the older girl's burning and transformed dress hadn't been the only shot at the Capitol and Prim was worried that Gale and Haymitch had made themselves bigger targets. Now Peeta's anger was starting to make more sense, and the blonde wished that things could have been done differently. The Hunger Games were always won in the hearts of the public before a victor emerged from the arena. There was little time left to ponder, however, and Prim soon found herself wrapped in Gale's arms, her back pressed to the door as he kissed her.

For some reason, it felt like goodbye—the kind of kiss that conveyed all of those unspoken words and promised to remember better times. Looking up into his eyes, Prim held his gaze as he spoke, not wanting to admit that Gale was right. The blonde felt her lower lip quiver, and she clenched her jaw to keep herself steady. “I love you,” she whispered, not even the Games could make that phrase sound any less sweet, “no matter what.” Leaning in once more, Prim pressed her lips to Gale's, kissing him just as intensely as he had kissed her and hoping to make him understand that he had made her strong and that having him by her side through all of this had made everything that much easier. Prim didn't know how she could ever thank him.

The kiss soon became more intense, a little more desperate and Prim pulled Gale closer, quickly minimizing the space between them. It was all so sudden that she realized how frightening all of this was, and how much their world was going to change when the sun came up. Prim didn't want to let this moment slip through her fingers, her own digits now winding through Gale's hair. She pulled away, slightly breathless and her eyes a little glassy. “I should change,” she said, biting down on her bottom lip.
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