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Goddamn Haymitch Abernathy.
Effie doesn’t have it in herself to spare him one sorry glance. With hands crossed on her chest, fingernails digging into the smooth silk material of her blouse, she shakes her head with deep irritation, “This is more important.”
“Oh, are you kidding me?” Haymitch throws his hands in the air but she doesn’t reciprocate his stare. “It’s a fucking play for children, sweetheart.”
He can stick his sweethearts where the sun doesn’t reach.
“I beg your pardon,” Effie cannot stay still anymore and she turns to him, looking up straight into the grey stormy eyes that seem to hold more lightning bolts than usual. She hates this man with every fibre of her being, and it shows because her skin seems to burn the closer she gets to him. “It’s Romeo and Juliet, a classical play turned into a musical.” Obviously, he has not studied enough literature to understand the depth of this drama. “And do not call me that, it’s almost verbal assault in the workplace.”
Haymitch snorts, putting his hands on his hips and leaning over her as if trying to intimidate her.
It never works.
“I’m calling you sweet,” He spits. “Even when you should be bitterheart. Take the compliment and move on.”
“This is unacceptable.”
Turning to the last resort, Effie pulls her eyes away - surprisingly hard, to leave Haymitch’s face out of her reach, that stupid handsome face that haunts her in her worst nightmares - and looks pleadingly, yet expectantly at Plutarch.
The man sighs, quiet enough for neither of his employees to hear. Sitting behind the desk, he feels like his office becomes less and less his and more a battlefield for these two. The light walls are caving in, squishing them all under the tension, and even the fancy red carpet doesn’t seem to fix the… It doesn’t pull Plutarch’s attention to turn off his mind and not listen daily to the same fight happening repeatedly in front of him.
Panem High could be the best high school in the city, but instead, they’re stuck in the never-ending cycle of losing just because his two best teachers cannot find a language to speak. However, this time, Plutarch must admit Haymitch has gone a bit over the bender; the less the man drinks, the worse his lines get, to the point where Heavensbee wonders if maybe Abernathy should be the one directing and writing all these plays.
“Haymitch, please, act professionally and call Effie how you’re supposed to,” Plutarch says.
“‘Right, Miss Trinket,” Haymitch bows his head, pretending to be holding the hems of his skirt as he does. “I apologise for speaking the truth. I won’t do that ever again.”
Effie glares at him, clearing her throat. It’s a bit provocative, but Plutarch gives up and folds his hands on the surface, intertwining his fingers. Now it’s time for the worst part; he dreads it the same every goddamn time.
“As I said earlier,” For at least two hundred times. “I’m splitting the budget evenly.”
“It’s not enough!”
“It’s not enough.”
Funny, how they are of the same mind all of a sudden.
“Listen, it’s all I can do. It’s a miracle at all that Coin allowed me to fund your projects, again,” This is the fifth year both of them are trying to achieve something they never reached. He’s sure if these two started supporting each other, this school would be one of the most successful ones, but instead, they’re at loggerheads like it’s their passion. “I know both of you will do your best to finalise them.”
Haymitch and Effie glare at each other.
“How much money do you need for a stupid contest?” Effie asks.
The History Olympics for high school students was introduced a mere five years ago, and since day one Haymitch took it as his life purpose to get to the finals and bring the trophy to the school, for its pride. But every time, he would get scattered the moment Trinket would show up on the horizon. Also, back then, he didn’t have his secret weapon - Katniss Everdeen.
Plutarch really, really hopes that Everdeen might set her teacher straight and motivate him to fight to win for the school and not win just to stand on Effie’s toes.
“More than your theatrical mind could ever comprehend,” He overpronounces the last word with disgust.
Effie’s mouth corner curls up bitterly, “Since when do you know such big words?”
Plutarch abruptly stands up, willing to stop the madness before it becomes a hurricane, “It’s settled. There’s nothing that can be altered. Just deal with the facts and do your best to prepare the kids. They’re counting on you.”
“Alright then,” Effie says, nodding and accepting her fate. “I won’t let you down, Mister Heavensbee.”
“I’m sure you won’t,” He sends a look at Haymitch.
“I ain’t gonna lose,” Haymitch nods, too. “I got the best team, not only in the state but in the country this year. Don’t worry ‘bout me either.”
“Okay. It was good… discussing things with you two.”
When they both leave the office and their voices beat behind the door in an instant, their arguing echoes down the school hallways, Plutarch exhales heavily, sitting back down, feeling like he needs three days off.
He decides to send a message into the world, hoping somebody’s listening.
“Please, don’t let them kill each other.”
The theatre hall is buzzing with energy, with the stage becoming a whirlwind of activity. Every student, whether an actor, a singer or the tech crew on the backstage - all of them are hustling to perfect their lines, cues and movements. The lights are bright, the music is loud and everyone is completely, to the bone, alive.
With a vibrant mix of dialogue and emotion in the air, they practice their scenes with fervour and passion, and God, this is just where Effie Trinket is supposed to be. Once upon a time, she was a student like that and then, she ran away and became who her acting teacher was for her as a teenager. There’s just something so right about becoming an art and theatre teacher. It’s what she is made for, has been from the very beginning, since the first dawn.
Madge steps into her place on the stage, opening her mouth while smiling at Peeta across from her. Soon, a beautiful song leaves her mouth.
These two have an amazing chemistry, and you wouldn’t guess they’re just friends behind the scenes. But Effie has been here for them since the beginning and no matter how much she teases, they’re platonic; at least their acting shows how well they do it.
“You need to sing higher, dear,” Effie stands up from one of the seats in the audience. Instructing her, the song raises and turns into reciting new lines, “And now-” She mouths along to every word Madge says. “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other word would smell as sweet. / So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, / Retain that dear perfection which he owes / Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, / And, for thy name, which is no part of thee, / Take all myself.” Clapping loudly, she is soon joined by other students working around the stage. “Beautiful, Madge!”
Their cute little moment is abruptly ended with a crash of the giant doors above the audience.
“Trinket, where the hell is my girl?”
Oh, great.
Haymitch comes barging in, rushing down the stairs straight at her.
A small part of her fears he is about to take her down. She’s known all along he is a brute, lacking manners, but to have him run at her with pure rage all over his features - somehow making him look even more striking - awakens two things, and fear is only one of them. Why the hell does she find his anger attractive? What is wrong with her?
“Everdeen,” Haymitch pants once he’s right in front of her. “Katniss Everdeen. My dumbass students told me she’s in here.”
Effie looks around, dumbfounded but cannot locate the girl. She knows her from the hallways, always talking to Abernathy - the two have a weird connection, but from time to time, she observed them like a stalker and… Sometimes, Haymitch was truly kind to her, and her younger sister.
“Well, as you can see, Katniss is not here,” Effie says slowly, realising Peeta has disappeared from the stage; she finds Madge unbothered, sitting on the stage and talking to the lights crew, but Peeta is not here. “
As it seems, Haymitch’s eyes realise the same thing she has done second earlier. He scans the stage until his eyes darken in understanding, “Oh, hell no.”
“I beg your pardon, Mister Abernathy, but do not speak that language in front of our students-”
She would probably have a heart attack if she knew what vocabulary he uses in his history classes, especially those about World War II.
Ignoring the students’ stares watch their argument like a volleyball match, with the ball flying in the air, one side and the other, Effie tries to connect the dots she seems to be missing. When he spares her one sorry glance and says, “You’ll be speaking it, too, when you see it.” Then storms past her, and she finds herself running after him.
When their arms brush, something shoots through Effie’s heart, like an arrow, but she thinks it’s full of poison which makes her heart burn like that. Her veins are full of venom, warming her entire body and if she wasn’t on a mission of stopping this barbaric man from destroying her show, she would stop and ponder about the reasons.
Even being dizzy, her heart pounding in her chest, she follows him; her high heels echo on the wooden panels of the backstage.
“Go practice!” She calls into the silent hall. “Do not stop! Get ready for Act Two, Scene Three!”
It’s hard keeping up with Haymitch’s striding between the confused crew until they are at the very back of the room where no one ever goes to, “Where are you going?” She calls out after him.
He halts, looking back at her, “Where my genius girl is hiding,” He points at the old broken door with hinges almost giving under and murmurs to himself. “For a genius, she’s a fucking fool.”
“I don’t quite understand-”
“Just look.”
Haymitch swings the door open, exposing quite a sight.
Katniss Everdeen is pressing Peeta Mellark into the wall between the mops and brooms, deaf to the world and committed only to each other’s mouths. They make out like the world is ending, and the funny thing is, that for teenagers the world is ending every day. That’s how it goes - when you’re young, every small loss feels like death, and love, undoubtedly, counts into that.
Effie gasps, which makes the pair open their eyes and jump apart as if scalded with hot water. Red-cheeked, with swollen lips and wide-eyed gaze, fearful of being caught in such an indecent state, they both look like they’re about to die from embarrassment. Well, rather Katniss. Peeta has a dumb hazy smile on his lips, almost shrugging at the turn of events; it’s his girlfriend that wants the ground to swallow her whole.
“You two are going to give Miss Trinket a heart attack,” Haymitch sighs, rubbing his forehead as if worried for Effie. “For goodness’ sake, can’t you two snog after school? We have a week left to prepare. You’re wasting mine and Miss Trinket’s precious time.”
Not waiting for an answer, he grabs Katniss’ elbow and pulls her out of the broom closet. Ignoring the other two, he drags the girl through the backstage.
“Fraternizing with the enemy,” Haymitch grumbles, his hold tightening. “Have some shame, kid.”
“It matches the theme,” She barks back, just as the actors begin to sing a love song.
They go back and forth with talking back, and their voices echo even when they are far away.
“Peeta,” Effie hisses, but decides not to assault him physically the way that savage did. “What is… that?”
Mellark beams, “Love, I guess. We’re making a musical about love. You’re the director, I bet you know the best, Miss Trinket.”
“Peeta Mellark…” She’s furious but even more perplexed. Perhaps she should know everything about love, but every single one of her boyfriends failed to prove how love is supposed to feel. She knows it from the plays, books, movies. Not from life.
She does her best not to look stunned and probably fails.
“Just a thought, Miss Trinket,” Peeta’s smile turns into a gentle soft one before he steps back, heading to the main scene. “Won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”
I bet you know the best.
Does she?
Today’s rehearsal goes perfectly if you omit the Everdeen-Mellark drama. Even the kids who aren’t naturally blessed with acting talent seem to grow into their best selves; Effie frankly believes that if you surround yourself with dedication and love for what you do, everyone has a chance to shine. It’s not about being a natural - sometimes the natural ones are so arrogant they make the talent slip through their fingers. After almost a decade of teaching, and five years of preparing an annual play for the national acting contest, she finds herself knowing much more about these mechanics than she did while being in the theatre group herself.
When she’s in a good mood, she sings, and today she’s in the best of moods, even forgetting about her students' shenanigans. She deserves coffee and so coffee it is - she heads to the teachers’ lounge, soft humming Love Story following where she goes.
Leaving her purse on her chair, she approaches the coffee machine when the door opens.
She looks to the side and catches a glimpse of Haymitch. Instantly, her back straightens and she presses the buttons on the machine, putting her mug in it.
Haymitch has come for the same reason, but something inside of him makes him stay quiet. He’s in no mood to argue, so instead, he leans against one of the tables and cannot help that his gaze drops down. Trinket can be a bitch, but for what it’s worth, her ass is great.
Overall, Effie is an impossibly gorgeous woman. Long blonde hair - and God knows Haymitch loves his women blonde - always perfectly curled, either let down or in a high ponytail, cheeks flush with Barbie shade of blush, eyelashes so long they might be longer than his dick. Don’t get him started on how she sways her hips, side to side, downright hypnotising him; sometimes he wonders how they would feel beneath his palms, how small would be her waist under his fingers. How her lips would be soft…
Effie can feel his stare, burning into her lower back, but the thing is she doesn’t really mind. She likes it, and stays silent, fearing if she speaks a word, the weird tension will disappear, pop like a bubble.
The coffee machine doesn’t work. She tries again, pressing the right button. And again, pressing all of the buttons. Again, hitting it gently. Again. Again. Nothing.
“Do you need help, sweetheart?” Haymitch asks, voice soft and amused..
“I’m fine over here,” She says, voice high-pitched.
Why does he affect her so much?
“You sure?”
“Completely sure.”
Somehow she knows what he’s going to do before he makes a move. Footsteps resound behind her and she counts them, knowing she’s being proved right and hesitating if she’s happy or angry about it. Shivers run down her spine when his body enters her personal space, its heat beating off him in waves that wash over her, once again making her heart skip a beat. Let the universe get away from this without acting on the odd impulses that seem to win over her thoughts.
“It’s not a bad thing to need help,” Haymitch’s voice is lower, deeper when he’s so close by.
Effie clears her throat, “I know.”
Haymitch hums then decides to make his next move.
“Do you mind?” He pushes her slightly to have better access to the coffee machine.
“No,” Effie’s voice cracks. “No, go ahead.”
Carefully and cautiously, Abernathy begins to fix the machine, humming to himself while trying out different ways to make it work again. So focused on the task, that he seems not to notice how affected Effie is by his presence. He doesn’t feel her not moving, even more - almost leaning against his body. She just can’t. She can’t pull away, and she can crucify herself for that later; his breath is so warm, smelling of cigarettes and strawberries he always snacks on between classes. Oh, what a way to die with their arms brushing.
It would make sense, for the two of them to die together, killed by their hatred for each other, their rivalry.
“Oh, there you go,” The coffee begins to pour into the mug, but neither of them moves. “For a person so well-mannered, you don’t know how to thank someone.”
Effie shifts and dares to turn around, making her back press into the table on which the machine is put. Facing him, she finds out he’s much closer than she thought. For a moment, she focuses on his chest, a bit afraid of looking into his eyes.
He smells like… earth. The sweet scent of chamomile and ground after rain, slightly whiskey - but not too much - and grass, it all becomes this scent that reminds her of something so plain and familiar, like she has smelled this combination her entire life; or she looked for it in forever. He smells more human than the rest of the people.
Over it, there’s a layer of cologne.
Dear God, the cologne.
“I…” Finally, her eyes dare to look up, met with curiosity and something much deeper, something she recognises as hatred. “Thank you, Haymitch.”
His breath hitches when he hears his name fall from her lips.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
She steps closer, not controlling her movements and cursing herself for that. It’s like a stranger has gotten control over her body, and all she can do is watch and hope for the best. The tension might kill her, with the way he stares at her, eyes darkening - she never knew how much he hated her until now. Because that’s what his gaze is telling her, right? That they’re never going to be friends, they’re never going to…
For the love of God, Effie thinks, she’s waiting for him to lean down, to touch her, to break through the anticipation that hangs over the two of them.
Suddenly, they are closer, and their breaths mix and all of it feels like a new kind of drug, a game the two of them play. They’re the closest they’ve ever been and it feels more right than any of their long-term arguments have.
It will take one second and-
The door flies open, with Portia marching in - a stack of papers in her hands and a big bag on her shoulder, a smile on her face.
“Oh,” She simply says, freezing in the doorway, watching them jump apart and look everywhere but not at her, nor themselves. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No!”
“Are you-”
“I’m- I was leaving,” With not one word more, Haymitch storms out of the lounge, carefully pushing through Portia. Just like that, he is gone, yet his scent lingers everywhere around Effie. As if his ghost stays to haunt her and taunt her for that moment of weakness; she cannot even call whatever has happened. She’s never felt that way for anyone, and maybe this is just another level of despising each other - turned into teasing, flirting to make fun of the other?
“I was leaving, too,” Effie picks up her mug and is about to pass Portia by.
“Your purse, Eff,” Porta says, smirking.
“Ah. Yes, right. My purse,” She steps back, catches it in her hands, presses it tightly to her middle and makes another attempt at leaving; it won’t go as smoothly for sure.
Portia stops her, blocking the door, “Effie. Did you finally get over the fact you two need to bang?”
“Portia!” Effie gasps. “This is inappropriate.”
“This is fuck-propriate.”
“I am leaving now!”
She shouldn’t keep on being best friends with that woman.
But as she walks out of the lounge, sipping on her black coffee, there’s a smile on her face.
Four days later, the school is filled with horrific screams - students run up to the main entrance, anticipating the worst, which isn’t quite defined. But what they see is right the opposite.
Mister Abernathy is running from the bus, followed by a group of eight students, all yelling and screaming and cheering, everything at once, along with laughing. There’s an enormous cup in one of the girls’ hands - Katniss Everdeen - and she’s gripping it and pressing it to her chest like the most precious thing in the world. They run through the doors, and the awaiting make place for them in the final moment, close to getting trampled by the ecstatic group. There are also medals on each of their necks except for Haymitch’s but he is cheering the loudest.
In the complete history of Panem High, no one has ever seen a teacher scream so loudly.
“We won!” They all yell, jumping around and raising their medals in the air, Katniss including the trophy who swings it around above her head, almost hitting herself.
“Get me Headmaster Heavensbee!” Haymitch roars, and is close to kissing all of his students that showed today they are not the dumbasses he usually calls them.
They were perfect.
But it was Everdeen that saved their asses in the last category - The Fall of the Roman Empire. Somehow, her pretty little mind recalled every detail about these years and she answered the second the bell rang. She kept smashing that red button before any of her team leaned in to discuss a group answer. Odair did nicely, too, but no one can beat Katniss.
Plutarch appears around the corner, looking like he rushed from the office; his eyes open widely at the sight of the trophy shining high above under the cheap lights in the front hallway.
“Good job, Haymitch,” He says, smiling, but underneath it all, there’s only stress. “You prepared these kids well. But we’re going to celebrate later.”
Haymitch frowns. In the usual conditions, Plutarch would be opening a bottle of champagne and inviting all of the teachers into his office. Instead, he is looking helpless, lost for any hope for the future. What the hell has gone down while he was out at the Olympics?
Kids are running back and forth, from one end of the hallway to the other, most of them disappearing into the theatre hall and a gut feeling tells Haymitch he can expect nothing good.
“What the hell is going on?”
Rue, a freshman, rushes past them but catches his words, “Miss Trinket has gone clinically insane.”
Haymitch’s eyebrows raise almost to his hairline, “What?”
Plutarch sighs and says, “Come with me.”
The stage is full of confused kids, a few panicking which means going into Effie’s steps. She is frantically bossing people around, on the verge of a mental breakdown; seconds are away from a total meltdown in front of everyone. The theater hasn’t ever been messier than it is now and the clock shows they’re running out of time.
Something awakens in Haymitch when he walks in, seeing everything from the top of the audience - a need to help that woman out, for one time in his life. Hate or not, he still has a heart, even if it’s beaten black and blue from what life has thrown him on his path. He still feels it's beating and would be a monster not to help her.
And he doesn’t want to become one.
He skips down the stairs, appearing by her side within a second.
“What’s up, Trinket?”
Effie doesn’t even seem surprised to see him when she turns around on the verge of tears. Her hands are shaking, her bottom lip wobbling and she’s paler than a ghost.
“You won,” She says simply, her voice cracking.
He doesn’t grasp it immediately, “What?”
Haymitch feels sorry for her when the despair overflows her blue eyes.
“My Juliet got sick. She can’t sing and I don’t have anyone to play her well enough. They’re all… idiots, okay? No one is good enough, and I’m sorry for being mean but I just cannot do this anymore. It’s- it’s too much. It’s all lost and done. You won. Because you did, didn’t you?”
Of course, she reads him instantly. It’s easy to tell by the light in his eyes and flushed cheeks, that the victory is his. It’s utterly odd someone who hates him this much can see right through him within a moment.
“Yeah, my kids won,” Haymitch says, but he’s not here to twist the knife in the wound. “They’re brilliant but…”
“Wanna rub it in my face? Go ahead,” She says, trying to act bold but the first tear runs down her cheek, leaving a mark of mascara. “You won.”
Running out of patience, Haymitch grabs her to stay still, then gently catches her chin between his fingers until they’re face to face. Her beautiful big eyes widen, making them look like they’re inflating. The move makes her panic halt. Her breathing evens out and tears stop coming and dancing on the verge of strolling down her face.
“No, princess,” He says slowly, pronouncing every word clearly so all she can focus on is his voice. “We’ll be at a draw.”
She blinks.
“Okay?”
Breathing out shakily, she nods, “Okay,” She puts her fingers on his palm, holding it in place. “But how?”
“I think I got an idea.”
It happens quicker than he expected when the idea blossomed in his mind. All it takes is finding the main star, Peeta Mellark because where he is, he is following his girlfriend. There Katniss is, still hugging the trophy to herself, sitting on the floor while Johanna Mason is fixing Peeta’s makeup, the three of the students chatting lively.
Haymitch doesn’t wait for a cue, “Mason, get out. You two stay,” Johanna swears but leaves before Effie might reprimand her and then all of his focus ends up on his historical genius. “Everdeen, sing me something.”
“What?” Her head flies up so quickly something snaps in her neck. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Sing, kid,” Haymitch says, standing above her. “Sing it like you’re running from death.”
“Or what?”
“Please, let’s not do this right now. You can talk back later.”
Peeta’s eyes jump from Abernathy to Trinket and he seems to read the situation instantly. If there is one person in this world except for Prim who can make Katniss do something, it’s Peeta Mellark.
“Can you sing, Katniss?” He asks softly.
She rolls her eyes and digs her stare into the floor, embarrassed but God, how she sings. Her voice echoes down backstage, mixing with the loud noise out in the hall, but still, it cuts through it all. It’s a question if she cannot do something - but Haymitch knows there is one thing. Social cues. This might be a problem with playing a role on the stage in front of a room full of people, but that’s just details.
Peeta joins her halfway to make her feel better and it seems to open her up more.
Alright then, social cues won’t be so bad if Peeta is with her on the stage.
Effie appears to be speechless, mouth hanging open; some part of her is outraged too, wondering and cursing why that girl has never come to her theatre circle.
“Do you know the script?” Haymitch asks, hoping for the best.
“She does,” Peeta says before Katniss can open her mouth. “She practised with me for the past two months. She knows every line, every song. She’s ready.”
“Do I have anything to say about it?” She gets up from the floor, never letting go of the cup. She acts like it’s her safety jacket, and perhaps it is; Haymitch understands it. If someone made him go out on the stage where judges from D.C. come to rate their play and choose the winner, he would throw up all over the floor.
“Not really,” Peeta stands up, too, embracing her in the waist.
“Why haven’t you…”Effie begins, clears her throat, and finds her voice again. “You’re a natural. Amazing.”
“Is she good enough for you?” Haymitch glances at Effie, feeling relief to see joy on her features.
“She’s perfect.”
It takes five minutes for the three of them to talk Everdeen into it, but it’s a miracle sent from the universe that Prim somehow finds them. They need to give all the credit to her because it takes one puppy-eye glance and hugging her tightly for Katniss to melt and nod weakly. Whatever makes her younger sister happy, she’s willing to sacrifice and do it. While the young Everdeen, Mellark and Trinket leave, he stays behind, stopping his best student. Well, it’s rather the other way around - Katniss stopping him.
“I’ll do it under one condition,” She says.
Haymitch rolls his eyes, feeling stupid he even expected she would do it without her reasons.
“Hit me, Everdeen.”
“Get over it,” She says, lowering her voice, like trying not to embarrass him in case someone is listening. He doesn’t understand until she continues. “Stop being a coward and confess your love to Miss Trinket.”
He hides his face in his hands, shaking his head. What a fucking idiot this girl is. Despite being all edgy and mysterious, it seems that she’s interested in things all of the other girls are, that she stays away from. The whole dating Mellark made her mellow and now, she’s trying to tie him into this love cult, while there’s nothing to confess.
At least, he thinks there’s nothing to confess.
“Kid, I swear to…”
“Mister Abernathy,” Katniss says strongly, waiting for him to look at her. Only once he does, she goes on. To be frank - she’s deeply, deeply serious as if the world is ending. “We are all sick of watching you two make eyes at each other and pretending you’re just hating on each other. It’s disgusting.”
Oh, she knows how to ruin a good day and a victory, “I’m gonna have you expelled.”
“And I’ll take this cup right with me,” She raises it in the air and lifts her chin provocatively.
He stares at her and wonders if she’s just being a jackass to annoy him. But… she’s not. She seems to truly believe in what she’s saying and it makes him stop in the current moment and rethink past years; past weeks; and past days. He recalls the scene in the teachers’ lounge; how soft her skin was when he put his hand on her chin, how light mirrored in her baby blue eyes.
He wants her to be his.
End of the story.
That’s what he wants.
It’s been in front of him all along, and it’s taken one junior student to open his eyes.
It doesn’t sit right with him to agree on it, just because he’s a jackass, too, and a stubborn one, and sometimes he thinks Katniss Everdeen might be just like him, a mirror reflection. But time is rushing them and he has to do everything in his power for Trinket to make it a draw between the two of them.
“Okay,” He says, giving up - or rather, giving in. “I’ll do it. Fine. Now, go be a drama queen. I’ll see you on stage.”
Grinning, she runs past him, “Bye!” And heads down the path where Peeta has disappeared with the others, leaving him to his own devices.
There’s a weight down in his guts, and he realises he might be a bigger coward than he used to think he was.
He needs to confess to Effie. Trinket. Sweetheart. Princess. Whatever. Either way, he is screwed.
“Yes! No! Leave that on the left. Your left. Don’t touch the tower!”
The kids are running widely while Effie hides her face in her hands, “My goodness.”
Finding the new Juliet was supposed to bring her peace of mind, but for the first in her career as the director, she is experiencing panic and stage fright. Everything has become too much, and the awareness of Haymitch’s victory puts so much pressure on her.
As if reading her mind, or saying his name in her mind, he appears behind her.
“Princess, you’re fine,” He stands by her side. “Everything is fine.”
“No!” She doesn’t even look him in the face. “Nothing is fine. It’s all just-”
It’s the second time he initiates physical touch between them in the past hour when he catches her wrist in his big, warm hand. She is so out of it, that she just lets him pull her up the side stairs and behind the curtains. No words fall from her lips, so it’s him to yell out, “Good job everyone! Keep it going! Listen to Mellark, he’s in charge now.”
There’s that one restroom nobody uses anymore since the cleaners stopped attending it regularly, but it became a place to hang out to smoke. Now, however, everyone is too busy to even come up with an idea to go there; even if they’re all so stressed out, they could use a cigarette or two, there’s no time for that.
The door slams shut behind them, and he is faced with a shaken, panicked woman.
How in these conditions is he supposed to tell her about his feelings? It’s not that he’s trying to run away from that responsibility. It’s rational thinking, you should not tell a woman you’ve been in love with her for years and taken it as hatred because of how it burned your heart when she’s on the verge of falling apart.
“Nothing is fine,” Effie cries, throwing her hands up in the air. “You won.”
“I don’t give a fuck, alright?” He raises his voice, spitting the words in her face. “Take that victory, it’s yours. It’s all yours. Take anything you want. I’ll give it away. Anything.”
Effie freezes and begins to search his features, slowly scanning his face from the stormy grey of his eyes that seem to drip with emotion, to his crooked nose and lips she’s been having dreams about lately. Her mind begins to uncloud and her heart begins to soothe down its rhythm when she realises the second meaning underneath his words.
Her eyes light up, and everything else doesn’t matter.
“You’re more romantic than I thought,” She says with a tease, but her voice is still dazed from the previous panic.
“I’ve studied all of the romances in the history, if you really think about it,” He smirks.
Effie shakes her head, comprehending every little moment and argument between the two of them and reading it finally for what it truly is.
“God, just kiss me, Abernathy.”
Haymitch does.
It’s feverish and hot, loud and obnoxious, all at the same time. Their lips fit perfectly against each other, and neither of them waits for too long to taste the other - their tongues meet, and despite Effie's love to put up a good fight, this time, she wants to be overruled and have someone take control. She wants to let go of being an ultimate control freak, so for one reckless moment, she does.
He takes the lead naturally; he embraces Effie at the waist just to press her up against him, but it’s not enough until he pushes for her back to hit the edge of the sink. Having her caught in a place like this turns out to be his perfect fantasy. She reciprocates his kisses with fervour and her hands intertwine around his neck, moaning into his lips when he grabs her ass.
Picking her up, she gasps, but he sits her up on the sink and steps between her legs before they manage to close.
Suddenly, these dresses she usually wears are a blessing.
The one she has on right now is creme, with a small pink flower pattern, and it makes her skin look tan; it fits her little waist perfectly and he loves, loves, loves it. Everything she wears, the way she does her hair, her heels that still don’t make her reach his height. Loves it, like a total idiot.
Her hands reach for his shirt and she begins to undo the buttons, hands shaking but this time from excitement, and not panic.
“Someone’s eager,” Haymitch laughs into her neck, between the stolen kisses.
“Oh, shut up,” She says but is full-on giggling at how his lips tickle her skin. It’s the most beautiful sound he has ever heard, and this must be the first time in their history that’s she laughing for him, at him, whatever you call it. “Just help me out here.”
“I have other things to do,” He says and reaches behind her back to find the zipper and pull it down. “As much important as yours.”
“Mhm,” Effie laughs again but leans into his touch, helping him pull the dress down until it’s pooled in her lap, exposing her lacy white bra.
But the smile dies on her lips when his mouth trails a way down her collarbones and begins to nip at the thin delicate material of her bra. She breathes in shakily when he begins to kiss her breasts through the fabric, lips gentle, but his stubble scratches the sensitive skin. When he takes her nipple into his mouth, her moans echo down the forgotten bathroom; she arches her back and digs her fingers into his shoulders; her long nails almost cut through the shirt that’s still unfortunately on him.
The things he does - ungodly things - to her are too much to handle. They were meant to be lovers, she thinks but soon the thoughts disparate because all she can focus on is his teeth teasing her nipples, it brings her both pleasure and pain, and somehow that’s much better.
“Haymitch,” She sighs, finding some self-control and turning back to her task of getting rid of that stupid button-up. “Haymitch, that feels so good.”
He continues and she’s about to go insane when his mouth disappears.
It helps her finish undoing the buttons and soon, the shirt is lying on the white tiles. Her hands trail down his chest, which is still wearing signs of regular exercise, but is softened by time; he’s always been handsome and she used to hate it, but now, feels so deeply grateful he’s as wonderful as he is. She cannot stop looking at him but her eyes finally rise to meet Haymitch’s. For the first time in her life, she finds him flustered.
It makes her even hornier if it’s possible.
Licking her lips, his stare follows the movement, she smiles weakly and impatiently before saying,
“Fuck me, Haymitch. For heaven’s sake, please, fuck me.”
“Never thoughts I would hear these words coming out of your mouth,” He barely stops the smirk on his lips, but his hands are already on her back, taking her bra off, then pushing up the dress to expose her underwear.
“That was a matter of time,” Effie reaches for his belt. “I guess.”
“You call eight years a matter of time?”
“Neither of us is mathematics, so quit it. Quiet.”
“I like it when you’re bossy,” He chuckles, but his voice is darkened when her hands brush against the bulge in his black trousers.
Soon, she is only covered by the folded dress in her lap and his pants drop to the floor, and he cannot humanly stop her when she reaches inside his underwear, palming his dick in her hand. They kiss again and she embraces her legs around his hips, making them as close as possible. But-
But they can’t do it without discussing things.
“Are you on pills?” Haymitch asks between their passionate kisses, massaging her thighs up and down, driving her insane.
“Yeah,” She murmurs into his mouth. “Yeah, it’s fine Are you clean?”
He hasn’t had sex in forever, so he just nods and holds his cock in his hand, stroking it as she opens her legs for him, ready and slick.
They both groan at the feeling of her wet pussy welcoming his dick; he’s gentle, letting her get used to his size, and watching her head fall back onto the mirror with lips parted in pleasure. Her eyes roll back and he barely keeps on standing because feeling her around him is almost too much.
“Princess, you’re so tight,” Haymitch murmurs, groaning again when her walls flutter around him. “Shit. So good. Are you okay?”
Effie nods, opening her eyes, “Yes. Yes. Please, keep going.”
She doesn’t have to ask twice.
Haymitch begins softly and slowly, but neither of them has been waiting only for this. They need the same energy and passion that they hated each other with, they need the same feeling they brought onto each other for years. So, he loses control within a matter of thirty seconds and begins to rail her so hard, that he’s driving her into the mirror; a thought crosses his mind that they might shatter it into a million pieces, but there’s not a care in the world that would stop him.
“Harder,” Effie moans, her legs shifting to bring her body closer to his, nails drawing red lines on his back. “Yes, yes, fuck, you feel so good. You’re so big, Jesus Christ.”
Hearing her curse could be a reason for him to come without even touching her, fucking her.
She gets so loud he worries they might find them, and it’s most probable it would be some students, forever traumatised. Both of them would probably get fired for pulling this number, but they should blame all of it on Katniss Everdeen.
“Quiet, princess,” Haymitch says into her ear, biting onto the earlobe. “You need to be quiet if you want me to keep going.”
She whimpers when he thrusts into her again, rocking their hips again. Embracing him so tightly, holding onto him, she nods but fears once she reaches her peak, nothing will stop her from crying out and betraying where they are and what they’re doing.
“You’re so tight, so good,” He whispers, holding her hips so tightly there might be bruises tomorrow. “You feel so good, sweetheart.”
Now, Effie could listen to him calling her sweethearts and princesses for eternity. Why has she ever minded?
His movements become reckless and aggressive and nothing has ever turned her more; she’s so full of him, he’s so big inside of her and he keeps on hitting just the right sweet spot in her, and suddenly, stars are dancing in front of her eyes.
“I’m close,” She cries, despite she was supposed to keep quiet. “I’m so close, please, please, please-”
“Cum with me,” Haymitch hides his nose in her neck. “Come with me, Effie.”
“Keep going, there, there, there, ah,” Effie bites her bottom lip but it doesn’t work, not when she’s being railed into the wall so hard, she thinks she might faint. But then she feels him spill inside of her and it’s enough to send her over the edge. “Fuck, yes, yes, Haymitch, oh…”
Groaning, he stops his hips that are tilted into her, feeling her with his cum and the feeling of bliss spreads through his limbs. He barely keeps standing, but he knows if he falls, he won’t ever get up. There are things to do, even if all he wants is to stay here and fuck her until she passes out from pleasure, until they’re both on the floor, unable to move.
Slowly, once her body relaxes and her legs fall from the tight hold she had around his middle, they both halt for a moment.
Then, they look at each other, both ruined and sweaty and crumpled and burst out laughing. They laugh like a pair of dumb teenagers until their stomachs hurt.
“That was good,” Haymitch says, slowly pulling out of her.
“It was, right?” Effie chuckles, turning around to look at her reflection and wiping the mascara off her cheeks and eyelids. “It was.”
“And hot.”
“Definitely.”
“We finally agree on something,” Haymitch tucks himself into his boxers and pulls up the trousers, putting the belt back in place. “You’re way too hot, sweetheart. We should have done that ages ago.”
“It wouldn’t taste so good if we weren’t waiting for it,” Her eyes gleam wickedly, a new idea popping up in her mind. “As we speak about taste… I have a few ideas…”
Loud voices coming from speakers shake up the walls. A choir’s voices begin to resound in the entire building, taking over it, and a familiar to Effie by heart song begins.
The musical play has begun.
“They started!” She cries out, fixing her bra and dress within a second, ignoring Haymitch’s amused glance following her around as she runs all over the bathroom, trying to gather herself. “They’re on! We have to go, let’s go, we don’t have time, come on-”
Haymitch stops her and grounds her for fifteen seconds until her mind is clear again. Before he lets her go, he leans down to press an innocent gentle kiss on her lips. Their noses brush and she smiles, nodding to signalise she’s okay and she’s got this.
They reach the raised curtains and they both know this is her place to stay, but not his.
“Haymitch, be a dear and go record the whole thing,” She asks, ignoring the surprised glances of the tech crew when her voice appears so tender.
He leans down to whisper into her ear, for no one else’s to hear, “Maybe you want to record something else afterwards?”
“Rotten mind,” Effie pats him on the shoulder, trying not to giggle. “Go. You’ll get rewarded lately.” She winks at him.
Saluting to her, looking like a complete doofus doing that, he walks away, “See ya, sweetheart.”
Effie takes a minute to gather herself, listening to the beautiful song of the beginning of the tale of star-crossed lovers she picked into their script. Her students are doing perfectly and they’re going to keep it up until the end; she stares at Katniss playing her part the best she can, and she truly couldn’t be a better pick. Peeta leads her through the scene, and you can tell, they love each other a lot; Effie doesn’t know it yet, but one day she’ll find out it’s because of Everdeen that Haymitch did what he did.
The applause never ends. It keeps coming and coming, and Effie feels tears in the corners of her eyes when she watches these kids beam brightly, with pure joy and pride. Her little actors might one day bloom into something bigger, and she knows if any of them does, she’ll observe it through the media until the very end.
“And now, please welcome our amazing writer and director, Miss Effie Trinket!” Peeta’s voice calls out, earning more cheering.
Oh, this boy is too sweet, Effie thinks, even if she isn’t keen on going out there - it’s been over 15 years since the last time she was on stage. But he’s coming towards her and she cannot run now, so instead, she faces whatever she has to face.
At the very centre of the stage, she bows down, smiling from ear to ear.
The lights are blinding and the noise is overwhelming, but some part of her is telling her she deserves it. That she’s been sacrificing so much time and energy into this project, that all of this cheering and applause is something expected after the hard work she committed herself to.
Then, she hears the whistling.
Despite being barely able to see, she finds the person who whistles immediately,
Front row, phone in his hand, Haymitch keeps on whistling between cheering and shouting. He looks amazed and overjoyed, earning weird glances from all of the teachers, except for Portia and Headmaster Heavensbee. Both of them must have expected this to happen long before, but it’s not a surprise given how blinded by jealousy and pining they have been, calling it hatred.
Effie places her hands on her chest and bows again, this time for the only man her eyes are set on.
She feels like she’s back to her teenage years, both because of acting and being greeted by the applause and how high school Abernathy makes her feel. She’s back to the butterflies kicking in her stomach, cheeks flushed and pink.
This time it’s him who winks at her.
Deciding it’s now or never, and no one will even remember it the next day, she sends a kiss to the audience, but Haymitch knows what it means. He pretends to catch it, making her laugh and shake her head.
He gave her the draw.
Goddamn Haymitch Abernathy.