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And eventually, victor’s village feels a little less haunted. Normal people have been allowed to move in next to them, the surrounding houses alive with light and noise.
Its a beautiful spring day. The primrose flowers are blooming outside the window. Peeta had suggested picking some to bring inside to a vase on the dining room table, but Katniss had declined, preferring to leave the plant alive in the dirt outside. A soft breeze flows through the flowering buds in Haymitch’s peripheral vision.
He doesn’t know exactly what happens. There was no outburst, no breakdown, no metaphorical last straw.
He looks down at the tequila in his cup, and frowns.
He considers what he’s thinking again, probing at the impulse to see if it’s a heady, drunk thought, the kind he’s had many times, fleeting like smoke in the wind. But it roots in his mind, stubborn and decided.
He looks around at his surroundings. He gazes at Peeta and Katniss, smiling and teasing each other as they make lunch hand in hand. He looks around at their clean house, with so much art and life- the likes of which, before, he likely only ever saw in the Covey house, before. He watches Buttercup sit idly on the counter as if standing guard, and then looks back out at the pink flowers. He nods.
He pushes his cup away. “I’m done.” He decides, and Katniss and Peeta pause to look back to him. She tilts her head. God, she’s so much more at peace these days. They understand, of course you do. Peeta’s eyes widen, and they alight with joy. Katniss considers. “Are you?”
He checks with himself again, probing once more at the impulse. It holds fast. It’s probably the most assured hes been about any choice since he saw that peacekeeper raise the butt of his gun. “Yes. I’m done.” He decides simply.
Peeta smiles, bright. “I’ll call Effie.” He murmurs. He goes into the other room to the phone line, and Haymitch wordlessly stands, wandering over to the kitchen faucet, grabbing a cup.