Azalea Rose Willow loves three things above everything else:
summer, the only season that mattered in her mind.
singing, alongside the comforting embrace of her guitar.
but above all, the easy camaraderie with the boy who lives next door to her, and...
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20 years ago
"Easy there, Romeo," Haymitch's voice, heavy with amusement, snapped Tomas out of his trance.
The Capitol pulsed around them, a cacophony of manufactured music and forced laughter. Around Tomas Wilow and Haymitch Habernathy , a swarm of giggling girls vied for their attention, their painted smiles and vacant eyes a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within him.
"Hmmm?" Tomas managed, jolted back to reality, choked on a non-existent drink on his hand.
Haymitch threw his head back and let out a booming laugh. "You're staring again, Tommy."
His practiced charm, usually so effortless, felt clumsy and forced as he tried to focus on the giggling girls clinging to his arms. But across the room, a vision in emerald green captivated him. Her laughter, a genuine melody unlike the manufactured merriment around them, drew him in like a moth to a flame.
"I was not staring Haymitch."
Haymitch's piercing golden eyes narrowed in amusement. "You've been staring at that girl across the room for a good ten minutes now. You're going to burn a whole through that poor girl's head."
Tomas felt a flush creep up his neck, the heat warming his cheeks uncomfortably. He tore his gaze away, the image of the girl's smile lingering in his mind. "I was just... observing."
Rose Creed. Her name echoed in his mind like a forbidden melody. She stood amidst a group of admirers, her laughter ringing out, genuine and carefree. The way her head tilted back, the way the soft light glinted off her cascading brown hair, each detail imprinted itself on his memory. The emerald dress hugged her slender form, its shimmering fabric mirroring the captivating light within her eyes.
Haymitch snorted, the sound devoid of genuine humor. "Don't tell me, Tommy has a crush?"
Shame burned in Tomas's gut. Haymitch, with his brutal honesty, had exposed the absurdity of his fleeting hope.
Rose, with her radiant smile and effortless grace, was a world away from him. He was a scarred victor from a backwater district, forever marked by the Games.
With a sigh that spoke volumes, Tomas flopped dramatically onto the plush couch, landing with a surprised grunt on top of Haymitch. "I can't help it Mitchy. She's an angel sent from above."
He could practically feel the images of her smile, her laugh, burning behind his eyelids. Her beauty was a stark contrast to the manufactured perfection around them, a genuine light radiating from within.
Haymitch instinctively rolled his eyes at the nickname he hated before taking another gulp of his drink."I hate that nickname, Tommy."
"Well I hate the nickname Tommy too, Mitchy."
Haymitch sighed, before smiling at his friend again. "So Rose Creed, huh? You're aiming high playboy. You know she's practically royalty, right? Doubt she'd give a victor from District Four the time of day."
