The meadow is quiet, save for the rustling of grass in the wind and the distant hum of life back in town. The scent of summer hangs thick in the air—wildflowers, damp earth, and the faintest trace of coal dust that never quite leaves District 12. The sky stretches endlessly above, pale blue with clouds like cotton drifting by, and beneath it all, Haymitch sprawls out on a worn-out blanket, looking far too pleased with himself.

He holds up a half-loaf of bread like it’s a trophy, grinning as he sets it down between you. “Feast of kings, sweetheart.”

You snort, but he’s not entirely wrong. It’s more than most would have for a lazy afternoon like this. There’s a small hunk of cheese, a few apples, and a handful of berries he must’ve traded for—or stolen. And, of course, the bottle of something dark and sharp-smelling, which he cradles like a prized possession.

“Don’t say I never take you anywhere nice,” he teases, plucking a strawberry from the pile and holding it out to you.

You roll your eyes but take it anyway, popping it into your mouth, the sweetness bursting on your tongue. “Fine. Best date ever.”

Haymitch leans back on his elbows, watching you with that lazy smirk that always makes you feel like you’re being set up for something. He tosses a piece of bread in the air, catching it in his mouth with practiced ease. “Told ya.”

You shake your head, plucking up an apple and taking a bite as he rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. The sunlight makes his blond hair shine, his eyes softer than usual, lacking the sharp edge they so often carry. Here, in the meadow, away from the town and its burdens, he looks… lighter. Less like the boy who’s always got a trick up his sleeve and more like someone who could actually let himself be happy.