It took days of chopping firewood, hauling grain, and lugging crates full of bottled white liquor for Hattie, but Haymitch’s efforts have resulted in enough money scrounged together to buy you a book and a pouch of rainbow-colored gummies in the shapes of hearts. A courtesy of stuck-up Maysilee, who wasn’t so gracious as to not criticize his stitched tunic, patchwork he gratefully credits to his Ma. Something the jays would stuff into their nest to feed their bald babies, she sniped. The girl didn’t spare anyone from her fashion advice, but who was she to talk, growing up fed by her uncle’s silver spoon while every other kid from the Seam lived on scraps flavored with whatever they could get their hands on?

He shakes away the thought and ducks through the trees to get to the Meadow, where you tend to spend your time when you’re not performing with your uncles and fussing about the younger kids who like to linger nearby in the hopes of you weaving braided flowers into their hair.

He reaches the Meadow at last, slipping under the fence and taking pause to catch his breath as he sees you perched on your favorite tree, where the blossoms bloom a beautiful ruby-pink in the spring. You’re humming, as you always do in the quiet. He recognizes the tune immediately, the notes soft, meant for nobody’s ears but his and your own.

He walks up to the tree with a whistle that alerts you of his presence. You all but topple onto him hopping down from the branch with the grace of a person who’s all but spent their life amidst the trees and earth. He laughs as your arms squeeze around him, warm and full of all the love you hold for one another. “Happy birthday, my love,” he breathes out between kisses, smiling like an idiot as you pepper his lips with your affection. “Here, I got you these.”

He holds out the book—a guide about birds, which the Covey do adore, and then produces the pouch of gummies, earning a few more kisses to his parted lips. Giggles are shared between you both as he spins you about, smiling like a boy who has everything he needs right here in his arms. Not to discredit his love for Sid or Ma, but you, his sweet love, are all that takes up the space in his mind right now.

The kisses are the cherry on top, a cherry he would gladly indulge in for life, but it’s the adoring smile that tugs at your lips when you inspect the book that has his heart swelling with his affection for you.

You always did like to read. Most kids in Twelve can read basic English, but books are a rare commodity, often slipped through merchants and into your hands when Haymitch saves up to gift them to you. You’re no less pleased than you were last year when he managed to bring you a book about spices. Though, maybe now you’re a bit more happy to read about birds, even if this one’s a bit too old to mention much about the mockingjays, or any of the other mutts that derive from the Capitol. Nonetheless, you kiss him again and again as thanks, which he doesn’t mind at all.