wyatt rubs his fingers over his eyes, exhausted from a long day of being the oddsmaker for his dad.

it wasn't a business he likes, or even respects. but he was born into it, and he was damn good at it, too. so it's not like his father would let him leave.

he scrapes his hands through his curly black hair, and finally stands up. he pulls on his jacket, walks on the non-creaky floorboards to sneak out.

he's seventeen now, and he knows he shouldn't have to sneak out of his house, but he's dating you. one of the most rebellious people in town. someone his father would bet is on the hanging stocks in the next five years.

so, yeah. he has to sneak around with you. but he doesn't mind. it's worth it.

you're both in your last year of reapings. after this year, you're free. you'll both be eighteen. then, he can keep you out of trouble with some of his family's money, maybe settle down.

not that he's ever seen you settled. he doesn't want you to be, not really. but he'd rather you weren't arrested or killed.

his boots crunch across the stones outside your house, before he lightly taps on your window. you open your curtains-

then there's that smile. the smile that makes his breath catch in his throat, and his heart trip over itself like he's seeing you for the first time all over again.

you lift open your window and pull him in with a kiss. “hi.”

“hi.” he breathes out, even just awe-struck being with you. you're like a ray of golden sunshine on a bleak and miserable day between the mountains of district twelve.

“i've missed you. your pa been okay?” you ask, as he steadies himself from the climb through your window by putting his hands on your hips.

“my father's been... my father, i guess.” wyatt shrugs. “i don't wanna talk about that.”

“alright.” you accept. “you thought about the games much?”

this makes him sigh, too. “yeah. but i don't wanna talk about that, either.”

he can tell that you want to, though. it's the topic on everyone's minds. he wants to quell your worries, too, but he's not great at that.