This is the worst day of your life.

Haymitch’s birthday. The Reaping. The 2nd Quarter Quell—double the tributes, double the blood.

You’re alone. Your parents are next door, holding Sid while he sobs. Burdock’s at the Hob, drinking away the guilt of not being Reaped instead.

And Haymitch?

Haymitch is supposed to be at the Justice Building.

Haymitch is supposed to be saying his goodbyes.

Haymitch is supposed to be already gone.

But then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You whirl around.

And there he is.

Haymitch Abernathy, half-hanging off your windowsill, breathless, wild-eyed, his Reaping suit rumpled like he’s been running through the Seam like a madman. (He has.)

His voice is ragged, half-laugh, half-prayer:

"Hey, sweetheart. Miss me?"