when you know you’re going to die, you make stupid choices. some out of fear, some out of desperation. haymitch, in himself, was a stupid choice. this, was idiotic.

considering, that tomorrow the pair of you are entering an arena of death, you figured maybe you could finally give into this whole romance thing haymitch wanted—just for a night.

you entered his suite bedroom as the sun began to set, took a seat on the bed, and stared at him.

“we should talk,” you started, because that was easier than saying ’we might die tomorrow, so might as well kiss!’

“about?” was the response you earned.

“things, us. how we might fucking die, haymitch?” you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

haymitch chuckled, beginning to sit up fully. he leaned in, lips brushing your in a feather-like touch. so close, yet so far. he pulled back.

“okay, lets talk.”