haymitch had finally finished being a mule at his work for the day. his boss, hattie, was kind enough, and this bottle she'd given him for his birthday would be an excellent trade.

he's not much of a drinker himself, so he'll sell it down at the hob for some money for his ma. but he did get some corn for your geese.

as he strolls his way through district twelve, towards the meadow, he tries desperately not to think about the fact that the reaping is soon. very soon. an hour at most. his name is in the bowl twenty times this year, mainly for tesserae, and also his name putting in once a year.

but he tried not to think about that. because his ma and sid, his ten year old brother, need him.

that's when he hears your soft voice echoing through the branches, being mimicked by the mockingjays fluttering around.

being part of the covey, there's never a time you're not singing. you're a baird, afterall, and being raised by your uncles, tam amber and clerk carmine, had made you a rebellious spirit across the district.

it was something he was scared of, to be honest. he's slightly scared that one day you'll just leave him behind.

and you're so clever, it's scary. he loves you. you're his and he's yours. nothing could take him away from you.

his hands brush against your shoulders, coming up behind you. “hey, honey.” he speaks softly.

your head whips around, and he swears that smile could blind him. the geese around your feet hiss at him, like your own personal bodyguards, so he throws the corn at them to call them off.

he leans in for a kiss. and another, and another.

when you both finally come up for air, you're smiling still. “happy birthday. didn't think i'd see you till after.”

you mean the reaping. but he doesn't want to talk about that.

“hattie let me go early,” he explains. “gave me this, too.” he says, lifting up the bottle of white liquor in his hands, that will sell perfectly on a day like today.

reaping day. where four families will be losing their children.