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sherwood-scribblings · 8 months ago

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HUNGER GAMES (SUNRISE ON THE REAPING) THEORIES: the "sunrise" over the reaping is maysilee

I have been going so absolutely bats off the wall ever since the SOTR announcement that I spent a whole day formulating my theories into in-depth essays and backing them up with canon... here ya go.

So, after some analysis of everything we know about the saga, chapter 14 of Catching Fire, and how Collins writes so far...

I present my theory on the new hunger games book: that the "sunrise" over the reaping is symbolic of Maysilee Donner, the former owner of the mockingjay pin.

I think Maysilee is going to be a symbol of the goodness, kindness, light, etc, of humanity, in the face of the reaping, in the face of violence and war. Aka the theme of the entire series. Aka a symbol of defiance just like Lucy Gray and her kindness. I mean, losing all his metaphorical light is what causes Haymitch to become a drunk... And likely to become so protective over Katniss and Peeta.

I also think the cover is going to have a mockingjay and a sunrise. Cause, Suzanne Collins is VERY intentional about her titles. The themes she uses. The imagery. The covers. It's all part of the story.

HOW COLLINS HAS USED THEME BEFORE

TBOSAS was called "songbird and snakes" which was symbolic of the nature of good vs. evil.

There's essays everywhere about how the songbird represents good (in Lucy Gray) and how the snake represents evil (in Coriolanus Snow), how they are symbolically shown to have both natures by using both snakes and songbirds as weapons, but one nature ultimately prevails. TBOSAS is about the struggle between humanity's two natures, and how we can ultimately prevail in one or the other. The crest of the mockingjay and the snake, is symbolic of said theme.

Songbirds represent everything Lucy Gray is—free, wild, untamed, kind, colorful, a singer, a performer, honest and moral and true and good.

Snakes represent everything Coriolanus Snow is—deceptive, cunning, ruthless, adaptable, charming, determined to survive, everything sly and wicked and game playing.

And yet, they are shown to have the inverse as well. Lucy Gray is also cunning, and deceptive, and determined to survive. Coryo is also caring (about certain people), honest (he's bad at lying, and in THG he agrees to never lie to Katniss), and enjoys the idea of freedom.

They wield both natures and this struggle is portrayed throughout the story. Hence: A Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. Hence: a snake and a bird on the cover.

Suzanne Collins is also no stranger to complimentary characters.

Lucy Gray and Snow are inverses of each other, both similar and wildly different. They work well... Until the difference in their nature tears them apart.

She makes use of complimentary characters to emphasize theme throughout her books, constantly. We see with Katniss and Peeta, how Katniss is war-torn, distrusting, afraid, how easily she could become like Snow, how her motivations for security could become corrupted into a ruthlessness to survive just like Snow was driven by his fear. She is difficult, jaded, and tormented, but underneath that she does have a heart of gold and wants goodness to prevail.

Peeta is her dandelion in the spring, her hope, representative of the goodness left in humanity, he seems soft but he is a lot stronger than his peers would think or give him credit for. She clings to him because in a world of darkness he serves as light, as a reminder that not everyone is selfish, that kindness and morality do exist even if she's inclined to think people just are out for themselves.

He is full of light and her darkness falls for that because she needs light and goodness to heal, to believe, to fight for.

He is her compliment, where she is afraid, a survivor and a fighter, and sometimes rude or selfish seeming, and struggles to show her emotions and how much she cares, more like Haymitch—

Peeta is kind, brave, soft, and charming, has a way with people's hearts, and yet also strong in his own ways and in his morals, determined not to let the capitol force him to lose his humanity.

This nature of humanity, of goodness, of light, is reflected in other characters.

Prim is that role to Katniss as well. She is a soft girl, innocent, sensitive, tender hearted, kind, a healer, which is part of why Katniss loves her so much.

Prim is a reminder of humanity, which Katniss needs, and it's why Katniss chooses Peeta over Gale. Prim is also contrasted against Katniss. Rue likewise, is similar, she's a symbol of hope and kindness set against Katniss.

We see this utilization of complimentary characters all over— Haymitch and Effie, one being a crude yet intelligent and snarky arrogant tormented and drunken victor from District 12, the other being a prim and proper rich Capitol girl, airheaded, brainwashed, sheltered, yet endearing and caring all the same. They're polar opposites, but they work so well together, both as teammates and as friends. There's a reason the fandom ships them and sees them as the beer uncle and wine aunt of THG, as parental roles to Katniss and Peeta.

Suzanne Collins knows what she's doing. She knows how to write characters that compliment or parallel each other and how to weaponize symbolism and imagery for a powerful theme. (Katniss and Peeta, Lucy Gray and Snow, Haymitch and Effie, Katniss and Prim, Prim and Rue, Katniss and Snow, Rue and the mockingjay, Snow and Coin)

HOW THIS APPLIES TO SUNRISE ON THE REAPING

If she describes young Haymitch as arrogant, snarky, nonchalant, dangerous, smart, capable, etc... Maysilee is likely gonna be his compliment: kind, moral, gentle, soft, willing to call his more selfish means out.

She's the one who saves him and had the idea for the alliance. She's the one who split because she didn't want it to come down to killing each other.

I am convinced the reason Haymitch sets up Peeta and Katniss to work together as teammates from district 12, is because he did that with Maysilee.

He's doing what him and Maysilee failed to do. They agreed to break off the alliance, and look what happened. She died. Why do you think he's so insistent on Katniss and Peeta working together? That Peeta is keeping her alive, that she doesn't deserve him, that she should be more grateful?

Because he sees Maysilee in Peeta, and himself in Katniss. Haysilee (regardless of if they're a ship or platonic) is a gender reversed parallel to Everlark. Perhaps he's harder on Katniss because he sees himself in her, and kinder to Peeta because he sees Maysilee in him. For all we know, Haysilee could have even incited their own rebellion that the capitol snuffed out (suzanne said the main theme of SOTR was essentially propaganda and lies, covering up the truth for the masses).

MAYSILEE IS SOFT LIKE MADGE & PRIM

Further on why I think Maysilee will be a soft sunshine girl—because her niece, MADGE, is exactly that. Golden haired, kind, softened. Selfless. Everything the capitol tries to destroy. Everything the capitol sees as rebellion.

Madge likely got her soft nature from her mom or her aunt (Maysilee), who are twins. They also all have sunshine golden hair.

It's essentially implied Madge is like her aunt.

And guess what? Prim is a blond soft girl and it's implied she's like HER mom, who was close friends with Maysilee.

Katniss' mom was also a soft girl before the trauma shut her down. Clearly Prim gets her own sunshine healer nature from her mother, because Katniss is more is rugged and protective like her father. She fills in for protecting them when he dies, and even notes her mom is too soft and fragile to deal with certain hardships the way Katniss does.

If Katniss' mother is friends with Maysilee, not to mention their daughter and niece are both soft healer kind sunshine girls who seem to take after the rest of their family.... It's likely that Maysilee is like Prim and Madge. Birds of a feather flock together and all. Of course they would bond.

MAYSILEE IS A SYMBOL OF LIGHT

Here's more on why I think the sunrise is Maysilee.

Madge gave the mockingjay pin to Katniss, from Maysilee. SHE WAS THE FORMER OWNER OF THE MOCKINGJAY PIN. THE WHOLE REASON THE REVOLUTION STARTED.

Maysilee is another form the mockingjay takes. Just like Lucy Gray, just like Rue—a symbol of hope and resistance. A tribute from District 12, so determined not to let the capitol change her true nature, to take her humanity and morals, that it lights the spark to create a fire.

Do you think Haymitch looks at Katniss, and sees Maysilee's pin? Do you think he sees the mockingjay prevail in the face of the reapings, and all he can see is her?

"Sunrise on the reaping" is a symbolic title. This is Suzanne Collins. This is how she writes.

"A ballad of songbirds and snakes" summarizes the themes of that book, the nature of good vs evil. Lucy Gray is the songbird, Snow the snake.

"Sunrise on the reaping" translates to light, hope, new beginnings, in the middle of war and violence.

Collins said this book was going to focus on propaganda, how the media LIES to people, puts them in the dark for easy submission, to not see the truth.

You know what you need to illuminate the darkness of a lie? To see anything at all, including the truth?

Light. You need the sun. A sunrise.

Real or not real? How do you see what's real if you don't have the light to see it by?

Sunrise ON the reaping. Not over. ON.

A sunrise casts light ON the reaping. On the violence of the capitol.

Kindness and hope casts light on the bleak violence and darkness of the capitol. Our humanity is the one true form of resistance. It's the main theme of the series.

This book is going to be about casting light on lies and darkness. On the capitol. The book will be about light prevailing over darkness.

About kindness and hope being the truth that acts as defiance against violent propaganda. Against Snow's beliefs that "there is no hope for humanity, we are all dark and twisted."

This book will be the inverse of Snow and Gaul, of TBOSAS. If Ballad is about how humanity can fall into darkness and evil, Reaping is its compliment, it's about how humanity can be light and good.

All darkness -> light exists -> fire sparks

(Ballad) (Reaping) (Catching Fire)

(@ aurynauthor on Instagram summarized that for me<3)

Maysilee is the sun, the warmth to start a FIRE... Her niece gives Katniss, the girl on fire... Her mockingjay pin.

Maysilee, perhaps, is the true mockingjay.

Katniss compares her death to Rue's, when she watches Haymitch's games. We thought Rue was the mockingjay, but... What if the mockingjay isn't just one person? What if the mockingjay is a symbol, something larger than life, something anyone with the kindness and heart and resistance to stand against evil can be? Like how Katniss and Peeta publicly honor and mourn their fallen tributes when they ought to be entertained alongside the capitol, who is aghast by such displays of emotion.

Maybe that light is some of what the capitol is covering up with propaganda in this book, but it escaped in the form of the pin and Haymitch's survival.

The mockingjay is everyone. Lucy Gray, Rue, Katniss... Maysilee.

Perhaps when Haymitch sees that pin on Katniss, he remembers. When the mockingjay becomes a symbol of resistance, when Maysilee's sunlight sparks the heat for a flame... Perhaps then Haymitch can understand why Maysilee saved him. Why he was the one to survive, and she was the martyr.

How her legacy and her pin lived on even after she faded from history, just like the mockingjay bird itself—small and insignificant, survived against all odds, becoming something stronger.

Maybe, even after her death, even when he forgets the good she taught him and he gets drunk to block out the memories of what happened afterwards, when he has to train up a girl with a mouth of fire and a mockingjay pin, and a boy with a heart of gold and the wits to survive, District 12 tributes, teammates, children he sees someone else in...

Even after the truth of what really happened on the 50th Hunger Games is lost to history and propaganda. Even after all the death and violence.

After all the darkness, the lies Snow preaches, that humanity will always fall into selfishness and survival and cruelty, that nothing and no one can prevail or be different.

Maybe Maysilee and her kindness was the sunrise on his reaping.

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supersaddoubled · 14 days ago

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something to fight for

haymitch abernathy x reader

warnings: fluff, trauma, alcoholism, angst, depression, age gap, pet names, mentions of death and violence, most things you would expect to be involved in thg lmao. also just bad writing could be a warning, we will see

wc: 4.1k

a/n: nobody writes for haymitch and i'm going crazy waiting for sotr, don't mind me and my minimum proofreading <3

The soft morning sun brightens the dim kitchen, rays dancing off the colorful glass on the table. The smell of freshly baked cake and homemade icing permeates the still air in the house. It’s early yet, most people remain bundled in their beds due to the nature of the day. Normally you would have been the same, staying coddled in the thin blankets atop your bed as long as possible on a day when you will learn which two children will be sent to die this year. Yet, you were up before the sun, heading to the cold kitchen where you had hidden all the necessary ingredients. After all, today is no longer the same day for you.

Today is Haymitch’s birthday.

You had grown up with the knowledge of Haymitch. Obviously as twelve’s only living victor, he was quite well known. You watched him age himself tenfold through alcohol he certainly could only have obtained in the Hob. Your observant, young eyes noted the way worry lines etched themselves upon his face before you had even aged out of the Reaping. He was only sixteen years your senior, yet he often felt aged beyond that of your parents. Funny how spending your life alone at the whim of the Capitol after witnessing mass amounts of death and agony as a child will do that to you.

After successfully going through your teen years without being sent into a death arena by the government, you became well acquainted with odd jobs in your community. Wealth wasn’t exactly well known by your family, unfortunately, love never put food on the table. You spent most of your childhood watching your mother tailor the clothes of miners. Interestingly, cheap fabric that has already been passed down for a few years doesn’t tend to hold up in rough working conditions. Your father was a jack of all trades, always finding something to do to earn money for your family. Thankfully, he had the foresight to pass along some of his knowledge to you, well aware that he would not stumble upon a small fortune before you were grown.

After a year or two of hopping from job to job, an idea struck you. Though it was a bit outlandish and if we’re being honest, anxiety inducing, it would pay off if you could make it happen.

What if you could get hired by twelve’s victor?

Based on his own physical appearance as well as that of his house, he was in desperate need of a housekeeper. Or maybe even just someone to run errands for him? The point was, you could make a lot more money out of a victor than you ever would from the impoverished citizens of twelve.

After a few weeks of deliberating and working up the courage, you found yourself in the Victor’s Village, feet planted in the snow in front of Haymitch Abernathy’s door. Clouds escaped your mouth with every deep breath you took to assure yourself. Your eyes wandered to the windows, covered by what looked to be ragged old sheets so no one could peer in. You weren’t really even sure if he was in there, but you hadn’t seen him wandering the square in a drunken stupor today, so you assumed he must be here. After a few minutes of staring at the door nervously, as though it were the only thing between you and immediate regret, your numb fingers raised from your side to rap on the door.

Little to no noise was heard after a moment, so you knocked again, this time with more force. Something seemed to hit the ground inside, as you heard a heavy thud, before the sound of a chair scraping the floor followed by shuffling feet. The noise paused for a moment right as it seemed to reach the door, before suddenly the wood between you and the stale air inside the house was ripped open.

Haymitch’s eyes took in your nervous, freezing form. He looked like he hadn’t changed clothes or left one room in the house for days. He stood there wordlessly, waiting for an explanation as to why in the hell this random girl had come pounding on his door in the middle of winter.

“Hi.” You waved and tried to sound confident, but your voice wavered on quite possibly the simplest word you could have said.

Haymitch remained silent, his glare seemed more frigid than the air outside.

“I’m- uh, I’m looking for local work,” you began, trying to keep a smile on your face to seem as personable as possible. “I thought you might be looking for someone to, umm help you out? Like, around the house or something?” Your cheery attitude was lessening with every word that left your mouth with zero reaction from the hardened man before you.

After a silence that seemed to drag on for what felt like hours, he finally spoke.

“Why the hell would I need that?”

Shit. You can’t exactly spout off that he seems to be an emotional and physical wreck and that his house is probably qualifiable as a biohazard at this point.

“Well, I’m not saying you need that necessarily. I just thought maybe you-” He interrupts before you can finish your weak explanation.

“You think I can’t take care of my own house, kid? You think I’m lookin’ for handouts?”

Panic. It’s too late to run away from the house and never look back, you’re officially on the verge of pissing off one of the few people with power in the district. Luckily, your self blame and pity was built in as someone born in the poorest district in Panem.

“I don’t think anything, really. I’m just looking for a job, ya know? That pays money. And you seem to be maybe the only person around here with money, so I thought it was worth a shot. I wasn’t trying to insinuate anything, I’m just kind of, um, poor?” Your words flow out like blood from a stab wound, all sense of manners and normal human introductions out the window in a sad attempt to save your metaphorical–and maybe physical–ass from being handed to you.

He looks at you for a moment, taking in everything you just said. Finally, as you are about to run back home and plan on avoiding him for the rest of your life, he quietly chuckles. You are immensely confused, not sure whether this is a bad sign or a good one.

“I appreciate the honesty.” He says with a small smirk. His eyes meet yours with a renewed spark that wasn’t there moments before, your nerves increase, though for a new reason.

Your fingers tug at your gloved hands, anxiously awaiting some more information from him.

“What exactly do you do?” he asks, arms folding in front of his chest.

It takes a moment for you to find your tongue, once you realize he is asking you a question.

“Well, um, I can do a lot of stuff. I clean, I cook, I know how to sew, I can garden, I mean.. anything really.” A nervous laugh punctuates your sentence, shocked that you didn’t blow this yet.

He nods, thinking for a moment. His gaze falls to the snow covering the entryway of his home. After a minute of consideration, his eyes return to yours.

“We start off small, don’t get the idea that this is permanent, this is a test drive. You can come in once a week and do some cleaning. Once I see how that goes I’ll think about changin’ your job description, but don’t count on it.” He begins firmly.

“Thank you so much! Really, I-”

“Don’t get too excited, I’m not done. I have rules. What you see in this house is for your eyes only, this isn’t a new fun story to tell your friends about. You don’t bring people in here, you’re lucky you’re allowed in here. This is a private gig, I don’t need to go to the Hob next week and hear all about my own business, understand?”

You nod at his stern instructions, before nervously adding, “I don’t really have any friends to speak of. So.. you’re in the clear.”

Three years after that fateful day, you found yourself in a steady job under Haymitch, obviously expanded from the original plan of once weekly cleaning. You had become an assistant of sorts to him. Keeping his once rotting house neat, stocking his kitchen with items other than liquor, and reminding him of important events that he unfortunately had to keep up with as a victor.

On top of all of your paid duties, you also became a companion to Haymitch. You were the person who spoke to him the most in his life, always aware of what was going on and what his routine was like. It was honestly the most intimate connection he had since before his games. It was a dangerous feeling for him, to become so involved with someone else besides himself. Good things didn’t happen to people he cared about. Why else did he keep himself locked away from society?

Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from growing fond of you, more and more everyday. You became his confidant of sorts, one of the only people he trusted in a world filled with deceit and pain. He tried for a while to keep a wall between you two, never wanting to risk getting close to another person. But eventually his resolve crumbled, your smile melted away all the barriers he had put up. The way you understood him without judgment, and never failed to shine light into his dim existence. He felt like your voice gently cradled his heart, protecting it from the hurt and anger that had enveloped it for so long.

He felt so fucking stupid.

He couldn’t believe he had torn down every wall he built up to protect himself. And for a girl almost twenty years younger than him nonetheless.

Of course, he wasn’t going to act on it. He wasn’t that stupid. He wouldn’t risk running off the one person he now had, or being seen as a pitiful old man who looked for comfort in the first young girl to show him a modicum of kindness. But most of all, he wouldn’t risk putting you in danger. Giving Snow a new target for the next time Haymitch inevitably fucked up was the last thing he wanted to do.

Unfortunately, none of Haymitch’s plans ever worked out the way he wanted them to.

You had been tidying up like usual around his home, this time with the addition of fresh bread baking in the oven. Reaping day was nearing closer and closer, and Haymitch’s mood had turned sour in anticipation. His drinking was far heavier than normal, you rarely saw him sober this time of year. He lost the small amount of humor he often saved just for you, burying himself in alcohol to ease the sting of his past and the future he has grown far too good at predicting. Your hope was that something warm and filled with carbs would somehow soothe him, if only a little.

You were just finishing putting a clean tablecloth on the small wooden table in the kitchen, when you him come through the front door. The erratic shuffling of his feet told you how many bottles deep he was already. He made his way to the kitchen where he flopped down into a wooden chair, bottle in hand.

You turn to check on the bread in the oven, letting him settle in. He shifts a bit in his seat before slurring, “Was’ ‘at?” referring to the warm smell emitting from the oven.

“Bread.” You reply simply, reaching in to pull it from the oven before setting it down on the counter.

He watches you for a moment, slightly perplexed.

“Why?”

You slice a piece from the warm loaf, laying it on a plate with a small pat of butter. “To help your feelings.” You say gently, as you turn to place the plate in front of him at the table before grabbing one for yourself.

He looks more confused than before, “What th’ hell d’you mean?” His eyes follow you once more as you come back to the table to sit next to him.

“I know.. I know it’s a hard time of year for you. With.. a certain day coming up. I just wanted to help.” You say softly, trying not to let your extreme worry shine all the way through your ‘mildly concerned friend’ exterior.

He looks down at the buttered bread before him. A simple gesture, but so rich in comparison to anything anyone had done for him. He bites into the bread, warmth spreading through him, not only from the food, but from the unbridled affection he held for you in that moment. In his drunken stupor, he decides to admit something he hadn’t told anyone, ever.

“You know,” he mumbles as he finally looks up from his plate, “my birthday is coming up.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, that having been the last thing you expected from him right now.

“Really? When? I could make you something! We could have some sort of mini celebration-” You begin to ramble with all of these new ideas to brighten Haymitch’s mood filling your mind.

“Reaping day.” He says so casually it makes you question if you heard him correctly. Your jaw drops, all words leaving your mind at the news.

After a moment of watching him take small bites of his bread, you find your voice again. “Are you serious?” You ask so tentatively he almost doesn’t hear you.

He nods as he continues to finish off his bread.

“Haymitch I-,” you almost apologize, but you stop, unsure if that is more hurtful than sympathetic.

“Yeah, me too.” He grumbles as he rises from his chair to grab more bread from the pan, almost like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

Your eyes are fixated on the pattern of the tablecloth as you try to process all of the implications behind what you just learned. He was sent into the games on his birthday. He has spent the last twenty three years watching children be sent to their death, on his birthday. No wonder he was so distant, no wonder his liver was almost dust. Suddenly, you understood more about Haymitch Abernathy than you ever thought you would. Your heart ached in your chest at the thought of him holding this knowledge within himself for as long as you have been alive.

He returns to the table with more bread, finding his spot next to you once more. He looked up to find your gaze and was met by tears welling in the place he always found solace.

“Hey..” He gently breaks the silence, as though you might run off like a wild animal. Your lack of response worries him, pushing him further than he would normally go, especially in a sober state.

“Sweetheart?” He says a bit more firmly as he reaches out to place a hand on your arm on the table.

You are brought back to the moment by the feeling of his calloused hands grazing your soft skin. Your eyes dart to his face, where you are met with a look of concern you have never seen on him before.

“Sorry!” You try to laugh off the anguish filling your mind by the second as you attempt to blink away the tears forming in your vision. “I must be tired tonight.” You try to offer a sad excuse for an explanation. Unfortunately, the tears were a bit too heavy to blink away as they make their way down your cheeks, glistening in the lamplight for Haymitch to see.

His hand slowly rises from your arm to the side of your face, thumbing away the tears the fall there. The simple gesture is enough to completely break you, sobs starting to wrack through your body.

In what feels like an instant, Haymitch has pulled himself close enough to envelop you in his arms, cradling your head to his chest as your agony takes physical form. He sits there rocking you for a moment, gently shushing you to try and calm you down. Your fingers somehow found a grip on his shirt, as though he is all that anchors you to the ground anymore.

“I’m so sorry.” You say through shuddering breaths, head still buried in his chest.

“Sweetheart, what the hell are you sorry for?” He laughs humorlessly.

You raise your head enough to meet his eyes to find him already gazing down at you.

“For all of it, everything they did to you. It shouldn’t have happened!” You say through heavy tears, feeling suddenly like justice must not truly exist in your world.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” He pets your head in an attempt to soothe you, though the only thing that truly could right now would be the public execution of President Snow.

“You should’ve gotten so much more from life, Haymitch,” you sob inconsolably, “you deserve so much better than this.”

“Well, now I’ve got you.”

It comes out before he can think about the implications. Before he can rationally think about how dangerous and stupid it is to even show an ounce of affection toward you. Had he drank one bottle less before coming home, it might not have happened, yet, here he is, drunkenly giving a half assed love confession to his employee. His very young employee.

Your body seems to freeze at his words. What the hell does that mean? Is this your chance? How are you karmic retribution for all the shit he has had to put up with?

“Fuck,” he sighs as he feels your body tense at the accidental emotional spill.

“What do you mean?” You ask hopefully quietly.

“I don’t mean anything, kid, I just-”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

He’s shocked by your interruption, but resigns. Fuck it, he could die tomorrow.

“You.. are the first thing I have cared about.. in a long, long time.” He says after a deep breath. “Actually, I care so much, it makes me sick. Because after so long..” he lets out a shaky breath, “I feel like I have something to lose again.”

The last part of his sentence is almost a whisper. You start to wonder if maybe you’re the one that was drinking. This isn’t logical, this isn’t normal. Your mind is racing so fast you can’t decide what the hell to do, he’s searching your eyes for an answer, anything. You decide to do something else illogical.

You lean up from his arms to meet his lips. It’s a quick decision, it’s sudden. You definitely didn’t think it through or you never would have done it. You feel him pull back from you, and your stomach drops. Fuck.

“Sweetheart,” he starts with a conflicted sigh, “I can’t- I- you work for me. I’m too old for you and I don’t want you thinkin’ that you need to act like you feel the same to stay on my good side. Ok? It’s ok, it’s better if we don’t.”

“I don’t give a shit about your good side, Haymitch!” Suddenly, your emotions overpower your fear of humiliation. “I care about all of you, every side and facet that exists. I care so much it hurts, I don’t know what to do without you. I can’t imagine life without you. Don’t act like I’m some dumb kid that can’t make her own decisions.”

He’s in awe of the confession he never hoped to get in a million years, he wants to pull you as close as possible and never release you. Until his logic comes back to tear it all away from him.

“We can’t.” He says with such finality it makes you want to flip the table.

“What do you mean we can’t?”

“It’s not- It’s not safe for you. Ok? You can’t be associated with me like that, they’ll..” he can’t finish his thought as a lump forms in his throat at the idea of anything harming you, especially if it was his fault.

You push away from him, creating distance between you before yelling, “You don’t get to decide that for me, I get to make my own choices, and I’m choosing you!”

“This isn’t up for debate!” His bite returns as his fist meets the table harshly.

“Yes it is, I love you!” You retort fiercely before the heavy meaning of your words can sink in.

He looks at you, completely stunned and speechless. You return the same look for a moment.

“Please.. I love you.” You can’t believe you’re practically begging a man to act on his feelings for you, but here you are. We all do things we aren’t exactly proud of.

Suddenly, you’re swept up in a rush of heat, your lips captured in his as his arms press you close to him. Your senses are filled with him. You taste the remnants of alcohol on his lips, the smell of smoke mixing with it. He is so warm in the cold room, so sturdy. You are completely consumed by him.

Finally, you gather the strength to pull away from him, not yet leaving his arms.

“I really hope that meant what I think it did.” You say breathlessly.

He chuckles softly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“It did.”

Now, here you stand in his kitchen. Your kitchen. Making birthday cake for him for possibly the first time in his life. Finding a small beacon of light on possibly the worst day in existence.

As you are finishing up smoothing out the icing over the cake, you hear a groggy voice from behind you.

“What the hell are you doing up this early?”

You whip around to find Haymitch leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen, looking slightly annoyed that he is also awake now, and very confused.

“Get out! Don’t look!” You position the cake behind your back to keep him from ruining his first damn birthday surprise.

He looks even more confused than before, and tries to peer around you to see what you could possibly be hiding that was worth waking up so early for.

“I mean it! Get away, I’m doing something important.” You urge him to back off as you wave the spatula in his direction.

A small smirk grows on his face, “Is that frosting?” he asks as he points to the utensil in your hand.

You look down to see the evidence smeared all over your spatula and quickly shove it behind your back.

“No.”

He hums in reply, heading for a cupboard on the other side of the room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting a drink?”

You shoo him away from the cabinet with your free hand, urging him to the table so you can finish the cake that started this whole thing.

“Sweetheart, I know you don’t like it, but I don’t usually get through this day without something in my system.” He says from the table once you have your back turned to place a candle in the cake.

“I’m well aware of that, but,” you strike a match to light the little candle on top before picking it up to bring it to the table, “I want you sober for this.”

You smile as you place the plate down in front of him, candle illuminating his face that is so often shadowed by his hair.

“Happy birthday.” You smile softly as you wait for a reaction.

He looks down at the cake, silent.

“You got up, on the worst day of the year, before the damn sun was even out, so you could make me a cake?”

You can’t read his tone, you aren’t sure if this was a major fuck up on your part or if he is just that bad at showing appreciation.

“I mean… yeah? It’s your birthday.” You answer gently, hoping you didn’t trigger something you were unaware of.

You stand in front of him in silence, your fingers pick at the thread on your sweater as you wait for any sort of response from him. After a minute, he leans down and blows out the candle on his cake.

“So are you gonna give me something to cut it with or d’you want me to use my hands sweetheart?” He looks at you expectantly.

You smile before turning to find a knife in a nearby drawer. You bring it over to him, but as you place it down in front of him, he grabs your hand softly.

“Thank you.” He says softly, as his thumb gently rubs over your knuckles.

“What did you wish for?” You ask in reply to his gratitude.

“Can’t tell.” He replies, looking at you with a new light in his eyes, a new hope, a new reason.

Something to lose. Something to fight for.

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