You glare at Haymitch, and he gives you a cocky smile, being unhelpful as always.
“I’d rather not die of alcohol poisoning, thanks anyway,” you reply sarcastically.
“Take a nap or something,” he mumbles. You flop down onto the couch on your back, staring up at the ceiling. Stupid ceiling. Stupid lazy Saturday.
“How does that cure boredom?”
“You’re asleep. You don’t get bored when you’re asleep.” You consider it for a moment, but then realize you’ll just be bored again when you wake up. Sighing dramatically, you glance over at Haymitch.
“Take me out to dinner,” you suggest. He looks up at you and raises an eyebrow.
“Where are we supposed to go for dinner?” he questions.
“Ugh, I don’t know, just entertain me!” you whine loudly. He squints his eyes for a moment, and then abruptly stands up. Walking over to an old radio- how long has that even been there?- he flicks it on, and soft music starts playing.
“Come here,” he says, and extends his hand from across the room.
“Why do you think?” he asks in a deadpan voice. You stand up, and slowly walk over to him, placing your hand in his. He takes your other hand and places it on his shoulder, then loosely grips your hip.
The two of you start to move in time to the old music, and you carefully watch your feet. When was the last time you danced like this?
Haymitch takes his hand off of your hip, and lifts your chin up with his fingers. Looking you in the eye, he says, “You’re supposed to look at your partner when you dance.” You gaze into his eyes as he guides you across the living room, and the end of the song segues into the beginning of another.
You step closer to him, moving your arms to wrap around his shoulders, and his wrap around your waist. Resting your forehead against his, you realize that maybe lazy Saturdays aren’t the worst thing in the world.