Written for Caesar's Palace's ship week (prompt: falling snow). Here's some (hinted) Odesta.
He stuck out his tongue and tried to catch snow on his tongue. He tilted his head back and opened his mouth wide, scrunching his eyes into wrinkles, wondering if he stood here long enough that he would be able to make a snowball in his mouth, and would his tongue stick to it like it does to ice? But as usual, he caught nothing but a cold. District Four never got much snow, but they'd gone up to District 12 almost every other winter to catch up with Mr. and Mrs. Mellark.
His mother tucked him into bed with a knowing smile as he pretended to sleep and garner sympathy through a little pout.
"You're just like your father," she whispered and grasped his little hand a little tighter.
He peeked upward through fluttering eyelids and caught a glimpse of wistful lips twisted into a smile that was swiftly approaching his forehead.