I own nothing.
She'd always considered herself to be something of an ambassador. Not just an escort. Escort sounded so... sordid. There was something dignified about being able to take these children from abject squalor and give them a few (albeit terrified) weeks of makeovers and chocolate covered strawberries and tinkling chandeliers. She enjoyed showing them her world. She was proud of it.
Her childhood had been comfortable. Her parents were vain but fairly present, for Capitol parents. Her younger sister had married well and never had to leave the city. She had never really been lucky with men. Either they had seemed nice and ended up completely unnice or they were secretly gay. And she liked to think she had too much self respect to live a lie. But really it was that no one had ever gotten that far. They'd always melted down and come out or they'd cheated on her, and she definitely had too much self-respect to deal with that. So she lived a life of routine. Some might call it obsessive. Or compulsive. Or a disorder, but she found an unbelievable amount of comfort in being able to schedule her life and keep things from becoming unpredictable.
Which is why she found Haymitch entirely unpleasant to deal with. He was predictable, but not in a way that she liked. She could always find him. Bar car or train compartment. Passed out on a couch or in his room. She could consistently rely on him to not do anything but make her life more difficult. So it was completely unexpected and frustratingly unpredictable when she found herself thinking about him in ways she never had before. He was actually mentoring. He was bathing. And not drinking. As much. It was Katniss and Peeta, they had managed to awaken something in him that she thought was long gone. Hope.
Which was why when he kissed her that night, after their victors were safely home and she was leaving for the Capitol in the morning and they were relieved and celebrating and she was just a little bit tipsy, she had kissed him back. She was surprised that he didn't taste like vomit. In fact, he had tasted like good whiskey. Smooth and uncomplicated and just a little bit sweet. He was almost caramelly. She had practically melted in his mouth. It was completely undignified. But it was that small amount of sweetness that she would think about again and again over the next few months until she saw him again.