prompt : just some simple have fluff like hayffie painting a room together and getting into a paint fight ? , cliche i know

House Painting

"You are not doing it right!" Effie accused for the hundredth time.

And for the hundredth time, Haymitch rolled his eyes.

He was perched on a ladder, busy applying paint on the upper part of the corridor's wall, trying not to make too much of a mess because she would scream bloody murder if he fucked up again. The hallway was the third room they painted, a part of her grand redecorating plan. They had done the kitchen half in a sunny yellow and half in a creamy white, their bedroom had been covered in a light pastel blue and now the hallway was to be painted in an earthy brown. The next step would the living-room, he figured, then the study and, probably at some point, she would tackle the bathrooms.

He didn't really go against any change she wanted to implement – only fighting stuff like ridiculous girly lamps or pink curtains – because he wanted her to feel at home in Twelve, in his house. The house had just been a house before she had showed up. It was a home now, she made it a home, so he didn't quite mind the changes. The paint had been peeling and it had all looked grim and depressing anyway. Plus, he wanted her to be happy. If colors made her happy, then colors it was.

He could, however, do without her bossy I-know-better attitude.

"You wanna do it? Do it yourself." he snapped at her. She glared at him from the section of the wall she was painting, lips pursed in annoyance. It made him smirk. "Ah, yeah… Forgot… You can't 'cause you're too short."

He would never get tired of making fun of her for that. Without heels she was tiny and painting in heels, it had turned out, was the worst idea she had ever had. She had freaked out so badly when they had been doing the kitchen. She had refused to wear proper working clothes at first, arguing it wasn't because they were doing something with their hands that they couldn't do it while looking proper and nice. First drop of pain on her brand new dress? She had pitched a fit.

She was wearing some of his old clothes now – stained pants that were far too big, despite the belt, and a blue frayed shirt that was covered with dots of yellow, blue, and brown because, apparently, she couldn't paint and not make a mess of herself.

"You are dripping paint all over the floor." she remarked.

"Good thing we put plastic sheets then." he deadpanned,

"Focus on your work." she chided him.

He turned sideways on the ladder to glare right back at her. "You're not the boss of me, sweetheart."

Her lips twitched and she faced the wall to apply paint again. "Of course not, darling."

"Don't act like you're humoring me." he grumbled. "You're not humoring me. You ain't the boss of me."

She hummed in a very I'm humoring you way and it annoyed him. He flicked his paintbrush in her direction without thinking twice about it. It splattered on the wall as well as on her cheek.

She gasped.

He almost regretted doing it because he knew she would get angry but since there was no way to avoid that… He might as well have some fun. He flicked his paintbrush again.

"Haymitch." she growled, marching on him.

He hurried down the ladder, holding out both hands. "Now, sweetheart…"

The paintbrush hit him on the cheekbone, leaving a brown trail on his cheek and stubble – which would probably be a pain to wash later. The giggle took him a bit aback. He would have expected screams, not that playfully threatening face she had on.

"You are going to pay for this, Haymitch…" she warned waving her paintbrush again.

He ducked to the side, getting her on the neck with his own paintbrush, prompting her to squeak. They circled each other for a second and then she lunged at him.

It wasn't difficult to snatch her "weapon" from her hand or to pin her to the freshly painted wall.

"Now, we will have to start again." she chuckled, as he lowered his mouth to the side of her neck that wasn't covered in paint.

"We'll start again." he shrugged, sneaking a hand under her borrowed shirt.

They had their whole life to paint the house, after all.