Author's Note. I wouldn't call these drabbles, because I doubt they're exactly 100 words in length. But in any case, they're short recollections of random character's encounters with Katniss and Peeta. Not in any particular order, of course, because I'm quite disorganized like that.

This is in the perspective of the Capitol attendant in Catching Fire, pg. 194.


He pushes through the door, the hot teapot of milk shifting slightly on the tray. He's not surprised to find them in a tight embrace, but a new wave of guilt rocks through his body. He gives his head a little shake, as if this can take away the strange feeling gleaning there.

Tentatively, he steps into the room and sets the tray on a table.

"I brought an extra cup," he suddenly blurts out.

The girl on fire nods. "Thanks."

"And I added a touch of honey to the milk." The words flowed out of his mouth. "For sweetness. And just a pinch of spice."

A silent moment. He's not sure what he wants to do. He wishes he knew what to say. But he doesn't.

He backs out of the room without another word, but thoughts are racing through his mind.

Their love is the milk, diluting whatever corrosive substance life throws at them. Their victory was a touch of honey—brief and so wistfully sweet. And the Quell—it is the spice.

Zesty, so packed with gusto. So fatally entrancing.

Their love is the milk.