(made before sunrise on the reaping!)

you finally open the door to haymitch's house in victor's village. after all, you have stood there for three minutes, in the snow, banging on the door and shouting his name.

not that it's a surprise. it's been two years since haymitch won the fiftieth hunger games, and you've tried ypur hardest to be there for him the whole time.

he hasn't let you, a lot of the time, though. he keeps you at a distance unless he really needs you, which is also why you have a key for his house.

when you walk in, you immediately scan the room, and find him crashed on the couch. a bottle lays under his arm and he's still fully clothed.

as you walk closer, the smell of vodka becomes a lot stronger, and you grimace, before plucking up the courage to gently shake his arm. “haymitch.”

his eyes fly open, frantic and searching, his hand grabbing the neck of the bottle and swinging it wildly in your direction, like he's holding a weapon. like he's back in the arena. you step back, holding both of your hands up like one would calm a wild animal.

“haymitch! it's just me.” you breathe out. his shoulders sag, the bottle dropping to the floor. he looks.. disgusted with himself. horrified.

he sits himself down on the couch and lets his head fall in his hands, before scraping back all of his hair with his shaky fingers. “m'sorry.” he slurs. clearly, not all the alcohol in his system is gone. “i just thought... that i was still there.”