The first time he found herself in her room, it had been an accident. A stumble down the wrong corridor, a wrong button slammed into the wall with a lazy fist, and then the feeling of uncomfortably plush carpet under his bare feet.
"Smells funny," Haymitch Abernathy grumbled, blinking hard and scrubbing at his face with the back of his hand.
"It smells clean," came a clipped voice from the bed in the centre of the room, and Haymitch peered hazily at the figure sitting awkwardly in it.
"I didn't order company, sorry darling," he chuckled, lurching over to the sofa in the corner and flinging himself ungraciously into it, tugging at his shoelaces.
"Neither did I," said the person. "You're in the wrong room, Mr Abernathy."
"Oh," Haymitch laughed, squinting drunkenly at the woman in the bed. "Effie! Effie Effie Effie. Didn't recognise you without the… hair stuff."
"Well, quite," Effie said sharply, clutching the white silk sheets up to her chin to hide her pink satin camisole and wishing she had a free hand to self-consciously touch her blonde curls which until a few moments ago had hidden underneath a particularly fluffy candyfloss pink wig. "Now, if you could possibly leave, that would be marvellous. I'll see you in the morning, when you're sober."
"'M never sober," Haymitch chuckled, "sorry, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that," Effie said irritably. "Out you go, Mr Abernathy."
Abandoning his shoes beside Effie's plush sofa, Haymitch stood up, swaying slightly.
"Sorry," he said again, and there was a hint of something sincere in his watering grey eyes. He turned to leave and crashed into a small table, stubbing his toe, rattling several little jewellery boxes and knocking what looked like a photo album to the floor for good measure.
"I got it, I got it, I got it," he muttered to himself, wincing at the noise and waving his hand towards Effie in what he hoped was a soothing motion, despite her agitated sigh as she scrambled to get out of bed and across the room, bending to pick up the album before he did.
"Get out," Effie said, not too unkindly. "Go and get some sleep."
She put a cool hand on his arm and steered him towards the door.
"Effie," Haymitch whispered, suddenly serious. His eyes focused on her, grey boring into blue.
"Haymitch?" she asked, acutely and uncomfortably aware that her voice had dropped to match the volume of his. Her nails tightened imperceptively on his arm as she realised she'd used his first name. Quite by accident, she assured herself. He won't remember anyway.
Effie made it a point to call Haymitch 'Mr Abernathy' since he'd tripped headlong off the stage at the District 12 reaping. A reminder, she hoped, for him to behave with some sort of decorum.
Haymitch leaned close to her face, interrupting her reverie, and Effie had the good grace not to wrinkle her nose at the scent of alcohol on his breath. His lips almost brushed her ear, his forehead dropped to almost rest on her bare shoulder, and she shivered, her skin prickling although he technically was hardly touching her.
"What is it?" she asked, as Haymitch froze. "What's the matter?"
"I don't remember where my room is."