AN: This is one that I'm not proud of, but I like. It was weird, I seriously felt like this one was easier for me to write than the ones with Katniss and Peeta are. Whoo. Alrighty, time for bed. Enjoy!
Addicted
Haymitch hadn't always been a drinker, but it's easier to remember him as the drunkard, falling apart and hurt than it is to remember him as the vibrant young man he was once. Before the Hunger Games. Before the Reaping.
They remember him all right. Bright eyed, clever and handsome, Haymitch was a friend to all while being a friend to none. He was a loner by nature, something that had only intensified after he survived the games and came home to a world that was no longer as black and white as it had once seemed to him.
They had cheered him on, District 12. They gathered what little money they could spare to send for supplies. They had watched with bated breath as he made decisions, as the girl from 12 fell, as he held in his guts as he fought. They had all cried when he had won.
It took a long time for people to get used to this sullen boy that appeared after the games. They wouldn't meet his eyes, couldn't speak directly to him for a long while. They didn't know what to make of this victor, of the boy who was dumped into the arena and left for dead.
So he got drunk. And he stayed drunk.