011. Men {Haymitch/Chaff}

"You ugly fucker!"

Chaff's dark face broke into a grin as he pulled Haymitch Abernathy into a tight hug, pounding him on the back. "How the fuck are you?"

He already knew, of course. Haymitch Abernathy was like the invisible hand at the end of Chaff's arm – always the same, but sometimes twinging. He smelled like sour-hot malted rye, soft goosedown, and the mysterious black smell of District Twelve, earthy smoke and sulfur – on good days. On bad days, he smelled sharp with the tang of bile.

But Chaff and Haymitch were back together, so today was a good day.