Unless he's mistaken, after the Capitol mucking around with his memory, it's so hard to be sure, but he thinks the memory of the night of the Quarter Quell announcement is real.

He had gone to talk to his family, but he would prefer not to think of that. Grief for his parents and brothers looms, but he wants to be in his own right mind before thinking of them and of Twelve. When that visit was over (and he does remember walking away, annoyed that his mother had needed a large sum of money, to be paid before he left, before she would agree to take in Prim and Mrs. Everdeen), he had gone back to Haymitch's, like he had said he would.

He wanted to talk strategy, but more than that, he wanted to make sure he was okay. All of Haymitch's friends, the only people who could understand him for the last two and a half decades, were going back in. It had to be doing a number on his mentor.

He knocked and was unsurprised when no one answered. He walked right in. The door was unlocked.

Haymitch was passed out at his kitchen table, his head resting on his folded arms.

Peeta thought he would just wake him up enough to get him to the sofa, at the very least. He had taken Haymitch's knife and put it well out of the way before shaking his shoulder.

"Haymitch. Haymitch, wake up."

Haymitch, predictably, leapt up, brandishing an invisible knife. He seemed to realize there was nothing in his hand and laughed at himself.

"Huh. Lost my mind and my knife."

"Come on. Come to bed."

Haymitch put his arm around Peeta's shoulders and allowed him to cart him up the stairs to his bedroom.

"Your house smells a lot better," he said, out of breath, when they reached the landing.

"Hazelle," said Haymitch, by way of explanation.

Peeta took him into one of the bedrooms, not sure if it is Haymitch's, before he realized he's only ever seen Haymitch passed out downstairs. Maybe he didn't even have a bedroom. The thought makes him horribly sad. He lay Haymitch down on the bed. There's a blanket folded at the foot. He unfolded it and shook it out over Haymitch, who was already snoring.

Instead of leaving, he kicked his shoes off, and got into bed with him. Haymitch was lying on his back. Peeta rolled in close and put his head on his chest, one hand on his stomach, and felt and heard the rise and fall of his breath. It was comforting. He didn't want to go home to his cold, empty house, and try to fall asleep alone.

Peeta woke up in the dark. Haymitch was lying rigid beside him.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asked.

Haymitch relaxed a little.

"I haven't woken up with someone in my bed in a really long time, kid. What are you doing?"

Peeta couldn't see, it was too dark, but going by where he heard Haymitch's voice, he brought his face closer to Haymitch's. He felt his warm breath on his cheek, and turned his head, and brought his lips to Haymitch's. He put his hand under his shirt, and felt the muscles under a layer of soft belly and hair.

Peeta was warm, and getting warmer. It felt so good to be here, not to be worrying about anything.

Haymitch had put his hand on the back of Peeta's head, and ran his fingers through his hair, then slid his hand down Peeta's neck, and pushed him on his shoulder, away.

"What?" Peeta asked, not sure if he felt more embarrassed or frustrated to be stopped. He put his face on Haymitch's chest. He was glad Haymitch couldn't see how red he was.

Haymitch's hand returned to his hair.

"I did the same thing," he said, surprising Peeta. He didn't know what Haymitch was talking about, but he stayed quiet, and Haymitch had continued.

"The District 4 mentor. I met her at my Victory Banquet, after the interviews, and before I went home. It probably won't surprise you to know I'd been drinking."

Peeta relaxed a little more. He rolled onto his side. His hand was still under Haymitch's shirt, but he hadn't told him to leave yet. He was content to be here with him, although it was easier to remember why he didn't want to be alone, when they weren't kissing.

"She asked me if I wanted to see a little more of the Mansion. Certain rooms are open to the public."

"What was her name?"

"Muscita. She had red hair. Reminded me a little of my girl back home. I felt terrible after. It sobered me right up. I had killed kids, watched other kids die and done nothing, and then I cheated on my girl. I couldn't stand myself."

He was quiet. Peeta imagined it. He never knew, never had cause to, he supposed, how human contact could obliterate fear and anxiety. But he understood it now, all right, and it hurt to imagine a much-younger Haymitch, as scared as he had been when he and Katniss had left the arena, but all alone.

"Had Muscita been drinking, too?"

There was a slight rustling noise. When Haymitch said, "No," Peeta realized he had been shaking his head on the pillow.

"So," Peeta said, working it out, "A grown woman, who was sober, took a drunk 16-year-old who had just survived the Hunger Games into a private room to seduce him?"

Haymitch laughed a little. Peeta's head bobbed up and down till he stopped.

"Yeah, I guess that's about the size of it."

"Huh."

"Then, later, I ended up in bed with Seeder. Never mind how, it wasn't like with Muscita. Seeder was taking care of me. She and Chaff took it in turns that year." Haymitch sighed. "I felt safe with her. And I liked her. Tried to feel her up, but she just laughed and called me, 'you boy,' like she does.

"Being with someone can make you forget. I know all about forgetting, it's why I drink. But I don't want you ending up like me. I want you to feel close to someone because you love them, not because you're trying to forget something that happened before, or is happening now."

Peeta was quiet. He was thinking.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"You don't have to."

He snuggled up to Haymitch, who continued running his fingers through his hair. It was very soothing. The sound of his breath was keeping time with the drumbeat of his heart, and Peeta felt his eyes getting heavy again.

Peeta had fallen back asleep. When he woke, it was light out, and Haymitch was snoring next to him. Peeta had smiled, and leaned up on one arm to look at Haymitch's face. He wished he could paint him. Maybe he would. The way his dark hair fell across his brow. How his frown lines had slackened, and almost disappeared in sleep, making him look years younger.

And Peeta understood, in a way he hadn't before, that Haymitch really would protect him and Katniss as much as he had the capability to do so. He was someone Peeta could feel safe around, someone whose motives he never had to question. He got up out of bed, as gently as he could, and had gone downstairs to make breakfast.

Someone he could trust, he thinks now, lying in his hospital bed. Why would the Capitol create or alter his memories so he would trust somebody? Especially Haymitch, another victor? He doesn't think they would do that. And now, Haymitch has said he loves him, Peeta, even after he tried to kill Katniss.

He thinks of Katniss, tries to think if she's also someone who loves him. He starts to tremble. First his fingers, then his arms and shoulders, until his whole body is shaking like a leaf in a high wind.

He remembers his first day here, Katniss coming through that door. She had retracted her claws, and had somehow hidden her sharp teeth. She was trying to trick the people in Thirteen the way she had tricked him. He sees her now, hiding in the corner of his hospital room, watching him in the dark, her long tongue slithering out of her mouth, tasting his scent on the air.

He doesn't even realize he's screaming and crying until a doctor comes in and injects him with something, causing all of his fears to float away.