Warning: These one-shots feature heavy subjects, including alcoholism, drug abuse, and torture... so far. Now adding: depression, cheating, heartbreak, underage, implied prostitution. I'll add more as the story wears on, just in case.

AN: Credit goes to HannahSongla for the story idea. Please go check out her Hayniss story similar to this - Sweetheart. Credit goes to Suzanne Collins for the verse and the characters. I don't really own anything but the text of these one-shots. And no, that doesn't mean the song lyrics or the playlist. Enjoy c:

Song: Medicine by Daughter

Medicine

You've got a second chance
You could go home
Escape it all
It's just irrelevant

The only sound is their two shattering souls, disintegrating minds and breaking hearts.

They're sitting at the kitchen table, each gripping a mug of tea between their chilled hands and trying to find the right words to start this conversation. There are so many questions, kinks and flaws in this... whatever they have together. They both scramble for the proper words, attempting to find something to begin with. Anything. But where does one even start to speak in a situation like this?

Katniss looks up from her cup eventually, glancing out the kitchen window. Her eyes - and mind - drift across the street to Peeta's house where she'd just come from. The snow drifts from the clouded over sky in a pure sprinkle, falling to the grey mush that has become Twelve snow, coating the pathway to the Village. Peeta's out in his front yard, shoveling snow from his walkway and talking animatedly with his brother about something or another. She can see from her spot in Haymitch's kitchen that he's grinning wildly at whatever Barley is saying. Haymitch follows her gaze before adverting it quickly, not having quite enough strength to look at anything that has to do with the boy right now. Including Katniss.

"I don't want to-"

"We shouldn't pretend-"

They each cut short, staring at the other expectantly and nervously. Katniss goes back to staring at her mug. Haymitch waves his hand and she nods, clearing her throat.

"We shouldn't pretend that this is something it's not. I don't- I- I've fallen in love with you. And I know that's dangerous. But - and while I can't say I don't care - I don't want it stop. I love this... thing we have. Whatever the hell it is," she says, before sniffing - or sniffling, he honestly can't tell - and sipping her tea. A warmth slides down her throat and runs through her spine, but her heart is frozen over. Haymitch leans back, staring at the ceiling for a few moments before coughing and staring at the wall right behind her - unable to meet her eyes.

"I don't want to get in the way of anything. You don't deserve a surly old drunk like me. I can't- Peeta is a good boy, alright? He doesn't deserve this, either. You have a second chance, Katniss. You could have a life with that boy, you two could make something special. No matter whatever is going on around you - you could actually be someone. Make an honest woman, or something. I wouldn't be able to give you that. In the end, you have to think about your family, sweetheart." His voice cracks on the endearment - no longer a moniker, they were much past the sarcastic stage of this relationship - and he clears his throat, adverting his eyes to the floor.

"I don't want to think about them," she admits, setting her cup aside. "At least, not now. Right now I want to- I- I don't know what I want, actually. But I know I want this, what we have here, now. I want that."

"You may want that but you don't need-"

"-I don't give a damn about what I need-"

"-me and if we keep going down this path then-"

"-do my wants even matter anymore, because-"

"-people will die, sweetheart. Primrose, Aster, the Hawthorne boy. People will die. I have nothing to lose, but you have so much at stake. You just... we just can't. I can't. I won't. I refuse to allow you to destroy yourself because you're in love with me. I can't... I can't lose you too, sweetheart. And if your family dies then I don't know. I just..." he trails off, shaking his head furiously. They resume their silence, back to sipping tea and just thinking together. How to start again? Maybe at the point where he was crazy for her, so he was going to everything that she needed him to do to survive? Or maybe where she kisses him and assures him it's going to be alright, even though it won't.

"Do you love me, Haymitch?" she asks eventually, not looking at him. He closes his eyes, counts to five hundred by fives in his head. Did he love her? Heaven knows he did. Did she know that? Yes. She definitely did. But did he want to say that aloud?

"Yes," he whispers, clearing his throat again. "I do."

"Okay," she breathes, running a hand through her hair and looking around the kitchen as if she'd never been there before. "Okay."

"Okay?" he asks, leaning across the table and taking one of her hands in his. Their eyes lock - those young yet tired bullet grey ones and his old and withered slate colored ones, locked into an infinite embrace - and it seems as if everything will be okay. No matter what. They will be alright.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I know."

"But we can't."

"I know."

"Good."

You could still be
What you want to
What you said you were
When I met you