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

Disclaimer: 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:

AN: My apologies to HannahSongla for using a Lana Del Rey song. I know it's her shtick, but this song embodies Hayniss so much that I couldn't help it when my friend referred it to me. Also, in this verse, Haymitch wins the 60th Hunger Games when he's 18, Katniss wins the 72nd when she's 16, and Peeta wins the 73rd when he's 17. The current Games is the 74th. Sorry, I had to tweak their Games and ages to make this verse work. And another thing - this chapter takes a sudden turn. And I apologize. I wanted to do this piece so badly but I didn't know how to wrap it up. I'm sorry .-.

Song: Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey

Hot summer nights, mid July
When you and I were forever wild
The crazy days, city lights
The way you'd play with me like a child

The city is alive, and she's in the middle of it's pumping heart. Skyscrapers so high that they reach up to kiss angels glitter with yellow and white blinking lights. Cars honk, attempting to push pass the red, yellow and green lights on the traffic light. Drunken men shout obscenities at young girls with iridescent dresses. Children - yes, children - still run amuck and play, shouting and swinging plastic swords at each other. Grown women fawn over this year's District 2 tribute, a boy with fearful green eyes and wavy blonde hair. Smoke drifts from her cherry lips and into the night sky, joining the stars and the moon against a glittery black background. By estimation, it's two in the morning, but the city still isn't asleep.

Katniss leans over the edge of the balcony, contemplating how painful would it be if she just 'accidentally' fell to her death - not to mention how badly it would reflect on her family. By her estimation, she would break her neck - or her heart would stop from absolute terror - before she could get to the ground, so not very much. If Snow actually believed it was an accident, Prim and her mother would be alright. Dirt poor again, but, alright. Her mother wouldn't miss much - she was still locked in the mental institution, Katniss wasn't even sure if the woman would know she was gone. Prim wouldn't have to hide her face in shame when she was at school, wouldn't have to deal with the things boys her age said about her slut of a sister. And Peeta... well, she'd done all she could for him, brought him home from the arena like Haymitch told her to, marred that pretty face so he wouldn't face the same fate she had and made sure he stayed out of the loop.

"That's a disgusting habit, you do realize right?" Damn. Maybe another day, then. Katniss is cursing his bad timing when a pair of well-kept arms wrap around her waist and a wave of tranquility runs over her. The brunette sighs, leaning against her lovers rock-hard chest and damning him to hell. The scent of alcohol and expensive cologne wafts off of him and she can feel his smirk on her neck. Haymitch Abernathy is the definition of comfort, and while she would love to die, she'd hate to leave him. Heaven would be hell if he weren't there.

"Like drinking's any better," she snorts in response, taking a long drag from her cigarette and putting it out on the moist ledge - still drying from the previous night's heavy rain. His arms tighten around her waist and he pulls her flush against him, bring his lips to brush against her ears as he speaks.

"I'd rather go out by my liver than by my lungs, sweetheart. Suffocating is a terrible way to die, don't you know?" A tingle runs up her spine at the rustic voice and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. How cliché - even his voice gives her shivers. Next thing you know, she'll be gossiping to her friends about what a perfect lover he is.

"I'll take death either way it comes," Katniss says darkly, ignoring the reference to his Games where he'd suffocated everyone who'd crossed his path. She gives the city one last glance over, considers her chances of jumping before he can react and catch her. It would be no use anyways - accident or not, her family would probably pay. Sighing in annoyance, she turns in his arms to look at her. He's staring at her with those permanently judgmental slate grey eyes and a deprecating little smirk that she wants so desperately to kiss off of his face. He raises an 'you're-being-mopey-right-now-and-it's-annoying' eyebrow.

Katniss pouts, her bottom lip jutting out in a practiced sexy-yet-still-adorable way, her eyes that of mock-innocence. "Oh, don't give me that look. If there was a way out, don't tell me you wouldn't take it."

"I got a little sibling and a ma, just like you, sweetheart. I can't afford that nonsense. And neither can you," he says, kissing her gently on the nose. "What would Peeta do?"

"Peeta is at home in Victor's Village - not being pimped out for our President's gain," she replies, her voice only a little bit bitter. "not to mention he always has sunshine coming out of his asshole." Haymitch laughs - not one of his dark chuckles that he made when someone mentioned his Games, not one of those fake ones for his patrons, and certainly not one of his bitter laughs, saved only for when it's nine in the morning and he's just getting home with some drug pumped into his system and his irises missing. No, his laughter is genuine and carefree. Blithe, considering the joke made and the circumstances of their conversation.

It's almost like he's a thirty-two-year-old man, and not some worn-down and pimped out whore.

"Haymitch, how long do you think we'll live?" she asks, turning around to look at the city lights again. The thought of his age and their age difference - fourteen years, to be exact - sends a deathly chill up her back. Chances are, he'll die long before she does. And then what? She'll be alone. Sure, she'll have Johanna and Finnick and Chaff and all the others. But there'll be no one from Twelve - there'll be no one to love. His laughter dies into a chuckle and he stares at her like she's gone crazy. "I mean, honestly. How long will we have to deal with this shit? How long do we have with each other before it's just one of us facing this entire fucked up world."

"I don't know sweetheart. I just know that it'll be a long time. Years, decades, centuries... millenniums, even."

"I don't want to wait that long. I don't even know if I have decades on me."

"Me either. But don't worry sweetheart - I have you with me for right now. So don't worry about the future. Worrying about the future gets people killed. Let's just focus on the here and the now. The... two-fifteen of a Sunday morning. The us."

Hot summer days, rock 'n' roll
The way you'd play for me at you show
All the ways, I got to know
Your pretty face and electric soul