Warning: These one-shots feature heavy subjects, including alcoholism, drug abuse, suicide and torture... so far. Now adding: depression, cheating, heartbreak, underage, implied prostitution, suicidal thoughts, someone having acid thrown on them, smut, implied rape/non-con, self-harm. 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: Everyone thank Woodspurge for the song. Also, not beta'd (I know, I know) and my eyes are burning from doing homework and then getting straight to typing. I'm trying to play catch-up for my hiatus rn.

Song: Dustbowl Dance by Mumford and Sons

I've been kicked off my land since the age of sixteen,
And I have no idea where else my heart could have been
I placed all my trust at the foot of this hill
And now I am sure my heart can never be still

Haymitch glared at the razor between his finger tips, glared at the clean shiny metal and the way the light bounced innocently off of it. The razor looked so simple and harmless in his large, callused hands. It doesn't look like it

The ghosts in his head fought over where he would mar his body this time.

The wrists, sweet little Barlem's voice chimes. Barlem had never said such a thing in his life, would've never condoned Haymitch's filthy habits. Either way, it doesn't matter, because his little brother's voice is very real and loud in his mind. Let President Snow see just what a weak little worm you are, Mitchie.

No, no. Do the thighs, his mother insists, her voice soft and stern. It's the same voice she'd force on him when he'd give his food to Barlem or when he refused to wear a jacket in the dead of winter. Avella Abernathy's voice is music to Haymitch's ears. Hide them away from the world, just like you hide yourself away from the world.

Why not just slit your throat? Maysilee's voice is louder than Avella and Barlem put together, but there's a calm to it that forces Haymitch's hand to brush against the untouched flesh of his throat. It feels like being in the eye of the storm, that moment. There's chaos around him, everything is falling apart and coming to an end. But here, in this large too-Capitol house that's filled with nothing but thousand dollar furniture and demons, everything is calm.

Haymitch doesn't realize he'd started slicing until the blood spills from his hand into his lap and the storm falls upon him.

-.-.-

The girl stares at him with a hatred burning hotter than the embers of District 12, looking so small in her thin 13 issued uniform that the clothes could swallow her up. If she weren't so angry with him, weren't so confused, so shocked, she'd probably let them. Haymitch stares right back, curls his lip up into a snide smirk. He would rather she hate him for losing the boy, would rather she see him as a complete asshole that made the mistake of allowing her to live, than see the pale white scars against his neck and arms and legs, so contrast to the raw pink scabs left from the burns. He doesn't know why he agreed to allowing Finnick to share with him. Doesn't know why he let the bronze-haired metrosexual find the snuffed out matches in the disposal bin.

"Is there something on my face, sweetheart, or do you just like what you see?" he asks, tired of her staring like he was some otherworldly animal. He'd kill Finnick, he decides. He'd kill the kid dead before he even got to join Squad 451.

"Why?" she asks, folding her hands in her lap and leaning forward. Haymitch leans away, but the bunk is small and he already has to curl his legs up so that they don't dangle over the edge. His back hits the wall that his bed is pushed up against.

"Because, in case you haven't noticed, you're staring and-"

"No. Why are you burning yourself? I mean, where the hell did you even get a matchbox or a lighter or whatever the fuck?"

"You got your visit to 12. I got mine," Haymitch sniffs. He'd grabbed a few other things that nobody had chose to second guess. As long as they didn't see any form of liquor on his person, they completely ignored him. He'd managed to smuggle a handful of lighters and a couple of matchboxes in his pockets, grabbed the picture his ma and pa and brother and the locket with his girl in it. All of which were tucked under his underwear in his drawer.

He doesn't think about how he grabbed his items of destruction before he grabbed his family. Doesn't think about the way his addictions come before all else important in life.

"Yeah, but I didn't... I didn't..." Katniss trails off, pulls her dry lips between her adorably - Haymitch has long since gave up on the adjectives his mind ran rampant with when it came to this girl - crooked teeth. He snorts, barely refrains from rolling his eyes too.

"You smuggled a cat."

"You didn't answer my question, Haymitch."

"Does it matter? Everyone has their norm. I happen to have matches and lighters and razors and bottles," Haymitch shrugs. He wants this conversation to end. Wants this flame of a girl to quit pestering him and go back to pretending he's the worst thing since President Snow. Wants her to hate him as much as she did before and wants her to storm out of here with acid on her tongue.

"That's more than one 'norm'," she points out. Haymitch shrugs loosely, takes a special interest on hole in the knee of his pants - something that Effie would have a fit over, seeing as she worked in the clothing department. Katniss reaches to run her fingers over the newest additions to Haymitch's little family of hurt, and when her sweaty fingertips touch his burnt flesh, he hisses and draws his arms away violently. It stings when he roughly tugs at the itchy sleeves on his sweater, and he winces at the lemon-on-a-cut feeling. Katniss tries to jump away from him, but the bunk is small and she falls off the edge. The fall is accompanied by a large thud! and an eerie silence. Haymitch, curiously, peers over the foot of his bunk to find Katniss on the floor - tears in her grey orbs and streaking down her gaunt cheeks.

"Sweetheart? Sweetheart, c'mon, don't cry, you've had worse falls. Hell, you've had worse than falls-"

"No, it's not that!" she snaps, swipes roughly at her tears. "I know why won't tell me why."

"Oh do you?" he asks. Katniss nods like a small child and peers up at him. Haymitch wonders why he's so sick when his first thought is how cute. "Do tell."

"It's my fault, right? That you're doing this to yourself?" she asks, and her voice is so small and meek. Haymitch shivers, rolls off the bed and joins her on the floor. Katniss crawls towards him, lays her head across his chest and clings to the fabric on the chest of his shirt. He doesn't push her away, but he doesn't invite her to come in close either. He had to stop letting the Mockingjay so close to the barbed wire that surrounded his heart.

"How on earth did you come to this conclusion?" Haymitch asks, incredulous that she actually thinks she drove him to his addictions. Of course she didn't - she hadn't drove him to sobriety, but she hadn't drove him to do it either. Every scar rested on the shoulders of either himself or of President Snow. He had never cut in the name of Katniss, because of Katniss, or really in the context of anything Katniss.

"Everyone I love gets hurt. Somehow, some way, they get hurt. All because they showed something towards me."

"Well, reality check sweetheart, just because it seems like it now, doesn't mean everything revolves around you," Haymitch snorts. Katniss draws away coldly, glares at him with the same hatred she'd had earlier. She swipes quickly at whatever tears still linger on her face, attempts to stop sniffling so that she can appear menacing.

"You're an ass."

"Love you too, honey."

Standing, the frail girl rolls her eyes and moves towards his door. Haymitch almost whoops and hollers for joy - every time someone was in the compartment, the urges to play with fire and get burned were much stronger than when he was alone - but instead he stands with her and goes to see her out. Like a proper fucking gentlemen, look at him.

She's outside the door already, standing in the doorway tall and strong - like she wasn't just bawling on the floor two minutes earlier - with her chin high in the air. Haymitch almost marvels. He would, actually, if he weren't planning better ways to hide his addiction. Katniss turns on her heel and begins marching away, but she turns at the last minute and stares at him with the same cold smirk he usually gave her.

"Oh, and Haymitch?"

"Yes, dear?" he drawls.

"If anyone or anything is going to burn you, it's only fair that it's the Girl on Fire."

Haymitch barks a sadistic laugh and shuts the door in her face. She had no idea.

Seal my heart and break my pride,
I have nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide
Align my heart, my body, my mind
To face what I've done, and do my time