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: I've found several Hayniss playlist on 8Tracks! And I'm so pumped to do all of them, because they all sound so good! So, after I finish all of those playlists, I'll start on the Trilogy soundtracks and then songs of my own that I find fit Hayniss.

Song: Nowhere/Bloodlines pt. I by Sir Sly

You woke me up in the middle of the night
Lit a candle and we bathed in the light
You said you're scared of the city we're in
Want to make it better, but I can't begin to

The two of them stand in the midst of the meadow, the background sounds of the District 12 annual Giving Day festival being carried through the sharp winds. Not that they can hear it - in this moment, in the present, there is just them. They are the only ones in the world.

There's a history between them.

It was a deep history, the kind of history that needed stitches and would only leave an ugly scar across their flesh. This history had been full of nights - days spent asleep and wrapped up in each other. There had been nights where they'd fought, bottles of liquor flying across rooms to shatter like their hearts on the walls. There had been nights when they made love, under the stars in the background to the sound of hooting owls and chirping crickets.

But most importantly, there had been that final night. The final fight. The final kiss. The final touch. The final time they that'd see each other for six very long months.

He'd boarded the train to District Four that morning, attempting to leave their history behind in the dust. He had wanted that history to stay where it belonged - in his past. He'd wanted to run, to escape from her. He'd gotten on that train with a kiss to her forehead and a melancholy smile on his face that made her want to beg him not to go. He'd ran from her, from them.

Or at least, he'd tried. He'd spent months in Four, being the father to a dead man's son and trying to rekindle an old flame with a woman he'd once lost to nightmares. But even he couldn't help but to look at his scars sometimes. It had become unbearable for him, waking up without her in his arms and going to sleep without the feel of calloused finger tips running down the scars on his chest. So here he was, on Giving Day, standing in the middle of a graveyard meadow.

"How have you been?" he asks, his voice gravelly and hoarse. Whether from underuse or screaming himself dry every night, she'd probably never find out.

She shrugs in reply, her shoulders rising and falling lazily. Effie would have a fit.

"Good. Okay. Fine."

"I thought we agreed a long time ago not to lie to each other," he scoffs, throwing one night of drunken confessions back into her face. She cringes. Looks away for a minute. There's more of a silence following his words, she can hear the liquid in his flask sloshing around. Not so sober after all.

"You can still talk to me. I'm still your mentor, y'know," he says softer. She can hear the flask drop with his house keys into his pocket. "I will always be there for you. None of that has ever changed."

"I wish that were true," she mutters, toeing some snow off her boots. He snorts.

"I'm not sure why I came here. Peeta said it would be-"

"Fuck Peeta!" She snaps, tears pooling in her eyes. Fuck, she'd promised herself she wouldn't cry. "Fuck Gale! Fuck Annie, fuck Johanna, fuck my mother, fuck Effie! Fuck them all! Since when did anyone else's opinion matter to you, huh? Since when did you become such a little bitch?"

"Since I realized that the world didn't revolve around me. Maybe you should try it out for a change," he growls back. Now they're just aiming to hurt each other, hitting far below the belt to make the other cringe and feel pain. She doesn't want to do this - she never did. It's just how they worked - how they managed.

"I believed in you, Haymitch!" She shouts, knowing that those in the festival could probably hear by now. "I believed in you and you fell apart. You broke my trust and my fucking heart and I'm so fucking bitter and depressed and I don't know what to do with myself anymore. You were supposed to stay. You were supposed to prove me wrong. You weren't supposed to leave."

She sinks to her knees in exhaustion, the snow on the ground seeping through the fraying brown pants and wetting the knee of her pants. Desperate to feel anything real, she digs her nails into the cold grey slush, tugs at fistfuls of it. He follows her onto the ground, wraps an arm around her. She wants to pull away, but he smells of cheap soap and whiskey and it's good so she allows him to envelope her.

"I was going to come back. I just... I didn't know if you'd have me again."

"You promised me."

"We were both way too crazy for each other. If I had stayed... it would have been a mess, and you know this."

"You left me. I needed you and you weren't there for me."

"Sweetheart..."

"I love you, Haymitch Abernathy. I love you, I love you, I love you..." her words slowly break off into choked sobs until her tears and snot are soaking the front of his shirt and her fingers are digging so tightly into her palms she can feel the sticky blood.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry."

Funny how 'I'm sorry' was never enough until it came from him.

There's blood on my hands, I can taste it
Give us back the time we wasted
If I'd known how it ends I would've changed it
And all those fucking nights that I've wasted