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You can't get attached, Haymitch reminded himself for the thousandth time as Finnick idly plaited his dark, curly hair.
Selfish as it was, Finnick's wild popularity was almost comforting- Snow wouldn't murder him to punish Haymitch, at least. Not without throwing away a useful pawn over a scraggly drunk he'd already disciplined.
He sighed. Well, no point in ruining the moment with his persistent pessimism. Company amongst Victors was safer more often than not.
Instead he rolled over to his side and brushed noses with Finnick. They bumped together, and he breathed him in. Lazy kisses were exchanged, Finnick running his tongue over the jagged edges of Haymitch's teeth.
"Hi," Finnick whispered with a smile. Dimples bloomed on his face as he pulled forward new strands of hair, expert hands forming another plait.
"Hi yourself."
Finnick really was lovely, the soft morning sunlight trickling through the windows making him glow rosy and whole. For a moment, he almost looked like his Lenore Dove. Then it passed.
"Wish I had beads from home to decorate you with," Finnick said, tugging at the braids. "Capitol's got plenty, but I think we've both had enough of their plastic."
"Don't bother," Haymitch scoffed, not unkindly. "I think I'm a little old for dress-up."
He was never too fussy over his appearance, but he felt almost pretty, with all those dainty plaits.
His fingers twitched for the familiar press of cool glass. He was dreadfully sober, but didn't like meeting Finnick completely wasted. Not that it hadn't happened. Many times.
"Thirty-six is nothing. Pretty sure they're going to be dolling me up in those ridiculous costumes until I'm eighty."
Finnick snorted boyishly, but something bitter was laced in his words. Haymitch squeezed his shoulder. Comfort didn't come naturally anymore, and his efforts were clumsy at best. Give him something to swing at, to break.
He's just someone who understands everything a little bit, Haymitch repeated in his head, over and over, and he's just here to make the Capitol feel a little more safe and a little less lonely and, and, oh his moles are so pink.
"You can have a trident cane, or maybe a seahorse mobility scooter when parading around the new tributes," Haymitch said. Finnick paused at the last word and slid his gaze away.
There went his attempt at temporarily forgetting their situations. Maybe it was stupid to try. They were in the Capitol, after all. Maybe he would never see to the Games end. And they'd still die under Snow's thumb.
Haymitch closed his eyes again and waited for the shift in the bed meaning Finnick got up and slipped back into his apartment. It did not come. His weight was a steady anchor.
That was unusual, but not unwelcome. They'd usually slink away whenever one hit a topic to do with anything and everything outside their hazy shell of sex.
"Can I ask you something?" Finnick's voice was muffled as he began nuzzling Haymitch's neck.
"Shoot, fishboy." It's the closest Haymitch would ever come to giving Finnick a pet name. This had the unfortunate side effect of growing on the two of them.
"What was it like in Twelve?"
A graveyard of a city. Grey, ashy streets where he had collapsed, pleads for the ghosts to take him with them on his lips.
Colour had been leeched from it long ago. A pale, lifeless imitation of the bustling, ramshackled place that raised him. Where his Ma and tiny brother and Maysilee grew up and breathed in the smog. Their bodies blanketed in soil while maggots kissed their dear flesh with hungry lips.
Where his neighbours would cover the ears of their children as they passed him, don't mind him, look away, see what grown-up drinks do?
Some part of Haymitch wants to do the same to Finnick. Blindfold him from the horrors of the Capitol, and toss him back into Four where he might be safe and loved. Unconcerned over the moods of a childish drunk.
Who was he kidding? Neither had a shred of innocence left. Finnick could decide if Haymitch's shit was something he wanted to put up with. There was no need to feel so protective over the boy.
Except there was, and Haymitch would always kiss the eyelids of the youngest Victor, for the fourteen year old with the too-big grin and shiny weapon that fit too well in his hands and the hollow-eyed stare. Forever trapped between youth and adulthood.
Twelve had also orchestrated Haymitch's happiest days. Scarfing down a scrap of store-bought cake on New Year's, or rolling on the sweet summer grass in his girl's arms. He could almost taste the sugary frosting on his lips.
"It was more colourful before I was reaped, I think. Spring was the best, more to eat and-" his throat clenched stupidly and he let out a garbled cough.
Faces into his vision, grinning and screaming in turn. Chunky mushrooms and fragrant greens stewing in a great pot in winter, his ma's face rippling in the soup's reflection.
Strange, what set him off and didn't.
Why was he sober again?
He cleared his throat while Finnick watched patiently. His eyelashes cast thin, spidery shadows across the hollows of his cheeks.
"Not bad. People actually knew how to keep secrets there," Haymitch answered at last.
Finnick rolled his eyes. "I wish Capitolites had the same decorum. I'll laugh with some celebrities at a party, next day it's in the papers."
"Don't I know it," Haymitch said, then realised it was probably weird to admit he read magazines about Finnick. Eh, they'd just made love, he doubted he'd give a toss.
"I'm a little jealous. Being so uninterested in the public's view comes with perks, huh?" Finnick gently nibbled at his shoulder as he spoke.
"No one has anything they can use against me anymore," he said. Then added quickly, "Other than me passing out drunk somewhere for the hundredth time and being fished out by Chaff."
"Of course, that story's dried up. Me attending an event clothed for once? Scandalous. Finnick Odair has turned into a prude? He's decided to not have his ass out at the children's baking show!" he chirped in an uncanny Capitol accent.
Haymitch barked out a laugh and Finnick stuck out his tongue.
"Heard they started a new trend because of you, fishboy. Those sheer scale tops?"
Finnick gagged. "Ugh. They're dreadful, those. You know, in Four, seeing someone's genitalia is more normal than their breasts. Because it protects the heart, someone's inner-compass, their love and life."
Haymitch's grey eyes fixed to Finnick's chest automatically. Dolphin-smooth brown skin dotted in love-bites.
He sat up, sheets pooling at his waist, and guided Haymitch's hand over his heart.
Oh. Shit. Haymitch was going to need a lot of liquor to get over this. His hand dropped, limp as a dead mouse.
Company amongst Victors was safer more often than not, yes. Yes, but... for people like Haymitch, people like Finnick, no safety precaution was enough. It was true that Haymitch understood he could never again nurse something akin to love. Finnick knew his value as a commodity to be bought and haggled over.
But stupidly, Haymitch let himself fall into the rhythm of these surreptitious meetings. Like a smitten lovebird. And now Finnick would pay for the price of his idiocy- they always did.
His hands grew clammy as he imagined the possibilities. Would he be sold of to a particularly violent client? Or would that cold serpent kill someone back home, blaming the cause of death on pneumonia or infection?
Finnick winced at his faltering. Quickly, he offered a weak replica of his winsome smile.
"I'd better head off. I was invited to brunch, and my preps will kill me if I'm any more late. Let's see eachother soon, alright?" Finnick said, wriggling out of the sheets.
Haymitch kept his eyes on the wall as Finnick gathered his clothes and dressed. He fought not to look back as he heard the door shut, hands automatically groping around for a bottle of anything.
They closed over a glassy surface. It had a little weight, smelled strong. Lucky him.
For the next four hours of unconsciousness, his dreams were blessedly empty. Time graciously stopped and allowed him respite. Then, uncaring as ever, it marched on, leaving Haymitch stranded in the past. He woke up to the cloying perfume of roses and blood threatening to choke him.