Prompt:

AquaBlueTonksLove - I'd love it if you could write a one-shot about Haymitch first realizing he's in love with Effie and deciding to not tell her, because he felt like she could never feel the same way.

Sometimes he didn't remember when it happened.

Sometimes he did.

Then again - it changed a lot. He contradicted his own thoughts - but why'd he spend so much time thinking about it anyway?

When was it?

He took a drink.

The room was a mess. The fire in his fireplace had gone out ages ago - only thin trails of smoke remained. He must have blacked out at some point …

Was it snowing?

Yeah - he could see it outside the one window that hadn't frosted over in the night. Snow. Fuck. That always meant ice. He wouldn't be leaving the house anytime soon.

Stop thinking about it.

Stop thinking about her.

Maybe it was because they had fought. They always fought but this was bad - he was drunk, she was in tears, they had lost their tributes early in the Games and she wasn't handling it well. Years of trying to hide it always collapsed at some point.

Couldn't keep a mask on forever.

Maybe it was then. Even though he was shouting. Even though she was, too. Maybe it was then that he realized he … felt something for her.

Not some weird childish crush - he hated even thinking that. He hated thinking he could be attracted to someone born and bred in the Capitol - no matter how she thought or what she believed or what she couldn't understand even if she tried.

But then at night he could see her face.

Or something like her face.

He never had anyone like her before. Anyone that paid attention to him … not since …

There was no one that cared about him except for her and she never gave up. Sure, she stormed out of rooms and shrieked at him. But she was still there. She was still there helping him to the bathroom, cleaning his face and setting out clean clothes to make him look somewhat presentable.

And he found himself trying for her.

He'd put on whatever she left out - little things.

Push a strawberry from his plate to hers when she wasn't looking because he knew she liked them.

She was going through hell too. A different kind of hell - but she was damned.

Damned - just like him.

A strawberry was hardly consolation - but it was something.

"Why'd you bother calling?"

"We didn't leave on good terms. I mean … we rarely do but this was different."

"Well I didn't pull the phone out of the wall, if that's why you called. I didn't fly into a drunken rage. I'm sure that's what you expected."

"No … Haymitch, I just wanted to -"

"Wanted to what? Do you know what time it is?"

He heard her take a breath on the other line. "I'm sorry," she said.

Haymitch cursed at himself. "No - Eff … no. Don't …" He tipped back the bottle he was holding. "Don't fucking apologize … whatever it was … it was me and … just … don't you apologize, all right?"

He wanted to say he was just glad to hear her voice. That it made him feel … it made him feel something.

"We said things -"

"Yeah, we did. But forget 'em, okay?"

"But I am sorry."

Haymitch shut his eyes tight. "Me too, sweetheart. Me too."

There was a long silence on the line.

Maybe it was then. Maybe it was that moment he knew.

"Effie? Are you still -"

"Yes. I'm still here."

Silence again. Silence.

He loved her.

He could hear the voice in his head saying it. He loved her. He loved her. He for some god unknown reason loved her.

"You should get some sleep," Effie said suddenly - jolting Haymitch out of his daze. "It is late for you."

"Yeah … I don't care, though."

"Still. At least promise you'll make it to your bed."

He laughed a little. "Fine. Okay. Promise."

"Goodnight, Haymitch."

"Goodnight, Trinket."

The lines clicked - disconnected.

Haymitch finished the bottle of whatever it was he had pulled out of the cupboard that evening.

Fuck it all.

He loved her.