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Once, the mere idea of not seeing Haymitch for a day would have been ridiculous. Now, his best friend was as hard to gather water from the lake with his hands. No matter how hard Burdock tried, he couldn't get Haymitch. He just slipped right out of his fingers.
Where it was once a common thing to see him running around through the streets of the Seam, chasing after Sid or running errands for his Ma, or even sneaking away from one of those to go and see Lenore Dove; he doesn't even leave his house now. His absence is like a wound to Burdock's side. Not a single one of them is alive now, so maybe Haymitch doesn’t have a reason to come down. Maybe Burdock isn’t enough of a reason.
Burdock’s been skipping class more often than not, these last few months. His dad’s always been a no good drunk, wasting what little money they make out of his once in a blue moon shifts at the mines and his mom’s scarce and meager-paying odd jobs. It fell to Burdock to put the food on the table since he was young. It stated with him stealing some apples and fruits from the edge of the forest, and slowly but surely escalated into him venturing further into the wooden and green entrails of the forbidden part of district 12, until one day he saw one of the older kids of the Sean kill a rabbit with a bow.
His name had been Thresh, and he’d managed to teach Burdock all he could about hunting and making his own bows before he died in a mining accident.
And so, Burdock’s attendance had always been spotty at best, but Haymitch would always tell him with amusement what they’d seen in class. Coal, coal, and more coal. Haymitch had always been one of the best students, and though he had never cared overmuch for classes, his attendance record had always been perfect.
Maybe that had been what had impulsed Burdock to go back to school after vacation instead of quitting. He had wanted to see Haymitch again. Then he'd stared at the empty desk next to his own and he'd realized that there was no Haymitch at his side.
He would never see his bored profile starting listlessly at the chalkboard, his crooked nose from a confrontation when they were younger, the sharp jut of his cheekbones and petulant tilt of his chin, the dark swept if his dark curls. And Haymitch wouldn't look at him from over his desk, turning his head to smile slyly st Burdock, his eyes creasing and twinkling. Victors didn't go back to school after killing an arena full of kids.
He's gone to the Victor's Village before. That day, after Mrs. Abernathy and Sid died, when he took Haymitch there after they buried the single casket, when he swayed with each step and his hands shook. Afterwards, to bring him food and to make sure he was taking care of himself, even when Haymitch turned colder and colder every day after Lenore Dove's death. He'd gone there every day until Haymitch's victory tour started, and then he'd watched the TV religiously to catch sight of Haymitch, smiling fakely at everyone around him.
In the moment, he hadn't even cared it had been fake. All he'd cared about was that he saw Haymitch smile again.
After the victory tour ended, Haymitch had not come back. He'd stayed in the Capitol, and it had been months since he'd last seen the lights of Haymitch's house on.
Until today.
It’s just a singular light, the one on the porch, and Burdock tells himself he's not hurt that Haymitch came back and didn't even tell him. He's a good friend, so instead of wallowing in these feelings, he picks up a nice bundle of orchids and goes to visit his friend, crossing through the coal-dust covered streets of the Seam, until he reaches the Victor's Village, ignoring Blair's jeering call of nice flowers, see if Asterid is willing to tend us for free next time!
It puts him on edge, how soundless it grows once he reaches the top of the Victor’s Village, how the sounds of the streets and the people and the movement of life. No wonder Haymitch had grown so distant and brittle, if all he could hear from his house was the wail of the wind.
Burdock needs to keep an eye on him. The last time he saw Haymitch he'd been drowning white liquor like a fish. The last thing he wanted was for his friend to turn into a man like his father.
Burdock knocks on the heavy door.
There’s no answer.
He knocks again, looking up at the darkening sky, and there was still no answer from the brightly-lit porch of the house. The lights don't seem to be on inside, so maybe—
Burdock was considering leaving and coming back with the cavalry, when he heard a low crash and then a louder voice breaking into an exclamation of pain. He didn’t hesitate as he pushed the door open, frowning when he found it unlocked anyway.
“F’off,” a voice slurred from the living room.
Burdock’s leapt after Haymitch’s voice, but his eyebrows rose in confusion when he didn’t see him anywhere. What he saw was a pale figure crouching on the floor and nursing his side. Had something happened to Haymitch? Who was this? Did he have a visit, or was this a particularly clumsy burglar?
Then the man groaned again, cursing under his breath, and stood up.
“Haymitch?” Burdock asked with naked surprise, eyebrows rising.
Haymitch didn’t look like the boy Burdock had lived his entire life staring at, the one with the crooked nose and the dark curls. His nose had been fixed back during his first stay in the Capitol, straightened all nice while he was asleep. This, he had confessed to Burdock during those days after Lenore Dove’s death. His skin, too, was paler; the result of spending his days all cooped up inside. His hair, though, was no longer the lovely inky black Burdock had envied when compared to his own plain brown color, but rather a soft, pale golden halo in messy tresses around his face.
He gasped when he saw him. “Your hair!”
Haymitch frowned, eyes narrowing as he looked at Burdock like he was trying to place him, before a clumsy smile slowly broke out on his face. “Burdie?”
“Yeah,” he said, voice softening. “Yes, it's me.”
It's not uncommon for Victors go get themselves work done. It had just never occurred to him that Haymitch would do that.
“What are you doing here, Burdie?” Haymitch asked, voice dropping as his body sags into the floor, curling like a cat, and completely ignoring the sofa.
“I wanted to check up on you.”
“You’re so sweet,” Haymitch slurred, tilting his head to the side to look at him. “So, so sweet.”
Burdock takes stock of the room around him, of the pristine shine of the sofa and kitchen, and the small army of bottles of alcohol marring it, some halfway through done, others completely empty and some of them unopened. It looked just like his home, back when they'd been willing to stand having their dad leeching at their money.
“How much have you drunk tonight?” He asked.
“Won't you come and hug me, Burdie? Can you hug me?”
How could Burdock ever say no to that?
Haymitch smelled of alcohol. Burdock did his best to try and find traces of the boy he'd spent his whole life knowing underneath as they laid on the floor together, hugging each other.
“What happened to your hair?”
“Do you like it, Burdie? Does it make me pretty?”
“You always look pretty.”
“You're so sweet, Burdie. You always know what to say. They'd love you.”
“Who?”
“Do I look like Maysilee?”
Burdock blinked, taking a moment to truly look at him.
His hair wasn't the bright butter yellow of Asterid’s hair, it was a bit closer to the sunshine of the Donner twins, but paler, and softer. A nice honey color that made his silvery eyes shine. Fake. It had the same shine to it as fool's gold did when they found it in the mines. “A bit. You could pass for her brother.”
Could have. Burdock should have said you could have passed for her brother. Haymitch didn't go out much, but the few times he had and he'd come across Merrilee he'd started talking to her as if she were Maysilee, forever stuck in a world where she was coming back. It was no good of Burdock to keep his delusions going.
“Oh,” he says, voice brittle and small, “that’s nice. That's—”
“How much have you drunk?”
Haymitch laughed, fake and tittering as he closed his eyes. “You're so funny, mister. So, so funny.”
Then he leaned over and kissed Burdock. His lips were soft and his mouth tasted like expensive liquor, something sharp and deep, but not heavy like Hattie's white liquor. His breathing was ragged and hot as he panted above him, trailing kisses onto his jaw and his neck and making breathy little noises that had Burdock going hot all over as he went down and down and down—
For a moment, Burdock wanted nothing more than to lay here and feel Haymitch kissing him, thread his hands through his honey golden hair as his friend worked his jaw around him.
When he looked down, he saw that Haymitch's eyes were glassy like marbles.
Burdock felt as if he had been dunked in the lake during winter, ice cold water rushing into his lungs. He pushed Haymitch away, letting him fall to the side with an inelegant sound. Burdock shot up to his feet, an arrow released in the forest, and Haymitch started crawling to his feet, but that wasn't Haymitch because Haymitch wasn't blond—
“I’m not doing this,” he said in a shaking voice, taking a step back. “I'm not letting you use me to hurt yourself.”
“Don’t you like me as a blond?” Haymitch asked, voice hurt and airy with intoxication. “It was a big hit in the Capitol, y'know. A big, big hit. They told me they were going to bleach it so I looked—”
He closed his mouth then, like he didn't want to say what came next, an actor with an unfinished script.
Slowly, Burdock kneels by his side. “So you'd look like what?”
His face twisted in bitter resignation. “More like I belong.”
How could the Capitol have looked at Haymitch, Seam dark and district 12 born, with a crooked nose and his raven dark hair, and wished him to be anything else?
"I—"
"Don't. Don't look at me like that."
“I'm sorry,” Burdock said, hating that he'd liked the pale color even for a moment. “They don't have the right to take that from you.”
“They did the same thing with my nose. They’ve already taken so much more from me,” Haymitch said sadly, and Burdock hated the Capitol more than he’s ever hated anything. "At least I look a little like Maysilee now.”
Burdock doesn't hug him, because he doesn't think Haymitch would want that, but he reaches his hand for Haymitch's.
After a moment, he reaches for Burdock's offer, and quietly, they intertwine their fingers together.