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“They’re back. We’re wanted in the hospital,” Haymitch says. I open my mouth to ask the hundreds of questions flooding my mind, but he cuts me off before I can say a word. “That’s all I know.”
I literally cannot stop myself from running. I know I should slow down and wait for Haymitch, but I can’t do it. It’s like there’s a magnetic force pulling me, and I have to move towards him as fast as I possibly can.
Peeta.
He’s here, and he’s safe. No matter what they’ve done to him already, he’s alive and they can’t touch him anymore. In fact, I’m the one who will be able to touch him now–touch him, see his smile, hear his laugh.
I’m moving so fast I basically slam face-first into a very tired looking Boggs, who’s standing in the hospital hallway like he’s been waiting for me. Maybe he has been.
He sees the desperate look in my eyes and fills me in on what he knows: “We got them all out. Except Enobaria. But since she’s from Two, we doubt she’s being held anyway. Peeta’s at the end of the hall. The effects of the gas are just wearing off. You should be there when he wakes.”
At his words, I freeze in place. It’s really happening. After months of wanting this moment so bad it hurt, I almost don’t know how to accept it. What will I say to him? What if he’s angry at me?
A very out of breath Haymitch comes jogging up behind me, and I expect him to say something rude about my running off, but he’s got a silly grin plastered on his face. “Come on, then,” he says, taking my arm and pulling me down the hall.
With Haymitch there with me, my previous anxiety melts away. Of course he won’t be angry. This is Peeta we’re talking about. He’ll be so happy to see me he’ll probably be kissing me before I can even get a word out.
For the first time since the Quell, I let myself remember our last kisses on the beach, the hunger and heat that ran through my body at his touch. I let myself feel the desire that shudders through my body. The desire I’ve been refusing to let myself think of out of fear of never having it again. But now that he’s here and he’s safe, maybe I can have that desire back.
The two of us walk calmly down the hall to the door of Peeta’s hospital room. As we approach it, I can see that there’s a large glass window with viewing into the room. I scan through the glass, taking in the doctors and nurses with all of their equipment, and let my eyes land on him last.
No matter how excited I was to see him, I don’t think I was prepared for the reality in front of me. Peeta’s awake already, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed while one of the nurses fastens a blood pressure cuff around his arm. He’s thin–so much thinner than he was even when I found him by the river in our first Games. Even worse than his obvious thinness is the way his skin hangs off his body, just like I’ve seen before on the starving residents of District 12. So much of his skin is exposed in the light hospital gown he’s wearing, and nearly every inch of him I can see is covered in purple bruises or angry red scars. The whole left side of his face is discolored, like he’d been given a terrible black eye that’s just now in the process of healing. The worst of all, though, is the look in his eyes as he’s sitting there. He’s staring down at his own feet, a vacant expression on his face, like he’s unsure where he is or why he’s here. I can’t take my eyes off his face, and suddenly I can’t move either. I’m once again frozen in place.
Suddenly, as if he sensed my eyes on him, he looks up at the glass and his eyes meet mine. I see them widen with recognition, and then he smiles his big toothy grin I missed so much. I feel my legs moving underneath me, and he rips off the blood pressure cuff and stands up just as I’ve burst through the door.
I throw myself into his arms with so much force I’m surprised it doesn’t knock us both over. Luckily, Peeta has always been strong and stable, so he grips onto me with equal intensity, holding me steady. I look up at him, and find him glancing down at me, blue eyes swimming with tears.
“Are you real?” he asks.
“I’m real,” I answer quickly before burying my head back into his chest. He kisses me on the top of my head, and a wonderful feeling of warmth spreads from the place where he kissed me throughout my entire body. I squeeze him even tighter, and he yelps a bit in response.
“Are you okay?” I ask, but then immediately regret asking it. What a ridiculous question. He’s just spent months being tortured and who-knows-what-else, how could he possibly be okay? And I’ve clearly just hurt him by squeezing some injury from said torture.
But because this is Peeta, he doesn’t snap at me. “I’m okay. I’m actually more than okay right now. I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”
I laugh, because only Peeta could say something like that at a time like this. “No, I meant your body. Did I hurt you?”
“Oh, it’s just my ribs or something. I’m okay, really,” he answers.
Just then one of the nurses chimes in, startling us both apart. I think we’d both completely forgotten that there were other people in the room with us. “He’s not okay, actually. He has several injuries that we need to treat as soon as possible.”
I feel a deep blush paint my cheeks. I step away, trying to give the doctors space to resume their work, but Peeta doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Will you stay here with me?” he asks. It sounds so small and scared coming out of his lips, like he’s terrified I’ll leave him again. Lucky for him, I’m not planning on ever letting him go.
I smile. “Always.”
He sits back down and we let the doctors resume their work, but he keeps his hand in mine the entire time. The doctors must be examining him for quite a while, but the time passes quickly. We’re both just so happy to be able to touch each other that there simply isn’t room for anything else.
The doctors finally seem to be wrapping up their examination when Boggs comes into the room. “Mr. Mellark, my name is Commander Boggs. I’m going to need you to follow me so we can conduct a brief interview about your time in the Capitol.”
I glance over at Peeta and see a look of terror enter his eyes. I feel my chest starting to constrict. “He just got back, can’t you let him get some sleep first?” I ask desperately.
“Unfortunately not. He may possess information of vital importance to winning this war,” Boggs answers.
“It’s okay, Katniss,” Peeta says with a sigh, standing up off the hospital bed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
I’m still holding tightly onto his hand. “Can I go with him at least?”
Boggs shakes his head, but he gives me a sympathetic look. “I can’t allow that, Soldier Everdeen.”
Now I’m the one that looks terrified. Peeta pulls me into a deep embrace that I know must hurt his ribs, but at the moment neither of us cares.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
“Okay,” I exhale. “I’m going to wait right here, though. I’m going to wait right here for you.”
He gives me a weary smile before pressing a warm kiss against my forehead and going with Boggs. And then I’m alone again.
Well, relatively alone, since there’s actually still one nurse milling around the room. I cross over to a chair sitting in the corner of the room and feel my legs go out underneath me just in time for the chair to catch my fall.
The nurse is still moving around some equipment, so now seem as good a time as any to ask what I really want to know. What I need to know. “How is he, really?”
“He’s better than we would have expected,” she answers calmly. “He has a few significant injuries, but they should all be treatable.”
“What kinds of injuries?” I ask.
“Well, he has 3 cracked ribs and 2 broken fingers, as well as a whole slew of contusions, lacerations, and burns all in various stages of healing. He also has a severe concussion that we can only assume is from repeated instances of blunt force trauma to the head. Most concerning though is his weight loss. They’ve clearly been starving him, so he’s severely malnourished and emaciated. His heartbeat and blood pressure are lower than we’d like, but that should all be improved once we get him eating properly again.”
She pauses, letting me absorb that information. It seems insane to me that all of that could possibly be considered better than they expected. I guess they’d probably expected him to be dead, though.
“Of course, it’s expected that he’ll also have chronic PTSD, but that should also be treatable with the right combination of medications and therapies.”
“PTSD?” I ask.
“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” she explains. “He’ll have residual psychological issues from the trauma of being tortured. He’ll need lots of support,” she adds on meaningfully.
I shudder, remembering the vacant look in his eyes before he saw me. We were both plenty damaged before all of this, so I can’t even imagine how much worse it’ll be for him now. Of course he’ll need plenty of support, and I plan on being here every step of the way. Especially now that his family is gone, Haymitch and I are really all he has. We’re going to have to continually make sure he knows he’s safe and loved.
Loved. The word reverberates through my head. Of course I love him. I loved him so much that I wanted to protect him with every fibre of my being. So much so that I was going to die for him. It’s clear to everyone, including me, that I love him. The question, then, has always been what kind of love that is. Do I love him in the same way I loved Madge, or even how I love Gale? Or is it a different kind of love? I think back to the roof of the Tribute Center, to my bed the night before the Quell, to the beach. A smile spreads across my lips. I think I know what kind of love it is.
I look back up to meet the nurse’s eyes, nodding determinedly. “Thank you,” I say.
She nods back, and then collects the rest of her equipment and leaves the room. Now, I’m really alone.
I close my eyes, trying to urge myself to get some sleep since I have no way of knowing how long he’ll be gone. It becomes clear quickly, though, that I’m not going to have such an easy time resting. As the minutes tick by, my anxiety ramps up and up until I’m nearly manic. I pull my legs up into my chest, rocking back and forth to try and soothe myself.
As the minutes turn into what feels like hours, my anxiety evolves into full-blown panic. I hug my arms tighter around my legs, digging my nails into my own skin until it draws blood. The pain helps me to keep myself grounded in reality. He’s here. They’re just talking to him. He’ll be back any second.
Finally, I hear the door click and Peeta comes back in the room. I jump out of my chair and throw myself back into his arms, just before my legs collapse beneath me. He catches me, holding me tight to his chest. Only then do I allow myself to break down. Up until this point, I’ve held it together, not crying or showing him how scared I am, but now he knows. I sob frantically into his chest while he pats me lovingly on the head.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asks comfortingly.
“Nothing,” I choke.
“Clearly something is wrong, Katniss,” he says firmly, putting his hand on my chin and tilting my head up to look at him. When I see his bruised, thin face, I get racked with another round of sobs.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I answer. “I just…didn’t like you being gone, that’s all.”
He chuckles, but then kisses me on the forehead. “Yeah, I didn’t like it very much either. It’s okay now, though. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not going anywhere either,” I respond quickly, but then I feel my face twist into a scowl. “You shouldn’t be comforting me. I should be the one comforting you.”
He laughs again. “How about we just comfort each other, okay?”
“Okay,” I answer quietly.
I cry for another minute longer, but then pull myself together enough to remember his talk with Boggs. “How was the interview?”
His face drops instantly, a far away look entering his eyes. “It was…long. And tiring,” he shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
I nod. I can understand not wanting to talk about something. “Did they let you eat yet?”
“Yes, they gave me something while I talked to Boggs.”
“Are they letting you go to your quarters now?” I ask. Although there’s no clock in the room, I know it must be late and he must be exhausted.
“No, they said I have to stay in the hospital tonight. For treatment and observation. I keep telling them I’m fine, but they said I had to stay anyway.” I see him blush, like he’s embarrassed. I don’t know what he could possibly be embarrassed about. I’m no stranger to nights in this hospital.
I take his hand and pull him towards the hospital bed. “Okay, we’ll just sleep here then.”
His eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’re going to stay here with me?”
“Of course,” I answer. “I already told you, I’m not going anywhere.”
He smiles, hopping up onto the bed and pulling me down with him. The bed is small and not the most comfortable, but with Peeta pressed against me, I fall asleep faster than I have in months. We wake in the morning still tangled in each other’s arms, only rising when the doctors start coming into the room. They all look embarrassed to see us there in bed together, so I pull myself up, brushing off my wrinkled clothes.
“I’m, uh, gonna go change and find my family. They’re probably wondering where I’ve been all night.”
His eyes widen with worry, but I place one hand on the side of his face, trying to be as comforting as he is to me. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”
He smiles, turning his head to press a kiss into the palm of my hand. I’m reminded of him doing the same thing during our first Games. Then, it felt forced and for show. Now, it feels genuine and gentle. A feeling of warmth spreads from my hand throughout my entire body, and I feel a tingling sensation in my stomach. The cave. The beach.
I hurry out the door before I can do something I’ll regret doing in front of all those doctors. We’ll have plenty of time for that later, I think with a shy smile.
I stop by the mess hall on my way out, scarfing down some of whatever they’re offering for breakfast today, but barely tasting a thing. I hadn’t even realized how hungry I was.
I head out of the mess hall, climbing the stairs to my own compartment. It should still be early enough that my mother and Prim haven’t left for their own schedules yet, so hopefully I’ll be able to catch them. When I pull open the door, I’m happy to see them both still in the room.
“How’s Peeta?” Prim asks as soon as I’ve entered. I guess somebody told them that they all made it back last night.
“He’s good” I answer. “As good as we could expect really, under the circumstances. I’m sorry for not coming back last night, I just didn’t want to leave him alone in that hospital.”
My mother nods sympathetically. “Of course, you should stay with him as much as you can.”
I cross to my drawers, pulling out a new set of clothes. It’s the same thing I have on–the usual uniform of District 13–but at least it’s not all wrinkled. I place them down on the bed. I think I’ll take a shower before I change.
“So,” Prim starts. I can hear the smile in her voice, even though I’m not facing her. “Were you happy to see him?”
I laugh. “Yes, I was very happy to see him.” I turn back around to face them, and they’re both grinning at me giddily.
“What?” I ask.
Prim runs out and wraps her arms around my waist. “We’re just happy for you, that’s all.”
I smile, pulling her in tighter. “Thanks, little duck.”
My mother clears her throat. “Have you checked on Gale yet? I think he’s in the hospital.”
Only then do I remember that Gale was also on the mission. I’d been so caught up in my reunion with Peeta that I’d completely forgotten to check on him. I feel hot shame wash over me for being such a poor friend. He risked his life to get Peeta back for me, and I couldn’t even be bothered to make sure he was okay. “No, I’ll go do that now, though.”
It’s time for Prim and my mother to go attend to their own schedules, so I head to the bathroom, strip, and hop in the shower. The warm water leaves me covered in goosebumps, and I run my fingertips across the sensitive skin, trying to really feel every ounce of happiness that’s permeating my body. I finish cleaning myself up hastily and hop out of the shower, changing into the fresh set of clothes and braiding my wet hair down my back.
Once I’m clean and ready, I head back out. I forgo getting my daily schedule stamped on my arm since I know I’ll be ignoring it anyway, and head back to the hospital. When I get there, I have to ask a nurse where Gale’s room is, but she informs me that he was discharged last night, but instructed to stay on bed rest for at least a couple of days. A sigh of relief escapes my lips. If he was discharged, he must not have been too severely injured, but something must be wrong if he’s on bed rest. I head out again, making my way to Gale’s family’s compartment.
I knock on the door lightly, not wanting to wake him if he’s still asleep, but I hear his gruff voice through the door telling me to come in. When I open the door, he’s lounging on the bed, shirtless with a large bandage wrapped around his back and chest.
“What happened?” I ask desperately, crossing over to the bed.
He laughs, sitting up in the bed. “Nothing, Catnip. I’m fine. Took a bit of shrapnel in the back, but it’s nothing serious.”
I nod, pushing a piece of hair that’s come loose out of my face.
“So,” he starts, his eyes growing darker. “Did you see him yet?” He’s careful not to say Peeta’s name.
“Mhm,” I say quietly with a nod.
“And?” he asks. “How is he?”
“He’s okay,” I choke out, feeling the tears starting to pool in my eyes again. I wipe them furiously, not wanting to cry about this in front of Gale. I don’t even really want to talk to him about it at all. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says, reaching out and pulling me into a hug. “I know it’s all been very…emotional for you.”
I nod, but then settle my head against his shoulder. “Thank you for going to get him,” I say through the tears.
“Of course, Catnip. Anytime,” he answers.
I stay like that for a few moments further, pressed against his bare chest with his arms around me. He’s warm, and feels sturdy against me, but it doesn’t feel comforting like his embraces used to. If anything, it’s tinged with guilt.
I break apart suddenly, smoothing down my clothes and looking down at my shoes. “Thank you, again,” I say, before saying my goodbyes and heading back out the door.
I wipe my eyes again, not wanting the evidence of my crying to be so obvious, and head back towards the hospital. By the time I reach Peeta’s room, I realize it must be nearing lunchtime, and he sits on the hospital bed eating a healthy serving of the kitchen’s stew. When I enter the room, his eyes instantly light up and a smile breaks across his face. I can’t stop the corners of my mouth pulling up into an equally wide grin.
“Hi,” he says, scooting over on the bed so I can sit down next to him. I hop onto the bed, pulling my knees into my chest and leaning my head against his shoulder while he eats.
“Hi,” I whisper quietly, closing my eyes and breathing in his wonderful scent that I can’t describe as anything except Peeta.
He puts his bowl down on the little table next to the bed, reaching his arm around me and leaning his head down on top of mine. “I missed you,” he whispers into my hair.
I chuckle. “I couldn’t have been gone for more than a few hours.”
He place his hand onto the side of my face, tilting it up so my eyes meet his. His joking demeanor I’m so used to is gone, replaced by something more serious. His eyes burn into mine, and the sensation is so intense I want to look away, but I don’t.
“I missed you,” he says again, more deliberate this time.
I understand his meaning. He’s not talking about me being gone for the last few hours, although he might have missed me then too. He’s talking about before, when we were separated for months, with nothing to do but wonder what horrors the other was being subjected to. Suddenly, I feel like crying again, and I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to stop the tears.
“I missed you too,” I say, but it sounds weak coming from my mouth. “Missed” doesn’t even begin to cover the way I’ve felt over the last few months, but I don’t have to words to let him know exactly how I feel. Words have always been his strong suit, not mine.
“I thought about you all the time. Sometimes, it was the only thing that got me through what-what they were doing to me,” he stutters. I know he’s not ready to talk about what they subjected him to in the Capitol yet, so I don’t push, but I hope one day he’ll feel safe enough to tell me.
“At first, I thought maybe you were dead,” he continues. “But then I saw those clips of you, the ones they were breaking into the Capitol transmissions with, and I knew you were okay. I, uh, I saw the one from District 12. With you in front of the bakery.”
We both pause. It’s not a surprise to me that they hadn’t told him what happened to Twelve. I’d expected that the first he heard of it was from our transmission. But from the look on his face, I know that they haven’t told him anything since. He still doesn’t know exactly what happened.
I see the tears start to form in his eyes. “I’m, uh–I’m guessing my family didn’t make it out? Since they haven’t come to see me yet?”
I shake my head. “No, they didn’t make it,” I whisper, unable to hold his gaze while I say it.
He sniffles, lifting his hand up to wipe his eyes. “I kind of figured. You know, from the rubble of the bakery and all that.”
“I’m so sorry, Peeta,” I say weakly, nuzzling myself back into his chest. He stays holding me for a few more minutes.
I hear him crying quietly, feeling his wet, hot tears drip into my hair. He stills after a few minutes, and I break our embrace so I can see his face. His eyes are red and swollen, but the tears have stopped. He looks away from me, and I can tell he’s not ready to talk more about his family yet. He needs time to mourn privately. I decide to change the subject.
“So when are they letting you out of here?” I ask.
He perks up instantly. “Hopefully tonight. They said they have a couple more tests they want to do this afternoon, but after that they should be done. Just some psych evaluations, or something.”
As if summoned by his words, the nurses reenter the room, flocking around him. I sense that it’s time for me to leave, so with one last hug, I head out to leave him in the doctors’ care.
It’s early afternoon, and since I’m clearly not following any kind of schedule, I’m not really sure what to do with my time. I guess I could go down to the armory and shoot a few arrows around, but that idea doesn’t appeal to me much. I could go check on Finnick, and see how him and Annie are doing, but that seems unfair of me. I wouldn’t want to interrupt what’s surely been a passionate reunion. Finally, I settle on going to see Haymitch. I haven’t actually seen or spoken to him since last night.
It seems unlikely that he’s following any kind of schedule either, considering he’s still in the process of sobering up, so I head up to his quarters and knock once before heading straight in. He never answers the door anyway.
“Well sweetheart, thanks for just barging on in,” he says gruffly. He seems to be sitting in a chair staring at the wall. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure what he gets up to nowadays here in District 13 when we’re not on official Mockingjay business. Maybe he spends all his days just staring at a wall.
“I knocked. Also, if I didn’t barge in, I wouldn’t ever see you,” I say, pulling up a chair and sitting down next to him. “Have you gone to see him yet?” I ask.
He nods, a serious look coming across his face. “Yep, they let me talk to him this morning in between tests and stuff. He seems…okay. Definitely a bit shaken, but otherwise not too bad,” Haymitch answers.
“What did you two talk about?” I ask. Maybe he was more open in telling Haymitch about his months of capture. I still plan on giving him as much time as he needs to tell me, but that doesn’t diminish my almost morbid curiosity.
He laughs. “You mean before or after he started yelling at me?”
This takes me surprise. Peeta very rarely yells. He’s usually the calm, collected one in this trio. “He yelled at you?”
“Oh yeah,” Haymitch says. “Totally justified, though. Mostly he’s mad about me lying to him. He’s definitely not thrilled about me leaving him in that arena, but that seemed to be kind of an afterthought. He’ll get over it, though. He was just so damn happy about getting to see you that all that anger went away pretty fast.”
I can’t stop the blush that spreads across my cheeks.
“I’m gonna guess you were happy to see him too?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Yes,” I answer awkwardly. Why does everybody keep asking me that?
“Great,” he says with a laugh. “Hopefully that means we’ll finally get a break from your melodramatic, depressed Mockingjay routine.”
Anger rushes through my bloodstream. How could he possibly make fun of me for my behavior these last few months? He knows more than anyone how affected I was by Peeta’s capture. If anything, he was the only other person here that felt his absence like I did.
I stand up out of my chair forcefully, turning to head for the door. I’ve just reached the handle when I hear him speak again.
“Hey, sweetheart?” he says. I turn back around to face him, curiosity getting the best of me. “You’re not gonna break his heart again this time, are you?” Although there’s a hint of his usual joking tone, I can also hear the genuineness in his voice.
“No,” I answer quietly.
When I look back up to meet his eyes, he’s grinning again. “Finally figured out you love him, huh?”
I stay frozen in place, unable to find the words to answer. But my silence seems to be answer enough for Haymitch.
“Well thank God for that. You’re the last person on Earth to figure it out, though,” he says with a laugh.
At that, I turn and rush out the door, slamming it behind me. Who is he to make comments about my feelings for Peeta? What does he know anyway? Before I can stop it, though, I hear Finnick’s voice in my head: anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him. He seemed to know before I did, and I guess Haymitch did too. Not to mention Prim and my mother’s reaction this morning. Is it really possible that everybody knew before I did?
I shake the thought out of my head before it can get lodged in any further. The last thing I need right now is more expectations from everybody around me. I’m so used to being told what to do, what to think, what to feel. For once, I just want to figure it out for myself.
I head back to my own quarters, wasting some more time by rolling the pearl Peeta gave me between my fingers. I’m preoccupied by Haymitch’s question, him asking me if I was going to break Peeta’s heart again. I know deep down that that’s what I’ve been doing to him this whole time–breaking his heart. I can see his face so clearly in my mind on those train tracks when he realized that what had happened in the arena had been an act. Any doubt I’d had about his own feelings melted away immediately when I saw the pain in his eyes at my admission. He was genuinely heartbroken. And since then, I’ve done it again and again, never able to love him back in the way he deserves. I don’t want to break his heart anymore, and I think I may finally be ready to give him what he wants. What I want now too.
If I’m finally admitting to myself that I do love him, the question now is when that happened. I always figured that when I fell in love (if that ever happened at all), I would know instantly. That one second, the world would be in black-and-white, and the next it’d be in color. How could I have fallen in love with him and not realized? I think back to nights in the cave, nights on the train, nights in the Tribute Center, our picnic on the roof, to the beach in the arena, to his face as I walked away the last time I saw him. Somewhere in all of that, this developed from something staged into something real, and I didn’t even notice it happening. Once again, it’s Finnick’s voice I hear reverberating in my mind: she crept up on me. That’s exactly what Peeta did too, I guess. He crept into my heart without me even realizing it was happening. The thought brings a smile to my face.
I can hardly stand waiting any longer to go see him, but I know they’re not going to let him go until later tonight. I putter around the room for a bit longer, rearranging my clothes and the few belongings I still have before setting out for dinner. When I get to the mess hall, I sit at my usual table with my family as well as Gale’s. He’s managed to get himself here for dinner, and he seems mostly no worse for wear with the exception of his sewn-up back. I’m relieved again that he’s okay and grateful for all he’s done, but that’s all I feel towards him at the moment. I’m too busy being consumed by all the other powerful emotions coursing through my body to pay any attention to what I feel for him. Anyway, I guess it doesn’t really matter anymore.
After dinner, I judge it’s been long enough to head back to the hospital, but this time I’m nervous. My heart feels like it’s beating a million miles a minute, and I can barely keep my hands still. Now that I’ve discovered this new information about myself, I don’t know how to properly convey it to Peeta. Do I come out and say it? Do I kiss him? Do I wait for him to make the first move? The questions flood my brain until I feel like I’m going to scream. Why does this all have to be so hard?
I walk to the hospital slowly, focusing on keeping my breathing under control. Any trepidation I’d been feeling before melts away, though, when I see him through that big glass window. He’s changed out of the thin hospital gown he’d been wearing, and is now clothed in the usual uniform of District 13. That can only mean one thing.
“Does the outfit mean they’re letting you leave?” I ask, stepping into the room.
He breaks out into a grin when he notices my presence. “Yep, got my own compartment and everything. I’m free to go!”
“Let’s go then,” I say, taking his hand and pulling him towards the door.
He pauses, looking around confusedly. “Oh, I guess I should get my…” he pauses. “I guess I don’t have anything to get. I don’t really have anything anymore.”
I freeze, unsure what to say to him. He’s right, I guess. Everything he’s ever owned was lost in the bombing of District 12. All he has now are the clothes on his back, and even those are technically District 13’s property. I’m just opening my mouth to say something apologetic, when Peeta surprises me with a light laugh.
“It doesn’t really matter. I’ve got the only thing I care about right here with me,” he says good-naturedly.
I feel my cheeks heat up. Sentences like that used to make me uncomfortable, squirming with guilt. Now it just makes me happy, albeit a little embarrassed.
The two of us head out, hand-in-hand to go find his new compartment. It turns out to be on the same level as Gale’s, but I don’t point that out. It seems like this will all go a lot smoother if we don’t talk about Gale, at least not yet.
When we enter, I’m struck by how exactly like my own room this one is, except completely bare. It’s not like Prim, my mother, and I have done a lot of interior decorating, but our space looks lived in. We have belongings strewn throughout, coats on racks, the pictures and book I recovered from Twelve laid out on the table. Peeta’s room will never look like that. He’s lost everything. Everything he owned, even his family. I’m all he has now. I know he said it didn’t matter, but I can’t help but mourn a bit on his behalf.
He leads me over to the bed, hopping up to sit on its edge. I jump up to sit next to him, never dropping his hand. We’re quiet for a moment, just listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. It’s a wonderful sound, really. One that 24 hours ago I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear again.
In the silence, I know that this is the moment I’ve been looking for. Now is when I should tell him what I’ve been feeling. But my mouth is frozen shut. I can’t get the words to come out. Even if I could get my mouth moving, I’m not sure I’d know what to say, anyway.
Before I can get the nerve to say anything, he starts talking for me: “Are you tired?” he asks softly.
I shrug. “A little bit. Are you?” I know he must still be exhausted. We didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night, and the past day has been so full of activity for him. He really should be resting right now.
“Yes,” he says, his eyes fluttering closed before shooting back open. “I’m okay, you know. You don’t have to stay with me tonight,” he adds.
“I want to,” I say quickly.
“Really?” he asks, like he can’t possibly believe it.
“Really.”
He smiles again, which makes me smile in response. “Okay, then. I’m gonna go shower before we sleep, I think. Do you want to…” he trails off.
“I’ll wait here,” I say. I know it would probably make sense for me to go back to my own quarters to change and brush my teeth, but I don’t think I can handle any more space from him tonight.
He goes into the bathroom to shower, and I’m immediately wracked by anxiety despite the fact that he’s only a room away. I still don’t know what I’m going to say to him, or how I’m going to say it. I know that I want to tell him how I feel, but I’ve never been good at doing that. I’ll probably just trip over my words, or say something wrong and hurt his feelings again. Or even worse, what if I tell him and he doesn’t feel it back anymore? Once it’s out there, I can’t take it back. So much time has passed since we saw each other last, and sometimes it feels like we’ve lived a hundred lifetimes since then. He’s been happy to see me, that much is evident, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that he still loves me like he did before. He hasn’t even tried to kiss me.
Luckily, I don’t have long to stew in my anxiety, since he showers fast. It can’t have been more than five minutes when I hear the shower turn off, and he comes back into the room wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.
I’ve seen Peeta shirtless before, many times, but it’s different this time. The physical difference is unimaginable–where he used to be broad and strong he’s now skin and bones. His chest is covered in purple and blue bruises, and there’s a long scar running across his abdomen. They have tape across the left side of his ribcage, where the cracked ribs must be. I feel my breath catch in my throat at the sight of him and my chest constricts painfully. He’s still beautiful, but so much more damaged than when I saw him last.
He catches me staring at him, and my eyes flick away self-consciously. The last thing I want him to feel is uncomfortable or embarrassed at a moment like this.
“It’s pretty bad, huh?” he asks, trying to keep his voice light, but I can hear the pain underneath.
“No, it’s not that bad,” I say, picking my eyes back up to meet his.
“You don’t have to lie to me,” he says.
“I’m not lying,” I say defensively, standing up off the bed and crossing over to him. “It’s not…great. I won’t lie about that. But it’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.”
As the words leave my mouth, I realize that I’m saying it as much for me as for him. It’s painful to see him this way, and I need to believe for my own sake that he’ll be okay. That he’ll heal.
The corners of his mouth lift into a small smile, and he reaches out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear, letting his hands linger by my face. This is that moment again, I tell myself. Now is when I should close the distance between us and press my lips to his. But I’m stuck in place, staring intently into his eyes, the static between his hand and my face so strong it’s palpable.
He looks away hastily, clearing his throat. “I’m, uh, gonna change. They actually left an extra toothbrush in there, so you can brush your teeth if you want. Also, here…” he trails off, walking to the drawers and pulling out an extra set of pajamas and handing them out to me. “You can change into these if you want.”
I swallow, taking the pajamas in my hand and hurrying into the bathroom. I brush my teeth slowly and thoroughly before changing into the pajamas he gave me. They’re way too big–comically big, actually–but the feeling of them on my skin leaves me with a sense of comfort. Even if they’re the standard pajamas issued by District 13 and he’s never even worn them before, something about wearing his clothes makes me feel content. Like I have him wrapped around me, instead of the thin fabric.
When I head back out, he’s already changed and climbed into the bed.
“Wanna hit the lights?” he asks.
I nod, turning the lights off on my way to the bed. When I get in, I climb beneath the covers and turn to face him. He’s laying on his side, looking right at me. In the low-light of the room, his eyes are darker than normal. A deeper shade of blue, compared to their usual cornflower color. He’s staring at my so intently, I can’t help but think that if looks could burn, I’d be on fire.
“What?” I ask, trying to keep my tone joking and light.
“Nothing, just, you know, you,” he answers.
“What about me?”
“You. All of it. I just can’t believe that you’re here. That you’re real,” he says softly.
I blush, but don’t say anything in response. I have so much I could say that the words feel caught in my throat. I should tell him that I can’t believe he’s here either. That I missed him so much it was killing me. That after all this time, I finally love him in the way he’s always wanted. But instead, I say nothing at all. I just stay looking at his eyes, no doubt with equal intensity in my stare as was in his. After a few moments, he lets his eyes flutter closed, and I close mine in response.
I’m just starting to think he’s fallen asleep when I hear his voice echo out through the room.
“I love you,” he whispers.
My eyes shoot open, and I see his are already open too, examining my face closely.
“I didn’t say it so you’d say it back,” he continues. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or to pressure you into saying or feeling something you don’t want to, but I just had to say it. I swore to myself that if I ever saw you again, I’d make sure you knew. So this is me, doing that.”
For a second I’m stunned. Well, that answers that question for me. Somehow, even after everything that’s happened, Peeta still loves me. The feeling bubbles in my chest, and the words have burst out my throat before I could even consider if I should say it.
“Kiss me,” I say firmly.
I don’t have to tell him twice. He shoots forward, taking my face in his hands and pressing his lips to mine. His kiss is desperate, powerful. It tells me how much he’s wanted this, how long he’s been waiting for this moment. I want him to know that I want this too, just as much as he does.
I reach my hands up into his damp hair, lightly scraping my fingernails across his scalp. He moans in response, opening his mouth, and I slide my tongue in, exploring deeper. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me in tighter against his body. I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into my thigh, but it doesn’t make me uncomfortable like it used to. Instead, it sends a thrill through my body. I feel powerful, knowing that I can do this to him. The feeling sends a shock down from my chest to the spot between my legs, and I press against him involuntarily. I want him closer.
“Peeta,” I say, breaking our kiss. “Touch me.”
His eyes widen in surprise, but then he squeezes them shut and takes a deep, shaky breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” he says.
I shudder a bit at his words, but then hear a light laugh escape from my lips. “Let me guess, twelve, maybe thirteen years?” I ask jokingly, remembering him telling me he’s loved me since he was five years old.
He laughs breathily back to me. “Maybe not that long. Probably more like five or six, but still a hell of a long time. I never thought you’d say it, though.”
“I’m saying it now,” I say firmly, my previous joking demeanor slipping away. “Touch me,” I repeat.
Carefully, he reaches one hand beneath my shirt, running his fingers up my skin until he reaches my breast. I inhale sharply as he takes it in his palm, squeezing one time. A moan escapes his own lips, but then he releases, moving his fingertips to my nipple, which has already grown taut with sensation. He rolls it between his thumb and his forefinger, and the feeling is unlike anything I’ve experienced before, but in the most wonderful way. I breathe out heavily.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Yes,” I exhale. “Actually…” I sit up in the bed. I can see the confusion on his face, but his eyes change to a knowing expression when he sees me reach down to the hem of my shirt. He reaches out, placing his hand on mine to stop me.
“Can I do it?” he asks, his voice shaking nervously on his words.
I nod, maintaining his eye contact the entire time. He takes my hand away, placing his at the bottom of my shirt and lightly tugging it up over my head. As the cold air touches my skin, I become aware of just how bare I really am at this moment. In all of our close proximity in the last two years, he’s never seen me anywhere close to naked. I’m struck by the urge to cover myself, but the feeling slips away when I see his eyes roaming across my naked chest. He looks in awe, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
“Ohmygodyouaresobeautiful,” he says, so fast it comes out like one word.
I giggle, but the sound turns to a groan as he places one hand in my hair and kisses me deeply on the neck. I lean my head back, giving him better access, and he begins to trail his lips down my neck to my collarbone. When he gets to the hollow between my breasts, I lean back so I’m resting on the headboard, and he climbs between my legs to hover over me.
Taking one in each hand, he presses my breasts together and places one open-mouth kiss on the spot where they meet. He glances up to me, asking for permission with his eyes. I nod, and he smiles before closing his mouth around the tip of my breast, pressing the flat of his tongue against my nipple. No matter how good his hands felt, it’s not even close to how good his mouth feels. I can’t help the involuntary moan that escapes my lips, and I instinctually reach one hand up to cover my mouth. I need to be quiet, the last thing I need is everybody in District 13 talking about Peeta and I having sex. Only then do I realize that that’s really what we’re doing. We’re having sex. Or we’re getting there, at least. And I want to get there.
As he continues to work on my breasts with his mouth, I feel the spot between my legs growing hotter and starting to pulse, and suddenly I need more. I pull him up by his hair, kissing him deeply on the lips. I tug his own shirt over his head, so that we’re equally matched in our nakedness. Even though I saw him shirtless no more than thirty minutes ago, it’s different now. I run my fingers down his stomach, stopping when I get to the place where his skin meets his pants, tucking one finger beneath his waistband. He groans, leaning his head forward onto my shoulder.
“Peeta, can you touch me please?” I ask.
He picks his head back up to look at me, laughing softly. “Isn’t that what I was just doing?”
I shake my head. I see in his eyes when he understands my meaning.
“Oh. Oh. Yeah-I-of course,” he mumbles, flicking his eyes down away from me.
I place my hands on either side of his face, tilting it back up towards mine, and kissing him deeply once more. When I part his lips with my tongue, he answers me with equal intensity, letting his hands press back against my chest. I take one of his hands in mine, leading it down to the place where my legs meet.
He slips his hand into my pajama pants, but keeps it above my underwear. He rubs me experimentally a couple of times, and his eyes widen with surprise. “Oh wow, you’re like really wet already.”
“Is that bad?” I ask, panic creeping into my words.
“No no no,” he answers quickly. “It’s a good thing, I think. It means you like it.” He pauses for a moment. “Do you like it?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
“Yes,” I say with a nod. “But, here, let me…” I say, reaching my hand down to cover his. Carefully, I direct his fingers until they’re over the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of my opening. I’ve found it myself a few times over the years, but I’ve never had the courage to explore it much.
He starts to rub tight circles around the spot, and I can’t stop myself from moaning loudly and raising my hips against his hands. I’ve never felt anything like this before. It feels like every inch of me is on fire, but in the best way possible. The pressure building between my legs grows with every second he continues, and soon it’s so powerful it nearly hurts.
“Oh, right there,” I gasp out. “Faster, please.”
He obediently speeds his hand up, pressing down even harder than he had been before. I buck my hips, moving against him in such a way that just adds to the sensation. Suddenly, it feels like every nerve in my body is tingling. Like I’ve burst into flames. Like I’m shattering into a thousand pieces. I lean my head back, arching my back, and gasp out so loudly that there’s no chance the people in the room next door don’t know what we’re up to. And I can’t even be bothered to care.
When I finally come back down, Peeta has sat back on his knees, a wide-eyed, surprised look on his face. “Did you…Was that…,” he keeps trailing off before finishing his question. “Did you come?” he finally chokes out.
I’ve never had an orgasm before, but I have to assume that’s what just happened. I nod, a little embarrassed. I look away, not wanting him to see the deep blush spreading across my cheeks.
He shoots out, placing one hand at the back of my head, and pulling me in for a kiss. “Oh my god, that was so hot,” he says once he breaks away from my lips.
I feel a laugh escape from my lips, and then he’s laughing too. I kiss him again, softer this time, but not without feeling.
“Do you want me to touch you?” I ask.
His cheeks grow pink, and he once again averts my gaze. “You don’t have to,” he says.
“Peeta?”
“Mhm?” he says quietly.
“I want to.”
He looks back at me, smiling his classic goofy grin. Even though I meant it—I do want to touch him—I’m nervous. I’ve never touched anyone before like that, so I have no clue what I’d be doing. What if I don’t do a good job?
He lays down on his side, so I lay across from him, keeping my eyes on his while I echo his movements from before. I reach my hand down into his pajama pants, but I dip it beneath his underwear until I have his erection grasped in my hand. When I wrap my fingers around him, he gasps out loudly, squeezing his eyes shut. With him in my hand, I realize just how completely out of my element I am. I have zero clue what to do right now to make him feel good.
Luckily, he answers the question for me by rocking his hips lightly, just enough to thrust against my hand. Slowly, I start to move my hand up and down across his skin, and I can tell from the uptick of his breathing that I’m doing something right. He moans, reaching a hand up to tangle it in my now loose hair.
“Oh, fuck, Katniss that feels so good,” he says. Something about him cursing does something to me, and I feel my center start throbbing again. He’s usually just so gentle and proper, the sound of that word in his mouth feels so intense. Like something only meant for me. Only then do I notice that in doing this to make him feel good, it’s actually making me feel good too. The warmth between my legs is growing as he moans, and I can actually feel the wetness soaking through my underwear.
“Oh, fuck,” he repeats again, along with a whole string of incoherent mumbo-jumbo that seems to largely feature the word fuck and my name. “I–fuck–I wish I was inside of you right now,” he chokes out at the end.
I know it slipped out in his pleasure-induced ramblings, but his words make me shudder with desire. I want him inside of me. Now.
“Then do it,” I say, interrupting his mumbling and taking my hand out of his pants.
His eyes shoot open in shock. “What?”
“Do it,” I repeat, more determined this time. “If you want to be inside of me, do it.”
He’s staring at me with a look of pure disbelief. “Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m sure.”
“You want me to?”
“I want you to,” I say, cupping my hands around his face. “Are your ribs going to be okay with it, though?” The last thing I want is to injure him more with this.
He laughs, kissing me lightly on the nose. “My ribs will be perfectly fine.” Suddenly, his eyes have a faraway look in them, and his muscles seem to tense “Um, what are we gonna do about…you know, protection?”
“They gave me a shot. They give it to everyone underage here. It’s supposed to be good for six months,” I say quickly. “And I’ve never done this with anyone else before so I’m not going to give you any kind of…disease or something,” I add awkwardly.
He exhales. “I haven’t ever done this before either, so we should be good on that front.”
Even though it’s silly, I feel a sense of relief in my chest. It feels good to know that I will always be his and he will be mine. There’s nobody else before or, hopefully, ever.
I kiss him again before I can lose my nerve, and I feel him relax against me. He opens his mouth, letting me explore him deeper, before slipping his own tongue into my mouth.
He flips me onto my back, lifting up my hips and sliding my pajama pants and underwear straight off. Before I can start to get embarrassed about my nudity, though, he slips his hand back between my legs, running his fingers over my sensitive spot, and every coherent thought in my head gets washed out. After a couple minutes of that, I get enough of a grip to remember what I really want.
“Peeta, take your pants off,” I gasp out.
He nods, then sits up enough to slide his own pants off. I look down between his legs and see all of him for the first time. I saw him nearly naked in the first arena, but never like this. It’s not like I’ve never seen a man’s penis before–my mother is a healer for God’s sake–but I’ve never seen one aroused. There’s so much more of him than I’d been anticipating, and for a second the nerves sink in about what we’re about to do.
Before I can get too caught up in my own head, he closes his mouth back around mine, tangling his hands in my hair and positioning himself at my opening.
“You sure about this?” he repeats again.
“I’m sure, I promise.” I nod, kissing him deeply again.
With my words, he slowly starts sliding into me. A gasp comes up through my chest, but gets caught in my throat. I feel myself stretching against him, and it doesn’t exactly feel good. My face twists with pain, and he notices and stop himself.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asks.
Even though it does hurt, there’s also something satisfying about the feeling. Something that tells me if I let him continue, I won’t regret it. “It hurts a little, but it’s fine,” I answer. He stays paused, looking at me with so much concern I almost laugh. “It’s fine, Peeta. Keep going.”
He looks weary about it, but he resumes his slow movements. It takes several minutes and I have to take a couple of breaks, but before long, he’s buried all the way inside me. Even though it hurt with him going in, it feels satisfying now that he’s inside me fully. It’s like he’s filling an emptiness I didn’t even know I had.
Carefully, he starts to rock his hips against mine. The previous calm, nice feeling gets instantly replaced by one of intense pleasure and desire. It’s like he’s hitting some secret spot inside of me and it feels so damn good. Better than I ever thought this would feel. It’s a different kind of pleasure than it was when he was touching my sensitive nerves, but it’s groundbreaking nonetheless. Compounding the intensity of the sensation is the feeling of knowing he’s closer to me right now than anyone has been before. He’s literally as close as someone could be, and that thought is intoxicating.
He starts to rock faster, and I wrap my legs around him and lift my hips so he can get even deeper. He groans in my ear, picking up speed and intensity.
“Oh, fuck, Katniss,” he says through his moans, “I love you so much.”
I know I should tell him now. I want to tell him now. But the words just keep getting caught in my throat. Instead, I let my body talk for me. I push my hips against him powerfully, every thrust saying the same thing over and over again.
I love you.
Before I can wrap my head around it, that pressure I felt before is growing again. It’s different than the last time, but no less powerful. Soon, I’m shattering again, clenching my walls around Peeta, who moans loudly in response, his body becoming rigid, and I know he’s about to finish too. With one more powerful thrust, he empties himself inside me, collapsing down onto my chest.
We stay like that for a while, a sweaty mix of body parts, before the pressure starts to get uncomfortable. I tap him lightly, and he rolls off onto his back. I know that technically, I should probably get up and clean myself up. I can feel the sticky wetness between my legs and no doubt all over the sheets, but I can’t convince myself to get up. I’m so comfortable, and the heat of Peeta’s body next to me is calling me to sleep. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.
I roll onto my side, burrowing myself against Peeta, who responds by scooping me under his arm so my head rests on his chest. I can hear his heart beating steadily. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Suddenly, there are tears in my eyes again. His heart is still beating. He’s still here. Against all the odds, he’s survived certain death again and again. Two arenas worth of tributes and monsters out to kill him. Months of torture so severe the scars will marr his body forever. Despite it all, his heart beats on. He’s been so brave, never letting it break him. And if he can be brave, I can too.
“I love you,” I whisper into the darkness.
He doesn’t respond for a moment, and I’m worried he might have fallen asleep and didn’t even hear it. But then he wraps his arms tighter around me, leaning down to kiss me on the crown of my head.
“I was really, really hoping you did,” he says with a deep sigh, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
“I love you,” I repeat again.
“I love you, too,” he answers.
As we lay there drifting off into sleep, I can’t help but think how lucky the two of us are, that after everything, we’ve made it to this point together. If we can survive, and learn to love in the face of all of this hardship, really anything is possible. We could win this war. We could make this world a better, safer place. This could all be worth it. With him by my side, we could do anything.