tis I with a prompt: I request the first time post war Katniss lets Peeta into her bed again š„ŗ
AN : wrote this the night you sent the prompt but I absolutely hated it until now. I finally got around to cleaning this up a bit and now I think itās cute? Lemme know, all of yāall, if you like it! And my writing muscles are rusty so send me a prompt if you like, to try and work me out please! Canāt make any promises about whatāll trigger my brain but I can sure try! Anywaysss hope yāall enjoy this lil post-mockingjay-pre-epilogue drabble here!
I watch with dread as Peeta scrubs away the last bit of sauce still dried to his plate.
āYou really donāt have to do that,ā I murmur halfheartedly from where I lean against the counter, watching him.
āItās rude to not wash your own plate after dinner,ā he says, his tone somewhat coy. Heās teasing me, I realize. Heās maybe even flirting with me but I canāt be sure and even if I could, I wouldnāt know what to make of it.
āI never wash mine after eating at your house,ā I mumble, mostly to myself. I know he doesnāt care about cleaning off my plate for me. I know that he knows that I donāt mind washing his plate either.
But I donāt push the point and neither does he. Because weāre both stalling the inevitable.
Itās past ten at night and itās time for Peeta to go home now. This time comes every day and we should be more prepared for it by this point, but every single night when the sun has long since left the sky and you can barely make out five feet in front of you without a flashlight, Peeta walks out the front door and my chest aches, as he disappears out into the night.
Ask him to stay, a tiny voice that sounds weirdly like both Haymitch and my mother ā at the same exact time ā pressures me.
But my tongue wonāt cooperate and I canāt make the words form on my lips and I feel my stomach flip as I stutter out an awkward goodbye instead.
āGoodnight, Katniss,ā Peeta says evenly, his face smooth and peaceful and totally level as he reaches out and squeezes my hand before moving to grab his coat.
Heās walking towards the door and I feel the familiar dread ā the dread thatās been my constant companion for longer than I care to remember ā rise up in my stomach and for a split second I want to reach out and grasp his elbow. For a split second I want to grab onto him and stop him from leaving.
And for a moment I plan to ask him to stay, to come upstairs with me, to get into his pajamas and brush his teeth by my side at the sink, to crawl beneath the sheets and hold me until we hear birds begin to chirp with the morning light. In that moment I plan to ask him to do exactly what we used to do on the train, exactly what we used to do every single night, back before everything between us completely shattered beyond recognition.
My hand drops midair before I can make the contact with his arm but it catches his attention just the same.
āWhatās wrong?ā He inquires, his face becoming concerned.
āNothing,ā I brush off tightly. Instead of saying what Iām thinking, instead of saying what I want, I just force a smile and lightly graze his hand. āGet home safe.ā
At that, he shoots me a bemused look. āI live three houses from you. Somehow I think Iāll be fine.ā
I nod and chuckle as he leaves, as he disappears into the night, making the shortest of journeys home, unwittingly leaving me to dwell in regret for all the things I wish Iād just come out and said.
As soon as the door shuts between us regret the size of an elephant lands on my chest.
And I know, without a doubt, this is going to be one bad night for me.
The funny thing about my nightmares is they never lose their edge. Not with time, not with practice, not with comparison. Iāve seen Cato get eaten by the mutts hundreds of times. Iāve watched Clove stab me with her knives and Brutus chase me through the jungle and Enobaria break my neck with one hand, more than I could possibly count.
Iāve witnessed my sister detonate, as if Iām still standing right there, in the city circle of the Capitol. Iāve witnessed it thousands of times since that day. Iāve witnessed it more often than Iāve managed to actually sleep since that day.
And it never gets easier. It never becomes routine. Iām never ever prepared for it.
Instead Iām left paralyzed as the same dreams plague me over and over and over again.
Other things do change though. I used to thrash around, kicking and screaming as the dreams tortured me for minutes on end. I used to wake up, sweat covered and coiled up in my bedding, trapped in a physical sense that only manages to make my dreams even more intense somehow.
But over time something shifted and somehow, between the bomb that killed my sister and taking down Coin and the trial I scarcely remember, the thrashing stopped and the walking began.
For months now, Iāve woken to find myself in strange rooms, in small crawl spaces I didnāt know existed, inside cupboards and beneath beds no oneās ever used in guest rooms I barely recognize.
But Iāve never found myself outside before. Never, in all the time Iāve dealt with these dreams, have I ever once ended up in my front lawn.
Never, in my wildest imagination, did I picture myself waking from my nightmare, facedown in some dirt, ripping grass from the ground as I let out a rabid scream.
āKatniss,ā I hear a voice softly murmur, like speaking to an injured fawn, terrified of scaring them away. āKatniss, itās okay.ā
And my lips cry for the voice before my brain fully recognizes it. āPeeta?ā
āItās just me,ā he says, and I feel his hands grasp the tops of my arms, gently pulling me upright. āItās only me.ā
I pry my swollen eyes open and take in Peetaās kind, worried face, mere inches away from mine.
āYouāre here?ā I croak, still groggy and confused. āWhatās going on?ā
āYou were having a nightmare,ā he explains, thumbing away my tears as more come pouring out. āBut itās over now. It was just a dream. Youāre okay.ā His hand cups my cheek softly, holding the weight of my head.
I nod plaintively, my body still completely exhausted despite the fact I was just asleep. āIām okay,ā I try to say but all that comes out is a guttural raspy sound and I watch as his face softens even more.
āCome on. Letās get you inside,ā he whispers, offering me his hand.
I take it without question, but find that Iām not upright for long. The moment Iām standing, my bare feet touching the dewy grass, Peeta bends down and scoops me up in his arms.
I donāt question it though. Maybe secretly I wanted him to do that. I definitely didnāt want to wait around to see if Haymitch came outside, asking why I was screaming at this hour of the day.
Peeta carries me into the house as if I weigh as much as Buttercup, kicking the door shut behind him and walking over to the couch. He sits down with me on his lap and drops his arms, as if to let me decide the next move. I could either crawl away from him, put some distance between us, or I could remain where I am.
To me, the choice barely takes any consideration.
I curl up closer to him, the images from the dream still too fresh to handle alone. I press my face into his neck and fold myself into him and hope he reciprocates in kind.
It doesnāt take more than a second for him to respond. As soon as I initiate it, heās there, pulling me tighter, cradling me against him, rocking me back and forth like Iām something precious to behold.
āItās okay,ā he repeats again and again and again, as if we entered a time warp and weāre back on the train, back in the Capitol in our little apartment, sharing a bed, guarding against nightmares we stupidly thought would be the height of our troubles. āI have you, Katniss. I wonāt let anything hurt you now.ā
I cry into the collar of his shirt, drained and shaking and still half-crazed, feeling slightly better only when his fingers begins to smooth my hair away from my face.
āIām right here, sweetheart,ā Peeta whispers gently, his hand moving from my hair to my lower back, rubbing soft, soothing circles there to alleviate my trembling.
Time begins to pass. My tears dwindle to nothing. I feel the shaking come to an end. Every last ounce of energy I have left seeps from my body. My eyes grow heavy.
And pretty soon, I feel myself lifted once again, into strong, protective arms, cradling me like a baby as they carry me up the stairs and down to the end of the hall.
Iām tucked into bed gently, with the utmost care. The covers are brought up to my chin, my hair is brushed off my forehead and his fingers lightly dance upon my cheek. But itās not enough. I still crave more.
āDonāt leave me,ā I whisper, and my voice still isnāt mine, itās someone else, someone who isnāt afraid to ask for what she wants. For who she wants to lay beside her in the darkness.
āOkay,ā he murmurs and it sounds like a promise but as he sits down on the side of my bed and takes my hand in his, planting a soft kiss upon the back of it, I know he doesnāt understand what Iām truly asking.
āNo, Peeta, thatās not what I meant,ā I say, shaking my head, before pushing the covers back. āCan you get in? Can you stay with me?ā
I donāt really grasp my word choice and all the underlying meanings until itās already slipped out and too late to take back again.
But I only have a moment to be filled with regret. Because thatās how long it takes Peeta to slide in beside me.
And as I curl into him, wrapping my leg around his waist, burrowing my face in the curve of his neck, basking in the feeling of utter safety and happiness that I have never, ever found in another pair of arms, he whispers the only thing that could erase my chagrin.
ellievsbear
areudirty
annaxmalina
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
