for @katnissdoesnotfollowback who really sold me on nosy immortal neighbor Johanna
Johanna knows that, at least in this century, showing up unannounced to someone’s home is inconvenient at best. But she’s known Peeta Mellark for a hundred some-odd years. She was one of the first friendly faces he encountered after his transformation. She remembers how unnaturally bright his blue eyes were (though not so unnatural to her, with her own amber eyes glowing like those of a cat), peering across the snowy street at her all those winters ago.
It took some warming up to each other, but now they’re friends, and he's one of the best, kindest people she knows. Not that she’ll ever tell him that. And not that she’s not going to take advantage of his compassion and let herself in the side door of his house. If he needs a sob story, she’ll make one up, but the truth is she’s just bored and wants someone to talk to. Maybe go for a walk. Or a hunt. She’s not picky.
The first thing she notices when she steps into his house is how warm it is. True, Peeta is a man of creature comforts. He keeps the fire going in the winter, not because he needs the warmth, but because it feels nice. Feels normal. This evening, something is different. The house doesn’t just feel comfortable; it feels . . . lived in? The smell of food (not blood, but human food: the scents of bread and broth) linger in the air. She follows the heat of the fire down the hallway into the drawing room and her confusion only becomes more pronounced when she sees what awaits her there.
Peeta's told her before that when he hunts he goes after criminals, the worst of the worst. Molesters and murderers. He says they taste awful, but not as awful as the guilt of taking innocent life. He always dispatches them where he finds them, never lures them into a false sense of security only to snatch it away. He’s a softie like that, but Johanna likes him for it.
So she can’t imagine what could have brought about this turn of events. The slight young woman lying on the chaise doesn’t look like a criminal. And even if she was, Peeta certainly never treats his victims like he’s treating this one. He’s stretched out on top of her, hips bracketed by her thighs. The fingers of one hand are twined in her long, black braid, making her head arch back, baring her neck to his mouth. That part, at least, could be normal. Johanna’s trapped many a victim into a meal this very way. But nothing else is right. The woman’s left arm droops toward the floor, but her right is tracing and retracing a line up and down Peeta’s spine. Johanna’s victims fight back once they realize what she’s doing, no matter how she entranced them into it, but this girl is either stupid or genuinely unafraid. She seems languid, sleepy — content, of all things!
Peeta lifts his head from the girl’s throat. “Are you alright?” Johanna hears him say gently. His hand in her hair smoothes along her forehead, her ear.
The girl gives a sigh of assent and leans up to brush her nose against his. “I’m just fine.”
“You’re quite sure?”
“How could I be anything but?” she whispers.
Peeta hums happily and nudges the girl’s chin with two fingers so her head is angled to the other side. She’s facing Johanna now, but her eyes are fluttered shut as Peeta paints a stretch of kisses and nips down her neck. The girl gives a quiet moan, though clearly not of pain, and Johanna’s jaw almost hits the floor.
She steps forward into the room. “I don’t mean to interrupt this charming scene,” she says loudly. The girl gives a yelp and scrambles into a sitting position so fast she dislodges the vampire and sends him tumbling in an undignified heap to the carpet. Johanna fights back a laugh at this, but her inquisition wins out over her amusement, “But would either of you care to explain what the hell is going on here?”
