Melting | an Everlark smut

Part 1

Weeks later

"My mother thinks you should come to our house during the storm." I am standing at Peeta's door, hands shoved into the pockets of my jacket, which I had to throw over one of the stupid outfits Cinna sent. I shiver as the thin fabric of the skirt I'm wearing whips against my legs. My favorite pants are still stained with Gale's blood.

"I'll be fine."

This cold, distant version of Peeta is unbearable. I know what it's like to miss someone who is standing right in front of you, but seeing him like this is still a punch to the gut.

"Gale's gone home," I blurt out.

The Hawthornes came early this morning. My mother protested but couldn't deny that Gale was now technically stable enough to be moved. "I can't be trapped in that house while he's here," Hazelle said firmly. "And I can't leave the rest." Offers for all of them to stay with us were immediately rebuffed. "We're in enough trouble," Rory said grimly.

They carried him home, followed closely by Prim, who held Posy's hand and talked about snowflakes. She had the doses of morphling tucked deep inside her bag, ready to teach Hazelle how to use them if needed.

Peeta blinks but doesn't acknowledge this. "I'll be fine, really. It's just a little snow."

"It's more than a little snow!" I snap, losing my patience. "Please! You have to come with me!"

We stare at each other as the wind howls, and I cross my arms against the chill. The snow has started and the blizzard will be here soon.

"Fine. I'll get some of my things together and come by later," Peeta says, his expression still withdrawn and sullen.

I resist the urge to shake him until his face is back to normal. "Good. I'm going to go get Haymitch."

Peeta barks a genuine laugh. "Good luck with that."

Haymitch, of course, refuses point blank. "I'm right next door, sweetheart, seems pretty pointless to me."

I grind my teeth impatiently. "The point," I hiss, "is that I will know that you aren't passed out or dead on your disgusting floor. You'll kill us all if the booze in this place ignites because you're too wasted to tend the fire."

"Better dead than in the cuckoo's nest," he replies breezily, swigging from the bottle in his hand.

I throw my hands up and stomp back to my house.