Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 23 - Final Three

"He can't be dead," I whisper, my voice shaking with disbelief and sadness.

"They must've fired the cannon during the thunder and we missed it," Peeta responds.

"Are you sure? It's really coming down out there. How can you be sure?" I ask, standing up and walking to the rocky barricade. I squint out into the dark, rainy sky. Through the blurry haze, I catch a glimpse of Thresh's picture in the sky before it disappears. How could I have missed the cannon? I should be happy, right? But I can't bring myself to feel relieved. On one hand, his death means one less opponent and a powerful one at that. But on the other hand, all I can think of is how he spared me because of Rue. Poor, small Rue who died with a spear in her stomach. I slump back against the rocks, thankful yet guilty, relieved yet saddened. I don't know how to feel.

Peeta asks if I'm alright. I give a shrug and wrap my arms around myself, holding onto my elbows tightly. I'm upset, but I have to bury the real pain inside because who's going to bet on a tribute who keeps crying over the deaths of her opponents? It was one thing with Rue— she was a child, she was my ally, my friend. But the others? Nobody will understand my grief for Thresh's murder. Not when he almost killed me. "If we didn't win, I wanted Thresh to. Because he let me go. Because of Rue. Because of District 11," I tell him, my voice slightly wavering still.

"I know," Peeta says, his voice is soothing and gentle. "but we're one step closer to going home." He nudges a plate of stew into my hands. "Eat. it's still warm."

I force myself to take a small bite, trying to push away the thought of another fallen tribute. But the stew takes a lot of effort to swallow and feels heavy in my stomach. "It also means Cato will be back hunting us," I say bleakly.

"And he's got supplies," Peeta adds.

"I'll bet he's wounded," I reply, "Thresh wouldn't have gone down without a fight. He was strong and Cato was in his territory."

"Good," Peeta replies, "the more wounded Cato is, the better our chances are. I wonder how Finch is making out."

"She's fine," I say, my voice still filled with anger at the thought of her hiding in the Cornucopia when I didn't. "It'd probably be easier to catch Cato than her."

"Maybe they'll catch each other and we can go home," Peeta suggests hopefully, "but we better be careful about watches. I dozed off a few times."

"Me too," I confess, "but not tonight."

We finish our meal in silence before Peeta offers to take the first watch, and I gratefully accept. As he settles into position, I snuggle into the sleeping bag next to him, pulling my hood over my face to hide it from the cameras. For a few moments, I allow myself to let my emotions show— the fear, the grief, and the determination to survive. In my heart, I say goodbye to Thresh and silently thank him for sparing my life. If I'm able to win the Games, I promise to always remember him. And if I can, do something to help his family and Rue's. If I win. With a full belly and the warmth of Peeta beside me, I fall asleep.

The smell of tangy cheese fills my nose, pulling me out of sleep. I open my eyes to see Peeta holding out half a roll, topped with goat cheese and thin slices of apple. "Don't be mad," he says sheepishly, "but I got hungry again. Here's your half."

I eagerly take a huge bite of the food, my stomach grumbling in anticipation. The sweet juices from the apples burst in my mouth, perfectly complimenting the subtle tanginess of the goat cheese.

"This is delicious," I tell him between bites.

"We make a goat cheese and apple tart at our bakery," he tells me.

"I can only imagine how good that must be," I reply, "probably costs a fortune, though."

"Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it's gone stale. Though, practically everything we eat is stale," he mutters, pulling the sleeping bag up around him before drifting off to sleep. I feel a pang of guilt; his family owns a bakery, yet they can't even afford fresh food. Sure, he's always fed, but something is upsetting about living your life on stale bread. In comparison, Wren and I are lucky. Each night, we usually share fish caught by me and freshly baked bread made by him. Our meals aren't as luxurious as the Capitol's, but at least they're fresh.