Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 28 - The Tour Begins

I submerge myself in the warm water, allowing it to muffle the noise of the outside world. But even underwater, I can still hear the sounds of chaos and excitement. Horns blaring, voices shouting greetings, doors slamming shut. It can only mean that my entourage has arrived. I quickly lift myself out of the tub and wrap a towel around my body just as my prep team bursts into the bathroom. Their sudden intrusion feels like a violation of privacy, but I know that when it comes to my appearance, there are no secrets between us.

"Look at your eyebrows! exclaims a thin girl with sharp, aqua hair. "Oh, forgive me for not introducing myself. I'm Venia."

"Charmed," I mutter half-heartedly as I shake her limp hand. A plump woman with green-stained skin pats Venia's back reassuringly to calm her down from seeing my overgrown eyebrows.

"Don't worry, we can fix those in no time. But what am I going to do about those nails?" she asks in distress. Grabbing my hand, she pins it flat between her two pea-green ones. "You could've left me something to work with! I'm Octavia, by the way."

I've been biting my nails down to stubs for months now. It's become a nervous habit that I can't seem to break, especially since returning from the Games. I consider trying to stop, but then again, why bother? It's not like it matters in the grand scheme of things. But I hadn't really worried about how it might've affected my prep team.

Lowering myself onto the plush, oversized chair in my bedroom, the prep team descends upon me like a pack of chattering birds. Their chatter fills the room, their voices rising and falling in excited tones as they work at me. Venia shapes my eyebrows, creating perfectly symmetrical lines while Octavia applies fake nails over my natural ones. A young man named Flavius massages some sort of sweet-smelling goo into my hair as they all babble on about the Capitol. I can't help but think this is just how all Capitol folk are— always talking without bothering to listen.

As they continue their idle chatter, praising my success in the previous Games and eagerly anticipating Peeta and me visiting for the tour, I feel a sense of detachment. It's like I'm watching everything unfold from a distance, like I'm not really here in this moment.

"Isn't it exhilarating?"

"Don't you feel so lucky?"

"It's your first year of being a victor and you get to be a mentor in the Quarter Quell!"

"Oh, yeah," I reply blandly. Any other year, being a mentor would be a nightmare— having to watch another innocent go through what Peeta and I did. But this isn't any other year; it's a Quarter Quell. These Games occur every twenty-five years in honor of the districts' defeat by the Capitol. They are marked by extravagant celebrations and an added twist for the tributes. I haven't been alive long enough to witness one myself, but I've heard stories from my teachers. During the second Quarter Quell, the Capitol demanded that twice the number of tributes be sent in to fight in the arena. The details are hazy after that, but I do know that District 12's own Haymitch Abernathy emerged as the victor.

"Haymitch better be preparing himself for a lot of attention!" Octavia squeals.

Haymitch's personal experience in the arena is like a heavy, unspoken presence between us. I can feel it lingering in the air, unsaid but impossible to ignore it. In interviews and private conversations, he never brings it up. As for me, I would never be so bold as to ask him about it directly. If I watched his Games as a kid, I surely don't remember it. But with this being the third Quarter Quell, the Capitol won't let him forget.

As soon as their conversation turns away from the upcoming Games, my prep team launches into banter about their silly lives. They speak of people and events that mean nothing to me, yet they seem to find endless entertainment in it all. With each passing second, my patience wears thinner and thinner. But eventually, they turn their attention back to me and continue their preparations. By the end of it all, my brows are stinging, my hair is silky smooth, and my nails are painted with light hues of pink. Only my hands and face are deemed worthy of attention since everything else will be covered up by the cold weather.