Fluid Heart, Firey Soul (Peeta Mellark x Reader)

Chapter 44 - Tick Tock

Peeta gently carries the morphling girl into the water and sets her adrift before returning to sit beside me. She floats towards the Cornucopia for a while before the hovercraft appears, its four-pronged claw descending to retrieve her body.

I enter the water, scrubbing away every trace of blood— both mine and the morphling's. The cool liquid soothes my tired muscles and washes away the physical reminders of the arena. Yet even as I try to erase it all, I can still feel the scabs on my skin where the fog had burned me. They no longer hurt, but they itch incessantly. I know it has to be a good sign— a sign that they're healing. I splash water over my face, hoping to ease the discomfort.

Once I'm all washed up, I notice both Finnick and Peeta scratching at their damaged faces. "Don't itch it," I say, fighting the urge to scratch myself. "It could reopen and get infected."

Together, we make our way back to the tree where Peeta had been tapping earlier for water. Finnick and I stand guard with our weapons while he works the device into the tree, but no threat appears. Water begins to rush out, quenching our thirst and providing some relief for our itching bodies.

The night wears on, a faint glow on the horizon, signaling the impending dawn. I suggest that Finnick and Peeta get some rest while I keep watch for a while. But Finnick is visibly distraught, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. Mags. He shakes his head.

"No, (Y/N), I'd rather," Finnick says, his voice slightly strained. He was close to Mags, closer than I ever was. The least I can do is give him some time alone to mourn.

"Okay, Finnick. Thanks," I say quietly, lying down on the sandy ground beside Peeta. He falls asleep immediately and soon enough, so do I.

When I wake up, it's midmorning and the sun is already high in the sky. Peeta is still sleeping soundly next to me. Above us, a makeshift shelter made of branches and grass shields us from the harsh sunlight. Finnick has been busy while we've been asleep. There are two bowls woven from leaves filled with fresh water, and a third one holding an assortment of shellfish. Finnick sits on the sand nearby, using a stone to crack open the shells. His face is red and blotchy, his eyes puffy and swollen, but I pretend I don't notice as I reach for a piece of the shellfish.

I feel my arm reach for my face to itch it, but stop when I hear Finnick say, "You know, if you scratch, you'll bring on infection."

"So I've heard," I say. A sudden gust of wind tugs at my hair and I look up to see a parachute descending towards me. I reach up quickly to catch it and it lands in my open hand with a soft thud. I unscrew the lid and reveal the thick, dark ointment inside. The pungent scent stings my nostrils as I squeeze a glob onto my palm before massaging it into my irritated skin. The relief is immediate, but the aftermath is not so pleasant— it leaves behind a greyish-green stain on my scabby skin. Finnick eyes me skeptically before following suit and treating his own skin. With the combination of our scabs and the ointment, we both look like we're decomposing.

"Poor Finnick," I tease. "Is this the first time you haven't looked pretty?"

He shoots me a glare before responding, "It must be. The sensation is completely new. How have you managed it all these years?"

"Try not to look in any mirrors," I say. "You eventually forget about it."

"Not if I keep looking at you," he says with a grin.

"Shut up," I laugh. "I'm going to wake Peeta."

"No, wait," Finnick says mischievously. "Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his."

I can't help but agree. There are so few opportunities for fun in our current situation. We position ourselves on either side of Peeta's sleeping form and lean in until our faces are inches away from his. Then, with one synchronized shake, we simultaneously say his name. Peeta's eyes flutter open and he jolts as if we've stabbed him.