The Nightmares Hidden in Dreams - A Hunger Games Fan Fiction

New

The feeling I have as I wake up again is one of pure bliss. It's an unfamiliar feeling, though not an unwelcome one. I know that this feeling is linked to Peeta, my boy with the bread.

I stretch, reaching for Peeta only to find that the other side of the bed is empty and cold. I sit up slightly, looking around. My dress is crumpled up in a corner of the room, Peeta's pants and shirt on top of the pile. I'm reminded of last night, and warmth creeps into my face.

The smell of fresh bread begins to pervade the space, and I smile to myself, so content that not a single one of my nightmares can begin to overtake my brain.

Lifting myself out of bed, I go to Peeta's drawer and grab one of his shirts, letting it fall just above my knees.

I creep down the stairs, following the scent of baked goods to the kitchen. Peeta is turned away from me. He clearly hasn't heard me, as he is still distracted by the dough he's kneading. I watch the muscles of his back and arms flex through his shirt, which fits snugly around his shoulders. Slowly, I approach him and wrap my arms around him, smiling when he tenses, then relaxes upon realizing it's me. He turns around so he's facing me and plants a kiss on top of my hair. His forearms are coated in flour, flour that gets all over me, but I don't mind.

"Good morning," I whisper, taking in his soft smile that makes me feel as though my insides are melting.

"How'd you sleep?" he asks, moving his hands up to my hair. He begins to gently brush out the tangles.

"No nightmares." Peeta begins to playfully tug at my hair and I slap his arm. "Stop that. You're going to get flour in my hair." But I'm smiling, and he can see that I don't mind it. In fact, I'm embarrassed by how much I like the feeling of his hands in my hair.

He grins, patting the top of my head. He must have left his handprint on my scalp. "It's just flour," he teases.

I pull away. "Well, if it's just flour..." I quickly maneuver away from him. I reach my hand into the open bag of flour and toss a handful at him. For a moment I see nothing but the cloud of white powder. But as it settles, all I can see is Peeta's mischievous grin as he comes towards me.

"You're going to regret that." I begin to run, but he grabs me by the waist and begins to sprinkle flour over my head. I squeal, trying to get away, but his hold on me is too strong to escape.

Desperately, I reach out and grab another fistful of flour and smear it into Peeta's face and hair. He laughs, loud and unrestrained, and I feel a sense of pride that I'm the one who caused that joyful noise.

We continue to toss the flour at each other, and I laugh until my cheeks hurt and my stomach aches. We only stop when the oven begins to beep, and Peeta pulls back to check on the cheese buns. He quickly slides the tray onto the counter, and it's only then that I begin to take in the mess around us.

The bag of flour is mostly empty, its contents strewn across the floor like snow. Peeta's hair is entirely white, his face ghostlike. The only color on him is his blue eyes and the pink of his mouth as he looks at me with an open smile.

"Look at the mess you made," I beckon towards the floor.

He shakes his head, little clouds of flour falling out of his hair. "I think I may have gotten some flour in your hair," he whispers, reaching up to run his fingers through it. He cradles my face, staring at me with a look less of mirth and more of want.

I swallow slowly, my gaze flitting between Peeta's eyes and his lips. "Maybe we should get it out," I murmur, beginning to run my hand up and down Peeta's arm. My touch leaves a trail of goosebumps on his skin.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" he responds, a smile tugging at those pink lips.

I don't respond. Instead, I grip his hand and pull him back upstairs, ignoring the white prints my bare feet leave behind. I guide Peeta to the bathroom, and he shuts the door quietly behind him, as if he may wake up the silent world if he is careless. The shower knobs are cold under my palms as I turn them on. The hot water falls to the tiles, steam wafting through the air, trying to escape only to encounter the ceiling.

Where last night we were rough, rushed, impassioned, now Peeta begins to kiss me tenderly, as though he is admiring me, worshiping me. His hands find my hair again and he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into my mouth.

I run my hands down his back, relishing the feel of the muscles in his shoulders tensing. Slowly, I move to the hem of his flour-covered shirt and tug it over his head. My wandering hands move over his chest, feeling him slowly. I have all the time in the world to explore this boy, learn his body like my own.

Peeta makes quick work of undressing me, as I was never wearing anything but his shirt anyway. Then he steps out of his pants and pulls me flush against him as he steps beneath the searing water.

My burning back makes contact with the cool tile as Peeta presses me into the wall. We are just skin, nothing between us, but still I want him nearer. My nails dig into his back, trying to bring him closer, closer.

The steam wraps around us and I come undone.

➳➳➳

We pull apart, both slightly breathless from the exertion. Peeta reaches for one of the soaps and pumps some into his hand.

"What are you doing?" I ask, as he brings his hands to my hair.

"Washing the flour out," he responds, massaging the shampoo into my hair. I close my eyes in bliss.

"Was this your plan all along? Getting me filthy just to get me in the shower with you?" I ask playfully, pushing his shoulder.

"Maybe," he responds with a grin, wiping away the soapy suds that begin to trail down my cheek. Peeta moves me directly under the water. I shift the knob to make it hotter as Peeta scrubs the soap out of my hair. "Why do you like the water so hot?" he hisses.

I shrug, "It feels nice, I guess." I shake out my hair slightly, now that it's clean and back to its usual dark color. "Let me do yours now."

Peeta is too tall for me to comfortably reach him, so he gets down on one knee while I work the soap through his hair. The color change is not so drastic, but I'm relieved to see his blond curls again.

Once we are both clean, we quickly dry off, put on new clothes, and return downstairs where the fresh pastries are still waiting.

I grab a cheese bun and stuff it in my mouth, my eyes fluttering closed at the taste. Peeta chuckles, taking a normal sized bite out of his own.

We don't talk while we eat, but we also don't take our eyes off of each other.

Marriage is different from what I expected. Everything is different, but it is also exactly the same. The title feels like more of a formality than anything else. We may as well have been married in everything but name. Yet, knowing that I am inextricably linked to this boy makes it different, more significant. Like before, we existed on a surface level, in some way separate. But now we are one.

I don't have to be alone anymore.

Later that night, when Peeta is holding me in bed, lips pressed to my shoulder, arms locked around me even asleep, I feel brand new. Like I'm something precious, the most important to someone.

And he is what is most valuable to me.