The Nightmares Hidden in Dreams - A Hunger Games Fan Fiction

Stranger

I wince as light suddenly floods the room from beyond my closed eyes. In an instant, the world goes from the peaceful black to fiery red.

Slowly, I open my eyes to see Peeta opening the curtains, letting the sun's rays stream in. I groan loudly and put an arm over my face. But Peeta seems to have a death wish today and he pulls the covers off of me.

"What do you want?" I grumble, squinting at him, still unable to fully open my eyes. "Aren't you the one who's always complaining that I don't sleep enough?"

He shrugs, giving me this goofy grin I would love to slap off of his face. "I think you've been getting plenty of sleep lately."

It's true; telling Peeta about my nightmare and all of the fears I've held on my shoulders turned out to be an unexpected blessing. The night terrors have mostly stayed away in the weeks since, allowing me to sleep with a quiet mind, tranquil.

"Doesn't mean I shouldn't sleep more," I mumble, burying my face in the pillow. But Peeta is having none of it. He grabs my feet and pulls me towards the edge of the bed. Recognizing that this is one battle I won't win, I sigh and sit up with effort, rubbing at my weary eyes. "So what are you sending me out to do this time?" I ask him, because it's not the first time he's sent me out to do errands. They're all things he could easily do himself, but apparently it's more convenient to have me do them instead.

He hands me a list, and I read it over. "Are these ingredients for cheese buns?"

Peeta nods. "I can't make them if you don't go out."

"Can I eat breakfast first?" I retort.

"Or lunch." I glance at the clock and find that it's almost noon. No wonder Peeta woke me.

Flushed, I get to my feet and glare at Peeta. Though it doesn't hold my usual fire. "Fine, I'll wait to eat until I get back. But you better pay me back for all of these errands."

He turns from me and pulls off his shirt, grabbing a clean one from his dresser. "Of course. Does tonight work for you?"

I scoff, but my face is hot and I can't turn from the sight of the muscles rippling in Peeta's back. He looks over his shoulder with a smile, and I narrow my eyes. He knows full well what he's doing.

Joining him, I rummage through Peeta's drawer, settling on a light orange shirt, his favorite color. It's soft to the touch, well-worn. And it's large enough that I'm practically swimming in it.

My mother has sent me some "more suitable" clothing, in her words. But I don't particularly like them. It seems that the purpose of those clothes are to draw attention to my now quite noticeable bump. But I'd rather keep it hidden, at least for a while longer. And Peeta's shirts mostly conceal it.

Also, the maternity clothes don't smell like him.

I take a deep breath, inhaling his scent, cinnamon, dill. It feels like a warm hug, wearing his clothes.

Peeta turns to look at me with mirth, not at all surprised to see me in his shirt. "I'm going to buy a bunch of large shirts so you can stop stealing mine," he jokes.

I grin, "I wouldn't wear them."

"Why not?"

I step closer to him. "Because they don't smell like you."

Peeta's gaze, tender before, becomes heated, fiery. Blue eyes smoldering like the hottest of flames.

I put my hands on Peeta's shoulders and get on my tiptoes, pausing a breath from his lips. He glances at my lips and back at my eyes, imploring me.