When The Canary Sings

Trouble In The Air (You Can Smell It.)

First Person Point of View: Becca Blue: 

* 

There's trouble in the air, you can smell it.

I push myself up in bed, Will's arm lazily draped across my waist as he lays face first into one of my pillows. It's freezing in here, I think to myself. I wiggle myself out of his loose grip, trying not to wake him and make my way to the window.

"Where y'goin'?" Will mumbles into the pillow. I snicker to myself at his clinginess, he's always like this in the mornings. Ever since I got back, he hasn't left my side, but what else is new? We haven't kissed or anything, despite what happened the day I left. I think that was just a moment. I've gotten it out of my head by now.

"Nowhere," I say softly, "just closing the window your lazy ass left open." I smirk, slamming the window shut. He groans and reaches out a hand in my direction. The smirk is wiped off my face and is replaced by a warm, dopey smile. I take his hand to crawl back into my bed, thick sheets covering our two bodies, even though his body is enough to keep me warm forever.

His arms encircle my waist and pull me close to him, I dig my face into its normal spot, the crook of his neck. He sighs lightly and one of his hands finds their way to my hair. He twirls my light curls around his index finger while I trace patterns onto his back

"Ion like when they straighten your hair," he mumbles, his words slurring with sleep. I chuckle.

"Sounds like we'll have to go out in the snow and make it curly again." I smile, my lips against his neck. Mornings like this are my favorite, although there's a strange feeling of dread in my stomach. I push it away.

"Huh?" He mumbles. "Let's make pancakes. I like pancakes."

"I like them too," I laugh, pulling away from his neck to look at his sleep filled face.

"I like you." He says, grabbing my head and pulling it back to his shoulder. I let out a small laugh and get up again.

"Aight, William Green Jones, up and at 'em." I laugh, my eyes glancing at the clock and my mouth dropping. "It's already noon!" I say, hopping out of bed and pulling him with me. Once he's on his feet, he seems better, more awake.

"Nice shirt." He smirks, looking down at his shirt over my torso. I scoff and hit him on the chest. "What?! It was a compliment!" He laughs as I walk down the stairs.

After breakfast–lunch, Will and I get dressed in our clothes from yesterday and wander outside to play in the snow. We spent most of the afternoon building a big snow wall right outside my house, making it like a fortress. After that, we end up hurling snowballs at each other and dropping icicles down each other's shirts.

Then, we do what we did a few weeks ago and tackle each other into the snow, rolling around and soaking ourselves to the bone.

I watch as Will lays on the snowy ground, all sprawled out with his face in the clean fluffy snow. The coal dust hasn't settled yet. "There's trouble in the air." I say, walking up next to him. I bend down and kneel beside him. "You can smell it."

"Jeez, Cherry, I'll get a shower if you really want me too." He laughs, but I just shove more snow down his shirt and make a break for it. I run all the way up and down the street of Victor's Village, laughing and panting for breath. I run to Haymitch's doorstep and bang on his foot, hysterically laughing as Will hurls snowballs at me, missing almost all his shots.

When he doesn't answer, I open the door. He's not there. That's unusual. Maybe there really is trouble.

I brush that thought off.