Drabble Challenge

Day 7

"Person A is very tall. Person B is very short. Imagine Person B sitting on Person A's shoulders so that they both look like a giant."

Peeta and I are surrounded by hundreds- no, thousands- of girls. They're all around us, screaming and singing and crying. They're dabbing at their watery makeup. They're reaching desperate hands up to the stage, shouting Justin's name and sobbing. All around us, a sea of hysterical teenage girls.

And then, smack-dab in front of the two of us, an adult male.

I don't know what his situation is- a dad, maybe, or even a fan- but he's got to be at least 6'5". And his seat is right in front of mine- me, a solid 5'3", maybe. And he's standing. Has been the whole time.

Peeta and I have asked him to sit several times, very politely, but he always just shoots us dirty looks and turns back to the performance. Finally, we just gave up trying to take pictures over the guy's shoulder and enjoyed our time here while it lasts.

A Justin Timberlake concert. Just thinking those words has me shivering and sighing in contentment.

But it's very hard to remain content when it's Justin's finale and this asshole won't just sit. I turn to Peeta, ready to complain for the millionth time, but he shushes me as soon as I open my mouth.

"Here," he says, then squats. When I question him, he just gestures to his back and says, "Come on, get on my shoulders."

I laugh and climb on. Perks of having a tall boyfriend, I think. Why hadn't I had this idea earlier? This could have solved a lot.

I'm proven right when Peeta stands to his full height and I get a clear view of the stage below. I think I let out a little squeal, because Peeta laughs.

"How's the view?" he asks from underneath me.

"You should know," I reply. "You see things from up here all the time."

He chuckles again and squeezes my thigh. My heart surges, both with affection and gratitude that he got these tickets in the first place.

Now I see that the girls I had previously thought were idiotic were actually acting appropriately. Justin looks so goodfrom this angle, and I can actually feel myself starting to tear up at the whole experience.

Pretty soon, I'm scream-singing along with the rest of the teenagers, earning myself nasty looks from around me but not caring, not caring at all, because it's Justin Timberlake, and I'm with Peeta, one of the few people I've allowed myself to love, and it's all making me feel so free I'm sure I'm drunk.

By the end of the song, when Justin thanks the audience and lowers back into the ground and the confetti cannons go off and it's over, there are actual tears running down my face. I try to swipe at them before Peeta sees, but a moment later he's lowering me off his shoulders and I don't get the chance.

But he just laughs when he sees my red, splotchy face, shaking his head at my total fangirl-ness.

"You know, sometimes I wish I could get this reaction out of you," he jokes, and I grin at him.

"Become a superstar and you can."

 He feigns hurt, and I can't seem to peel this cheeky smile off of my face.

As everyone around us shuffles for what is sure to be a long trek towards the exits, I loop my arms around his neck and tilt my face up towards his, capturing his lips in a kiss and trying to express all I'm feeling right now. Before either of us can get too into it, though, I force myself away and lean my forehead against his flushed one. We both manage breathy laughs.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of doing that," he says, and I can't do anything but laugh again.

"Thank you so much for all of this, Peeta," I tell him. "This has basically been the best night of my life."

He flushes and smiles at me. "Always," he says, and then he wraps his arm around my shoulders and leads me to his car, where I will most definitely fall asleep to the sound of his tuneless singing.