The Hunger Games: Continued

Falling

Katniss' POV

3 months later

The night air chills me to the bone, but I don't bother going inside for a coat. My nightgown sways in the wind as I stand on the roof, gazing out over District 12. There's something exhilarating about feeling the cold so intensely—it makes me feel alive.

Balancing on the edge of the tiles, I rise onto the tips of my toes, like a bird about to take flight. And before I can stop myself, the words slip from my mouth.

⸻

Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when again they open, the sun will rise.

Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.

Deep in the meadow, hidden far away
A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.

Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.

Here is the place where I love you.

⸻

Every word of the lullaby rings out into the night. For a moment, I worry I've woken the whole village. But then I remember—only Haymitch and Peeta live here. Haymitch could sleep through an earthquake. As for Peeta...

I look up just in time to spot a mockingjay fluttering across the moonlit sky. It circles once, then lands on Peeta's windowsill. And there he is.

He stares out at me, transfixed.

"Did I wake you?" I call.

He nods.

"I'm glad you did!" he shouts back.

"Nightmare?"

Another nod.

"Me too. Come over—it's nice up here!"

He disappears from the window.

I slide down onto the tiles, hugging my knees. A moment later, I hear him climbing through the gap in my roof. The struggle of his prosthetic leg makes my chest ache, so I go to steady him until he's safe beside me.

"Your leg alright?" I ask.

"Yeah. It's okay."

Silence follows—but it's a peaceful silence. Content. I wish I could freeze this moment, live in it forever. His words echo in my mind: you could live a thousand lifetimes and still not deserve him.

Then I notice it.

In his coat pocket—a cylindrical shape. A bottle.

My stomach twists. I tilt my head, catching the label in the moonlight. Whiskey. Strong. Haymitch's kind.

My chest sinks. Is he breaking? Is Peeta Mellark—the strongest person I know—about to become another Haymitch?

"What's this?" I ask, pulling the bottle free, praying there's some harmless explanation.

But when he turns to me, his face is full of shame.

"I'm falling apart, Katniss," he admits. "The whiskey... it helps."

Tears sting my eyes. "No," I whisper. "You haven't fallen apart. Not yet. I can fix you."

"How, Katniss?" His question lands heavy. I don't have an answer.

So I rest my head on his shoulder. My body moulds into his, and his arm curls around me. And then, the answer comes.

"Like this," I murmur. "You know... it takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart." Finnick's words. My friend's truth.

Peeta exhales, his voice low. "Sometimes it's okay to let yourself fall apart. Just to see who's willing to put you back together."