The Hunger Games: Continued

Whiskey and Woes

Katniss' POV

The next day

I spend the day wiping Peeta's house clean of alcohol. He protests, but not like Haymitch would — not wild, not furious. Just quietly. I remember Peeta doing the same for me once, before the Quarter Quell, when I drowned myself in drink.

I'll admit it: it helps. Alcohol numbs the pain. But it doesn't heal. And it never will.

I pour the last of the whiskey down the sink.

"You're supposed to be the strong one," I tell him, walking back into the living room.

He's slouched on the couch, watching me. I curl up beside him.

"Maybe I just wanted a break," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

"No time for breaks. I'll be strong for you, if you'll be strong for me. Deal."

He just nods. I bury my head in the crook of his neck.

"Have you finished your painting?" I murmur against his skin.

"You're not supposed to know about that," he says.

He's been hiding it badly.

"What else would you be doing in the study all day?" I tease.

He doesn't answer.

⸻

It's snowing outside. The coal fire crackles in the hearth, warming the living room. It feels almost cosy. Rarely do we have good days, but today is one.

Peeta makes warm milk with spices, and we curl up to watch television. Plutarch's new show, Singing Stars. Some contestants sing beautifully, others not so much, but the judges smile kindly all the same.

"None of them are as good as you," Peeta says suddenly, eyes on me.

I don't reply. I just smile. He knows compliments make me awkward.

"Will you sing to me?" he asks.

I want to say no. I know the way he'll look at me—too full of admiration, too intense. It makes me uncomfortable. But I sing anyway. Because I owe him this. Because I care about him. Because his smile is my favourite thing left in the world.

⸻

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.

⸻

I stop when I see his expression. His eyes burn with something I've seen before—desire, curiosity—but never this intense. It makes me shiver.

"I love you," he whispers.

I press my face into his chest. He holds me close. He doesn't expect me to say it back. And I don't. Not because I don't love him—but because I'm terrified of what it means. Because falling in love feels like falling, and I'm not sure I could climb back out.

⸻

That night, the stars spread across the sky, the moon casting silver across the snow. I put out the fire, brush my teeth, slip into my nightclothes.

Peeta stands in my doorway, as he always does. Ready to hug me goodnight. Never to stay. He fears his venom attacks too much.

I wrap my arms around his neck, and he pulls me close. His hands press against the small of my back. His lips brush my hair, then my neck. Heat pools under my skin. If he leaves me now, I think I might cry.

He starts to pull away, but I only cling tighter.

"Katniss, are you alright?" he whispers.

"No. I won't be. Not if you leave me."

"Katniss, I can't..." He falters.

"You can't what? If you have a venom attack, I can help you. The way you guard me from my nightmares." I pull back, locking my eyes with his. "Stay with me?"

The words hang between us. He has only one answer.

"Always."

He follows me to bed. I lift the sheets for him, and when he slips under, I rest my head against the familiar spot where I can hear his heart. Steady. Strong.

He wraps his arms around me. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I finally feel safe enough to sleep.