The Boy In Love // THG Peeta's POV

The Drunk

When the white-clad peacekeepers marched me out of the car and into the train station, I was temporarily blinded by the flash of cameras. I made no move to cover the evidence that I had been crying or the clear bloodstains on my shirt and hand. Why should I care? The herd of reporters shouted out questions over each other, each hoping to be noticed.

"How do you feel about being completely overshadowed in the reaping?"

"Are you planning on killing Katniss first?"

"Is that your blood?"

I snorted at that last one.

At one point, a desperate reporter snatched my arm from the clutches of a peacekeeper to get a closeup of my bloody knuckles. Just as I was about to jerk my hand away and give him a smack for good measure, I spotted Katniss being herded into the train station.

Every camera and eye turned to her instantly, including mine. Even in the midst of all this chaos and sadness, I couldn't wipe a goofy grin off my face. My god, she's beautiful. Her eyes met mine for a brief moment, and I couldn't help wishing that I hadn't been crying.

To every reporter and camera in the room, she would have appeared almost bored, but I knew better. This was just another iteration of the standard Katniss mask. Over the years I had learned to see through it. The key was looking at her hands.

Now, they trembled almost imperceptibly, and there was a faint wetness on her right thumb. So she'd been wiping away tears, but not her own. Most likely Prim's, which certainly explained her shaking hands.

As the peacekeepers escorted us onto the train, I kept my gaze on the ground. Every time I looked at Katniss' trembling hands I felt like punching another wall, so I felt it best to avert my eyes.

The reporters bombarded us with a fresh flurry of questions.

"Will you miss your sister?"

"Do you think he's weak for crying?"

"Do you envy her calm under pressure?"

"Why are you staring at-"

Lucky for me, the train doors closed before the reporter could finish her question. As soon as the they whooshed shut, Katniss visibly relaxed, her shoulders slumping. This was how she looked for just the half second that I saw her before she noticed the cameras. Beaten down and battle weary. The moment she spotted the press, she had put up her defenses. She drew a mask of boredom over her face, and put her shoulders back in the posture of a queen, in a stance that oozed defiance. But the way she looked now was how I longed to see her. Still beaten, but with the flickering flame of strength glowing through. With all her defenses down, she still looked the strongest I'd ever seen her.

"Now, both of you be ready for dinner in an hour. Feel free to do anything, wear anything, everything is at your disposal." Effie trilled from behind us. She rang a small silver bell and a brunette capitol attendant dressed in red seemingly materialized beside her. "I'll take Katniss to her quarters, and she will take you to yours Peeta."

With that, she marched Katniss off to somewhere, presumably her chambers, while gushing about something or the other. I shot a glance at the unnamed attendant, noting the way she stood ramrod straight and glared at me furiously. What did I ever do to her? "Hello."

She nodded stiffly in reply before setting off down the corridor without another word.

I eyed her retreating back for a moment before following her through the narrow passageways of the train, where she stopped at the door of what was presumably my room.

"Thanks," I muttered, and stepped through the door.

From what I had seen, the train was extravagant, with too many compartments to count. Among their number were two elegant chambers for Katniss and I. My sleeping quarters were likely chock full of impressive capitol technologies and amenities, but I was in no mood to explore. I merely flopped down on the luxurious bed and stared at the ceiling, my mind blank, waiting for Effie to come collect me for dinner. I don't know how long I stayed like that before I heard a slurred voice from the doorway.

"Sssup ki-*burp*-kid?"

"Look, I don't-" I rolled over onto my stomach to face the door, prepared to tell whoever was bothering me to shove off, when I caught sight of a disheveled blonde man in elegant attire leaning against the doorframe. His pale blue button down had three buttons open and most of it was covered by a wrinkled suit vest. A navy tie was tightly wrapped around his head so the ends hung onto his right shoulder, the tips damp from seemingly being dipped into his large glass of amber alcohol. I narrowed my eyes at him, recognizing him from the reaping. Haymitch.

"Ha. Haha. Ha," he chuckled stupidly, raising the glass up to his lips and spilling most of it on his three day beard and down his shirt.

Great. Now I had to deal with a drunken idiot who possibly held my life, and Katniss', in his hands. "Haymitch, what are you doing?" I said, getting off the bed and walking towards the aforementioned idiot, though I made sure to keep a safe distance. I had plenty of experience dealing with drunks, and seeing as most of my experiences ended with violence, I was not approaching him.

He giggled like a schoolgirl before staggering forward and clutching my shirt with his booze soaked hands. He brought his face unbearably close to mine, puffing a cloud of alcohol heavy breath towards me. Then suddenly, the fog in his eyes dissipated, and he gave me a look of somber clarity. "Why do they call it that?"

Surprised at the lack of slurring in his words and the change of attitude, I didn't slap him like I would have normally. "What?"

His eyes darkened, and as he opened his mouth, I had a feeling that I was about to hear something important. I listened with bated breath until he finally started talking. "Ratatouille. It sounds like rat. And patootie. Ratpatootie. Which does not sound delicious." He paused, and then began to cackle like a maniac, releasing my shirt and swaying on his feet.

I rolled my eyes. "Ok, time for you to take a nap."

He flashed me a dazed smile. "Nap."

"Yes. Nap," I replied. Then he promptly passed out.

*****

Gah I hate this chapter so much. I must have re-written it 50 times. Special thanks to NicNac11 for listening to me complain about writer's block for what was probably hours. I'd love to hear what you guys think about this chapter, I think it's odious. I was thinking about a nickname for my readers, do you have any ideas?

-Siren Song