I Want You to Stay

A New Way of Feeling

"Not really sure how to feel about it.

Something in the way you move."

~Stay by Rihanna feat. Mikky Ekko

Chapter 4.

It's been two weeks since he came home. We have dinner every night, Peeta and I. I sometimes try to cook, even if we both know how useless that attempt is. We have breakfast together time to time, but neither of us are exactly at our bests in the morning, so we keep them to a minimal.

I've heard his screams at night. They're not just nightmares, they're his hallucinations as well. I went sprinting to his house once, pounding on the door and yelling his name. What I would do if he opened the door, the only thought going through my head the time he helped me at night.

....

I sit bolt upright to the sound of a loud, tortured scream coming from right across the street. I scramble to the window and yank open the curtain. I see Peeta, his window wide open like he likes it. His irises are pitch black and he's cursing loud enough to hear him through the glass. He's throwing things all over and tearing whatever he can to shreds, yet I can hear him telling himself to stop, to calm it down, that this isn't him. But he can't stop his actions. I bolt away from the window, grabbing at my head, half out of fear if what I'm witnessing, but mostly to bring myself back to earth. Next thing I know I'm aware of is I'm sprinting down the stairs and to Peeta's house. I bang frantically on his door, then regret it a second later. He's having a flashback. He can't see me if I want to live. My eyes go wide as I turn and and start to sprint back home until I hear the door open.

"He-hello?" A choked, watery voice comes from where I just was. I freeze in my tracks and don't turn around, in fear of the possible hijacked Peeta that awaits to kill me once he sees my face. But I'm not very good at listening to my thoughts as I twist around, slowly, and see the sight in front of me. Peeta peeks through the cracked door, the chain still on the hook. From what I can see of his face, its red and blotchy and his eyes are big, scared and bloodshot -but sky blue nonetheless. He's been crying. This takes me more aback than it should.

"H-hey," I say, my voice an octave higher than normal. He takes a shuddery breath and wipes his eyes hurriedly, not wanting me to see the tears.

"Oh. Hey." He says, his voice husky. We stand in silence.

"I heard you." I whisper. "I just wanted to help you." I add, looking at the ground and toeing at a rock.

"Oh. There's not really much you can...do." He says awkwardly. "It's in my head, you can't tap into that." I nod.

"Okay." I say. We stand in silence. "So uh, I'll just...go." I whisper, turning back to my house and walking quickly.

"W-wait!" He suddenly calls and I stop, hearing a jiggle of the door chain and slight creaking of his front door as it swings open. I twist around to see him approaching me. Shirtless.

Oh Jesus.

I do my best not to look, just hold steady eye contact with his eyes, not pecs and abs.

But damn is it hard.

How the hell did he manage to work those back, from the weak, beaten mess I saw him as when we first rescued him to this?

I remember somewhere in my still tired brain him saying something about a lot more exercise than I thought in therapy.

The thing is he's not even the blown up, super buff kind of fit you see in commercials at the Capitol. He's more subtle, almost.