Mockingjay Part 3. Rekindled Flame

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When I open my eyes early the next morning, the sun filters through the window past the navy blue curtains that flitter over the open windows. The fresh morning air fills my sore chest and makes me feel light and refreshed in my groggy morning brain. Something is missing though; the absence of Peeta's warmth beside me has me sitting up and surveying the room. The clothes that he wore to bed the night before lay discarded on the floor next to the dresser in the corner of the room, where he had sat on the floor locked in his own mind the night before. 

A slight hitch in my chest from the intrusive thought that pops into my brain, did Peeta leave? Did he finally realize that what Haymitch has been saying this whole time has been right? That I'll never deserve him? Honestly, I deserve this rejection. I have put him through everything from heartbreak to the loss of who he was. His love for me has only ever ended in pain for him and the near loss of his very soul. 

I numbly pull the duvet off of my body and grab some clothes of my own. I pull the forest green trousers that I had on yesterday and grab the only shirt I can find which is one of Peeta's. I feel a sharp pull of my stitches and for a moment I'm afraid that I've ripped them open. I hiss and observe the gauze and see that no new flow of fresh blood is seeping through. I should probably be more careful and maybe consider button up shirts instead. I plan to make a B-line as quickly as possible to my own bed-chamber to find a shirt of my own. If Peeta has decided that he doesn't want to put up with me anymore, then wearing his shirt would just be another painful thing I would do to him, and the least I can do is let him go peacefully if that is what he has decided. 

After I've laced my familiar leather boots and double knotted them, I grit my teeth and decide to stop being a coward. I'd already procrastinated by taking longer than I normally ever would on my shoes. I grip the door handle and pause, taking a deep breath, before ripping the bandaid off and sliding the door open. 

The common area is empty and I feel a slight relief thinking that maybe I will be able to make it to my bedroom down the hall without being seen. However, as I walk out into the open, turning to go down the hall, out of the corner of my eye I see the silhouettes of two people sitting at the dining table. My head snaps in their direction and see the knowing smirk on Haymitch's face as he looks at the t-shirt that is obviously not mine. He sits back in his chair almost lazily and keeps that stupid smirk on his face. I dare a glance at Peeta, scared of the facial expression of disinterest I might see. 

He doesn't look disinterested though. He sits in his chair, hair damp from a shower that he must have taken in our - I mean HIS bed chamber while I was still asleep. The thought makes color rise in my cheeks and the thought of Haymitch seeing me blush makes me turn even redder. Peeta's facial expressions are soft and a soft, shy smile graces his lips. The relief I instantly feel floods through my body and feels so sweet that I feel as though I could laugh. And it has been so very long since I've truly laughed. Surely since before the war. 

"Quite the walk of shame, sweetheart," Haymitch smirks. "You should probably wait until your incision is healed a little more, though." 

I furrow my eyebrows at him for a moment, confused as to what he means. Peeta has been taking care of me dutifully and watching me like a hawk to make sure that my stitches don't open up. It's not like we went on a run this morning. We're on a train! 

I look to Peeta for help, but now his cheeks are burning red and he can't seem to meet either of our gazes. Is he embarrassed to have Haymitch know that we slept in the same bed? Haymitch knew I had been laid up at Peeta's house for a couple of weeks in his bed sick, but he hadn't slept in the same bed as me then. But during the games, Peeta and I would regularly sleep in the same bed to protect each other from stress, anxiety, and the nightmares. I'm pretty sure Haymitch knew then. But wasn't it different now? Now that I wasn't pretending anymore? That I wasn't looking out for everyone I cared about anymore?