Maybe It Can Be Real

Chapter 15

ALL RIGHTS GO TO SUZANNE COLLINS. I OWN NOTHING.

ENDING OF LAST CHAPTER:

"He somehow got out here-," I start, but Peeta interrupts me by saying, "Yeah, Haymitch, how did you get out here?" We don't get a spoken response, but a wavering arm pointed to an open window.

Peeta and a give each other a look then burst out laughing.

"Y-you fell out the w-window?", Peeta chokes out, laughing hysterically.

"Ha-ha very funny. Just help me," Haymitch spits at us. Peeta and I roll our eyes. He grabs Haymitch's legs while I grab his arms. We hoist Haymitch up and carry him inside.

After some struggling and running Haymitch into corners, we finally get him up to his bed. I release his arms, panting heavily. He's a lot heavier than he looks.

Peeta chucks a pillow at Haymitch's head and says, "Try and not fall out the window next time, okay?"

Instead of an 'okay' back, we get some light snores. We roll our eyes again and head back to my house, my right arm around Peeta's waist and his left around my shoulders.

****

For the next couple days Peeta and I just kinda hang out. There isn't much to do around here anymore.

I still haven't gone hunting. I want to spend all of my time with Peeta, so it doesn't bother me all that much, really. Honestly, I think shooting the animals will remind me too much of the.... the Games.

My hands fly to my face and panicked thoughts run into my mind, but I focus on Peeta characteristics to push them away. I think of his qualities: his laugh, his smile, his looks, his strength, and his cooking abilities.

Peeta looks over at me and asks, "Are you okay?" I suck in a couple deep breaths and give him a nod of assent.

"Okay....", Peeta replies, unsure that I'm okay.

I smile and say, "I'm fine. I promise." I get up and give him a hug for good measure. I nod again, more to myself than to him. I'm good now.
Nothing's going to happen to me. I trust Peeta to protect me.

I walk over to the kitchen table and sit down on the smooth surface. My fingers run along the edges for a few minutes.

I walk into the living room and face plant onto the couch. I can hear Peeta's laughter echoing from the kitchen.

"I'm so bored!", I yell to him, my voice muffled by the cushions. "There's nothing to do around here! No more responsibilities!"

"I can tell you're bored! What do you want to do?", he yells back.

"I don't know," I reply, drawing out the end of 'know.' Peeta continues to laugh at me.

We don't talk for the next couple minutes. All I hear is the clatter of baking pans in the kitchen. Eventually I get to the point where I want to cry from boredom, so I think of stuff to do.

Not too long after, I bite my lip and tiptoe into the kitchen. I eye the open bag of flour, eggs, and other baking materials sitting on the counter. Peeta's back is to me, so he can't see me. Perfect.

Silently, I walk to the counter and get a fistful of flour. I creep over to him, then I throw it at the back of his head. His head has a thin dusting of flour all over it. I cross my legs and study my nails to look casual and innocent. The edges of my lips threaten to pull up into a grin when he slowly spins around.

"And what was that for?", he asks me, a hint of amusement in his voice. I just shrug my shoulders and walk away, a grin creeping it's way across my face when my face is out of his sight.