Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or its characters.
Peeta Mellark. He writes the name out in shaky threads of ink, marking it with a full stop. The pen splashes a little as he roughly underlines the words, spotting the paper with watery shards of blue. Watching it for a moment, he considers what to put next.
He places the pen down against the white as he thinks. His hand moves to form a wonky K. Biting down on his lip, he tightens his hand around the pen, and he continues. Katniss Everdeen, he scrawls. Yes. That's right. She is the most important thing. She is on your side, he mutters to himself viciously. She is with you, she promised. He shuts his eyes, sighing. His throat quivers, the breath shaky. Shaking the sudden anxiety away, he pushes the paper further up the desk.
What next, he wonders? Baking, he adds after a few moments of thought. That's an obvious one, of course. He can smell warm, fresh bread as he writes it, and he is immediately calmer. A small drawing next to it, he sketches, a little cake with a loaf of bread at its side. He smiles faintly.
Painting? No, he thinks, quickly scribbling the word out. He hasn't painted a thing in three years, not properly. A few attempts were made, but he always terrified himself with what appeared on the paper. He had finally found himself understanding what Katniss meant when she had told him how uneasy they made her feel. What had once put him at ease now only made him fear what else was in the back of his mind, hidden behind his more accessible memories.
He leans back, sighing. His mind has gone blank. He does not know what else there is that he is (semi) certain of.
Here and now, he considers? But he can't put that. That will be gone in moments, and there have been too many moments when he wished that here and now wasn't a certainty for it to be a comfort. This will have to do. But that's okay. He has something, and those somethings are the most beautiful he knows.
"Peeta?" a gentle voice calls out to him.
"Yeah?" he answers, folding the paper quickly in his hand.
Katniss looks at him softly from the doorway, walking over and leaning across his shoulders. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, nothing. Just thinking, writing out my thoughts."
She smiles sadly, and he manages to grin back at her, to say that he's okay. She kisses him quickly on the side of his head, and he looks around at her.
"That's good." She says, nodding.
"It is," he replies.
It is good. It is beautiful. And it is real.
Author's Note: I'm sorry, that was basically the most ridiculous, senseless thing I've written in a while. Um...yeah. Sorry.
But, still, thanks for reading!
