Peeta stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom like he did every night, watching the blades of the ceiling fan whip by as he waited for the hypnotic motion to lull him to sleep. The sound of his own deep breaths filled his ears as he idly drummed his fingertips against his stomach, every now and then closing his eyes in hopes of them staying shut, only to have them fly open again at the slightest creak that seemed to echo through the empty house.
He glanced over to the clock on his bedside table—2:48am. He scrubbed his face with his hands and cursed under his breath; it was hopeless. At this rate, there was no chance in hell that he was going to catch the few hours of sleep his body craved before the sun came up. Even with the fan on and the window open, the air in his bedroom smelled stale. The musty odor had seeped deep into the walls after years of the house standing dormant, waiting for a Victor to fill its walls with warmth and life.
Since his move into the house months ago, he had yet to fulfill either. How could he when all he felt was cold and dead inside? The pressure to appear as though he was settling into the cushy lifestyle of a Victor was completely foreign to him, and he realized early on that he was on his own to figure it out himself.
Upon their return, Haymitch had retreated back into his hermit lifestyle, only leaving his house to show his surly face in public when his liquor supply ran dry. His mentoring duties had apparently stopped the moment they stepped off the train back in District 12, only to resume at the start of the Victory Tour that seems years away. He'd entertained the idea of taking up his mentor's pastime on more than one occasion, the opportunity to feel anything else besides the numbness that was his constant companion since their return. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He was definitely in this alone.
Peeta tossed and turned from one side to the other, but no matter how many times he fluffed his pillow he couldn't get comfortable; not when the feel of his warm breath against his chest reminded him of her. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought before it blossomed into a full-fledged spiral of anger and regret, but the annoyingly optimistic part of him kept whispering in his ear that at least it was something. He could already feel the sting of their parting words eating away at his already fragile emotional state.
Most days he managed to keep her out of his head, even if it was for only a few hours and regardless of the fact that she lived right next door. He occupied his waking hours by getting lost in his sketchbook or bringing his nightmares to life on canvas.
Effie had been on his case the first few days back for him to choose a talent to showcase during the Victory Tour, and painting was just the obvious fit. When he asked her what he should paint, she had said whatever popped into his head. That was her first mistake; the second was that she trusted him, waving him off when he asked if she wanted to preview his work before hand. She would be in for a surprise. Even if the subject matter was enough to cause anyone to retch, it was oddly satisfying being able to illustrate what really happened during the Games through his eyes.
He kicked his leg out from under the sheet in search for a cool spot on the mattress, finding momentary relief before he turned onto his side and stared out the open window towards hers. That's where his gaze would always eventually settle on the nights his mind allowed him to find sleep.
The first few nights, he slept—or at least attempted to sleep—in the bedroom furthest away from the side of the house that faced hers. A conscious decision that didn't last long at all. By the end of the week, he'd tested out each room, only finding solace in the one that he eventually realized faced her bedroom window. He found it draining, trying to fight his natural tendency to be close to her, but he convinced himself that the distance he kept during the day was for the best. For both of them.
Peeta released a defeated sigh. It was going to be another sleepless night.
He could feel the muscles of his neck and shoulders beginning to stiffen from the invisible weight he carried around with him every waking moment; he had to relieve the tension and clear his mind. In a last attempt to salvage any hope he had in finding sleep, he shoved a hand down the front of his boxers and grabbed hold of his flaccid cock, tugging and stroking himself as he tried to focus on the memory of how her lips trembled against his the first time they kissed. How the curves of her body felt pressed up against his when they embraced. How the warmth of her steady breaths against his chest felt as she slept next to him in the cave.
He was already half hard by the time he recalled the way her leg felt against his thigh when she'd inadvertently slung it over him while she slept. A guttural moan escaped his lips as he increased the speed of his hand, chasing the release he so desperately needed.
But it was a lost cause. None of it had been real. He squinted his eyes shut to block out the nagging voice in his head, but the harder he tried, the more frustrated he got, and the more frustrated he got the quicker his cock softened until it laid limp in his hand.
Peeta grunted in disappointment as he pulled his hand out of his boxers and pounded his fists against the mattress. It was no use. He kicked at the sheet in an attempt to rid himself of the claustrophobic feeling that had started to settle over his body, but the edge of it snagged on one of the steel pins of his prosthetic. When he reached down to yank at the fabric to free himself, it ripped and he cursed out loud.
He needed to get out of his house. Perhaps a walk to stretch out his stiff limbs and the cool night air would help to clear his mind, or at least exhaust him enough to the point where his body had no choice but to rest. He stumbled to his feet and tugged on a pair of pants before bending over, with some difficulty, to swipe his wrinkled shirt off the floor.
It drove him crazy that it still took so long to do something as simple as dressing himself. He had to pause and take a calming breath as he sat awkwardly to put his shoes on. Even though he'd thrown out every pair that required laces, the slip-on shoes he'd settled for still weren't any easier to step into.
Ten minutes later he was finally dressed and hovering at the front door. He debated locking it, but who was he kidding. No one ever came out this way and he really couldn't care less if someone broke into his house. He'd welcome them actually. Perhaps he could even persuade them to stay awhile to keep him company; anything to lessen the loneliness that slowly ate away at his sanity.
He didn't get many visitors. Not that he'd expected any really. His brothers made an attempt at the beginning, but it wasn't long before their visits became shorter and fewer and far between. He couldn't blame them though; he wasn't exactly a riveting host when they were around. They made sure to stick to the safe topics of discussion—the weather, how the bakery was faring, how their father was getting along.
Even though he was now a Victor, living in a house that was easily three times bigger than what anyone really needed and with enough money to buy out the bakery if he wanted to, his mother still managed to make him feel like he was a burden to her; going so far as to flat out refuse him when he offered to help out at the bakery free of charge. Thankfully his brothers had tactfully avoided the mention of their mother and they didn't dare broach the topic of the Games or ask how he was managing with his new leg. In fact, no one in his family had even acknowledged it, whether it was out of fear of upsetting him or the avoidance of accepting that he was now different. It was as if he no longer existed in their world; he was no longer one of them.
Not that it mattered. He didn't feel like one of them anymore. The irony wasn't lost on him that his only wish going into this madness was that it wouldn't change him, that he wouldn't be a piece in their game. But here he was. Forever changed both mentally and physically and already sitting back obediently like a pawn waiting to be issued his next move.
There was only one person who could possibly understand what he was going through, understand the fear of the nightmares that awaited him in his bed each night and the ever present feeling of being lost and out of place. But like his family, that one person had also decided that he no longer existed.
The streets were empty and eerily quiet as he made his way through town, following his usual route past the bakery before continuing along the path that took him through the edge of the Seam and eventually looping back towards his house. It wasn't long before he lost track of time and the simple task of mindless wandering had helped to calm his racing mind. But when his leg began to throb from the chaffing of his prosthetic and he could no longer avoid the urge to limp, he knew it was time to head back home.
Upon his return, he took a moment to pause in front of her house and stared longingly up at her bedroom window. He knew it was pathetic and that he had to move on and stop torturing himself with thoughts of what could have been, but he promised himself this was the last time. That tomorrow he'd finally put a stop to this self-deprecating behavior. He was better than this. He deserved better than this.
Just as he was about to limp back across the street to his house, something caught his eye. A tall, dark figure moved stealthily through the tree trunks that lined the laneway leading up to the houses.
Peeta leapt to take cover behind a tall bush and had to grit his teeth when he came down hard to land on his metal leg. He instinctively scanned his immediate vicinity in search of anything he could use as a weapon to defend himself, finally settling on a large branch that he was certain he could use to knock someone out with or if need be, use the pointed end as a spear.
He shook his head in disbelief at the realization of his thoughts. Was he seriously so paranoid that his first instinct was to harm whoever was out there? It didn't sit well with him that he was still on edge whenever something took him off guard. The slightest sound or movement triggered a chain reaction where every muscle tensed and every nerve ending twitched as his body went into defense mode. Everything was a threat until proven otherwise.
His eyes scanned the moonlit street once again for any hint of movement, and when he noticed a rustling of leaves to the left of the Everdeens' front porch, he raised the branch up over his head and prepared to charge. But he froze in place when he recognized the familiar silhouette of Gale Hawthorne as he crept out from the cover of the trees. Peeta's eyes immediately darted over towards the Everdeens' front door and sure enough, not a moment later; the door opened quietly and out walked Katniss.
Peeta held his breath as he watched her lock the door behind her and when she turned, she seemed just as surprised as he was to see Gale standing there. But her body relaxed almost instantly before she smiled back at him and her agile figure hopped down the porch steps two at a time. He struggled to fight the overwhelming wave of jealousy that coursed through his veins at the sight of them together and the way they both seemed to fall into a comfortable stance when in each other's presence as they exchanged a silent greeting.
"I thought I said I'd meet you out there," Katniss said as she slung the strap of her foraging bag over her shoulder. Her face was suddenly etched with worry as her eyes scanned the shadows of the street, as though Peacekeepers were poised and ready to jump out at any moment.
"And I thought we could walk together for once."
Peeta frowned at the easiness in Gale's tone and when he noticed how Katniss was already beaming back at him, he had to swallow back the taste of bile that was threatening to exit via his throat. His grip on the tree branch tightened and his knuckles started to turn white when Gale lifted his hand to her face and gently stroked the area beneath her right eye with his thumb. After the hell Peeta had been through, sacrificing all he had including his heart and his body to protect her, he was still back where he started before the Games: watching her from a distance as Gale-fucking-Hawthorne acted like she was his.
"You had another nightmare, didn't you?" Gale asked as he searched her eyes. "What was it about?"
Katniss' eyes widened as she took a step back, gripping the strap of her bag as Gale's hand fell away to rest at his side. "I thought we talked about this," she said as she pinched the bridge of her nose and her eyes fluttered shut. "It doesn't matter, you wouldn't understand anyway."
"Well maybe I would if you'd just talk to me about it."
"I said I don't want to talk about it." Her tone was dismissive as she looked away from him and her fingers left her bag to toy with the loose hairs at the end of her braid. She lifted her chin to look over her shoulder, her eyes drifting up the side of Peeta's house to his empty bedroom where the sheer curtains were just barely visible through the open window as they swayed in the breeze.
Peeta looked back and forth between the expression on Katniss' face and his open window, his chest swelling with hope as he entertained the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she was thinking about him. Her shoulders lifted slowly as she released an audible sigh, her eyes never leaving his window.
Gale reached out and grasped her forearm, shifting her attention back to him. "Let me guess, he's the only one who understands." His voice was dripping with bitterness and Peeta couldn't help but grin.
Katniss' face hardened and her eyes narrowed as she yanked her arm out of his hand. "I said 'drop it'."
"Come on, Katniss! We've been through so much together, relied on each other when there was nobody else, and now you think that after just a few weeks of spending time with you that he knows you better than me? That he understands you better than I do?"
The air between the two of them was thick with tension. Peeta reveled in the way she glared back at Gale, which caused Peeta to grab hold onto a glimmer of hope that her silence was confirmation that yes, he did understand her better than Gale.
"You and I both know that none of that was real," Gale continued, "it was written all over your face every time you kissed him. You can't honestly tell me that you meant any of that, or that you even liked it."
Peeta's stomach dropped at the bluntness of Gale's confession. Was it really that obvious? Did everyone else see it besides him? Fuck he was pathetic.
Katniss stared back at Gale, her defiant stance daring him to push her further. She was obviously at the breaking point of losing it—her muscles visibly straining beneath her skin, the raging fire inside of her causing her smoky grey eyes to smolder. Even when she was this angry she was beautiful.
"Maybe I did like it, what do you have to say to that?"
Peeta's mouth fell open to mirror the awestruck expression on Gale's face. Did she mean it? Or was proving Gale wrong just a low blow to his ego to get him to shut up? Whichever it was, he couldn't help the smug smirk that slowly spread across his face. He watched the transformation of Gale's features closely as they shifted from astonishment to hurt to outrage, but what surprised Peeta most was that Gale remained silent.
"That's what I thought," Katniss said as she turned on her heel, her braid whipping around to settle in the middle of her back before she started down the street towards the gate. "And don't you dare follow me!"
Peeta continued to watch with silent amusement as Gale pulled at his hair and kicked at the dirt before he sulked off back into the trees. His leg was definitely past the point of throbbing due to the awkward crouching position that he was in, but the pain was worth it in comparison to the self-satisfaction that washed over him after witnessing the way Gale acted.
When he was certain that he was alone once again, he tossed the branch to the ground and made his way across the street back to his house. As he climbed the steps of his front porch, he realized that he was still grinning from ear to ear. Even after he'd shed his clothes and crawled back into bed, inhaling deeply as he settled into his pillow; the smug smirk was still present.
Maybe it was real.
After all the kisses they'd shared in that tiny cave, maybe one of them had gotten through and had an effect on her, the same way they all had left a lasting impression on him. But even if wasn't real, at least Gale had a suspicion that it was, and for now that was enough for him.
His eyelids began to grow heavy as he stared up at the spinning fan blades, smiling to himself as his breaths began to even out. As the beams of sunlight began to filter through the open window, he closed his eyes and finally allowed sleep to pull him under.
Big thanks to Misshoneywell for all her time and effort for organizing this wonderful event and to Streetlightlove1 for prereading and Court81981 for her amazing beta skills, you lovely ladies are amazing! Check out the rest of the wonderful fics at Prompts in Pamen over on Tumblr!