You Look So Much Like Your Mother
"This is…"
A man, young but not too young, stood in his kitchen, gripping onto the back of one of his kitchen chairs. His eyes, when opened a vibrant blue color though have seemed to dull out over the years of stress and what had happened in his past, were closed as tightly as they would manage. This happened more often than not, and it was best to leave him alone in times like these, so his wife found.
His lips were pressed into a thin line, it was like they weren't even there anymore. All he was trying to do was to calm down, get the 'memories' to go away. He hated this, just as much as everyone else did. Well of course he hated it, it happened to him. It didn't happen to anyone else, no, him. He was the victim.
No matter how tightly he closed his eyes, how hard he gripped onto the wooden chair before him, it just wouldn't leave. All he wanted was for it to leave, that's it. It wasn't too much to ask for, right?
Finally, after what seemed like ages, a gasp escaped past his somewhat chapped lips. His eyes flew open as well, their gaze falling on the papers, lying innocently on the wooden table top before him. Hesitantly, he let go of the chair, his hands shaking the slightest bit as he took a step away from the inanimate object he had been gripping so tightly onto.
How he wished these little episodes would eventually stop, but he knew deep down that they most likely wouldn't. Probably would be stuck with them for the rest of his life, and there wasn't really anything he could do about it. He could sure try to avoid them, but sometimes, that didn't always work.
A shaky sigh left him as he stumbled up to another chair, opposite of the one he had been clinging onto just moments ago, plopping down in it. He leant back in his chair, moving his gaze to look up at the cream colored ceiling.
There were a few cracks here and there, sure. That is what he examined as he stared at the ceiling, trying to make sure he kept himself calm. Though, as he stared at the ceiling, he never did hear the light, quiet footsteps descend down the stairs. Nor did he hear them come to a stop at the kitchen door well.
"Peeta," he heard a soft, loving voice call out. At least, it was loving in his ears, as long as he wasn't in one of those little episodes of his. Some may beg to differ, but that was his opinion, and no one was going to ever change his opinion.
He pulled his gaze away from the ceiling, letting it fall on his wife he loved so dear. A little smile crept up on his face, taking over his lips in an instance once he saw the beauty before him. It's been years, decades, and he still loves her; just as he did when he first laid eyes on her that first day of kindergarten.
"Katniss?" he asked, a little curious as to why she had said his name. She was allowed to say his name, of course, but the way she said it. It sounded like she was trying to get his attention, and that is what she had at the moment.
She didn't take that for granted.
She spoke no more, only looking behind her with a smile before stepping off to the side, revealing a beautiful little, five year old girl.
Peeta's eyes widened when he saw his daughter standing there. She looked exactly like her mother did when she was only five. Her black, silky hair was braided, two braided pigtails. The dress—it was just exactly like her mother had worn. His memory wasn't betraying him either, they looked exactly alike. Well, except for the eyes. His little girl had his eyes, and Katniss would always tell him how that suited her more than her eyes. Peeta would argue, but his little girl was perfect the way she was.
"Do you like it Daddy?" she asked, a big smile taking over her lips. His grin grew wider as well, actual tears forming in his eyes.
No episodes, no fake memories. None of that was happening—surprisingly. But he was glad, he was overjoyed.
His little girl looked just like his mother.
"Honey, you look beautiful," he commented, a giggle escaping past his daughter's lips.
She came running up to Peeta, holding out her arms as she came to a stop by his side. He couldn't resist it, picking her up and placing her on his lap. "Mommy said that you would think I would look really pretty and I really like this dress! So I wanted to show you!"
He laughed lightly as his daughter ranted on and on. He never stopped her; instead he listened carefully, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head. She sounded so happy, so excited for kindergarten, and she really did sound like she loved that dress.
"I'm really excited though, Daddy!"
Before answering his daughter, he looked up at his wife who had a small smile on her lips. How those smiles suited her much better than the scowls he always saw…
"I'm sure you are," he told her, lightly poking her nose as he did so. He kissed her cheek before she threw her arms around him in a hug. Though, one thought wouldn't leave his mind.
You look so much like your mother…
A/N: Long time no see. I really wanted to write something for Hetalia—but I felt the need to write something for the Hunger Games. It's weird, to be honest. I promise I'll get to my other stories soon, I need motivation and inspiration to finish them. I was kind of hesitant of uploading anything, for a certain reason. But I don't think that's fair to you guys, if I don't upload anything because of someone so. I hope you guys liked this and will type me up a review. Thanks guys, really. You're all awesome, remember that and just stick with me. Danke!
~Lovely Kacey Faith