Katniss had always loved the way Peeta's eyes sparkled.
They represented light. Love. Hope. Life.
His eyes sparkled when he answered a question correctly in biology, his most difficult subject. When a new song played on the radio. When Finnick cracked a crude, cheesy joke. When his father pulled a freshly baked loaf of bread out of the oven. When Prim absently hummed an old, peppy tune on walks home from school. When he had mixed together the perfect shade of sunset orange.
When he looked at her.
She envisioned the sparkle in his eyes as she approached his bedroom door Her eyes fluttered closed involuntarily, the image of his baby blues burning through her eyelids. The corners of her lips curled into a faint smile. She braced herself against the doorknob.
The delicately contented expression immediately slackened when she opened the creaking door.
He was wearing her favorite pair of jeans of his that fit in just the right way. The blue in the logo of his Mellarks' Bakery tee shirt matched his eyes, which refused to meet hers. Despite the deep purple bags under his bottom lids, he was looking as handsome as ever.
He was also taking down every single picture of her and stuffing it into a simple, brown cardboard box. The bulletin board that was once overflowing with captured moments of their most precious memories together was almost completely bare. Tears welled in her eyes.
"Peeta. . ." she began, regretting coming here in the first place. His eyes flickered up toward her, revealing his visible grief-stricken exhaustion.
She padded cautiously over to Peeta and gently placed a hand on each of his shoulders, attempting to bring him near her.
He tensed under her touch, igniting an aching pang in her chest. Her fingertips lingered on his cotton tee shirt, already missing being able to touch him whenever she so desired. He pulled away as best as he could. Angst stirred in the pit of her stomach.
"How many times, Katniss?"
The question paralyzed her.
"Peet-"
"How many times did you sleep with Hawthorne?"
She expected an angry tone, like the one he had used when he first found out. She much preferred an angry tone. Not the tired, dejected one laced through his words.
After a long moment of silence, he took the tears silently streaming down her cheeks as an answer.
She watched him unpin a last picture of them. One from after his first win at their high school's wrestling competition. His hair damp with sweat and his hands snaked hesitantly around her waist. Toothy, infatuated smiles split both their faces. His eyes were sparkling. He had kissed her for the first time that night.
He shoved the box in her direction.
"Please take it," he mumbled, "I can't keep all of this here. I can't have the constant reminder."
She stared at the box for a few seconds, stunned, failing to blink back the fresh wave of tears beginning to pouring down her face.
"Go, Katniss."
Her heart shattered.
"Peeta, please."
"Don't. Just go."
Instinctively, her hand flew up to touch his cheek. He caught it, clinging to her familiar warmth for half a second before dropping it and looking toward the wall, blinking away the fast-welling tears.
"Please, Katniss."
His voice cracked as he said her name.
The past couple of minutes completely exhausted her. She couldn't stay there any longer. With trembling hands, she took the box and walked to the doorway.
She spun on her heel for one last glance before she left.
He was already looking at her.
Their eyes met.
Peeta's eyes didn't sparkle.