She's on the bed, eyes squeezed shut, facing the wall. She feels a presence in the room but doesn't look up, it's only her mother trying to console her. The figure gulps, and she shifts in bed a little. The mattress dips beside her, and there is a warmth on her back, a hand. A tear drops from her eye and she opens them, wiping the salty trophy of shame away with the edge of her sheet.
"Are you okay?" a voice comes from beside her. It's him, with his tufts of blonde hair and his strong, warm hands and his soft voice that makes her want to stay with him forever.
He crawls under the sheets with her, a hand on her shoulder. He brushes her dark hair to the side, taking in all the smells - the fresh linen on the pillowcase, the warm forest smell of his fiance, and the dark, damp smell of Thirteen's underground bunkers.
"I love you," she says, barely a whisper.
He nods even though he knows she won't see, and says he loves her too. He squeezes her hand. More tears flow down her cheeks as the grief of the loss of her sister, of Prim, hits her like a fist raging through her heart, and maybe she's happy a little bit because of the boy telling her it'll be okay, but she doesn't feel safe, not at all, not in a million years.
She finds the strength to squeeze his hand back, and a tingle of happiness echoes through his veins. She's okay, she doesn't hate me, she's still here with me.
For the second time tonight, she wipes her tears on her plain blue sheets, and she almost feels okay.
For Caesar's Palace's Shipping Week, day one. Prompt: Whisper.