The Neighbor.
Peeta crossed his arms over his chest and let out a satisfied sigh.
Three perfect loaves rested on his kitchen counter. Their golden, crisp crusts made his mouth water.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath allowing the enticing smell of freshly baked bread to tickle his nose.
A smile spread across his lips and, for the first time in what felt like ages, he laughed. The empty house in Victors' Village was finally beginning to feel like a home.
Taking advantage of his good mood, Peeta opened a drawer and pulled out two clean tea towels. After laying them flat on the countertop, he placed a loaf inside each and left the third one for later.
With practiced ease, he wrapped each bread in its towel and, after stacking one loaf on top of the other, he slid them over the countertop and into his waiting arms.
Another deep breath settled his nerves.
With newfound determination, he squared his shoulders, plastered a smile on his face, and made his way to Katniss's house.
Mrs. Everdeen opened the door, blue eyes surprised to find him standing on her front porch. "Good morning, Peeta!"
"Hello, Mrs. E.," he said in the friendliest tone he could muster. With one sheepish look at the covered loaves bundled in the crook of his arm, he said, "Looks like I baked a little too much this morning."
Handing one of the loaves to her, he added, "I thought I'd share with my neighbors. Hope that's ok."
Mrs. Everdeen smiled kindly at him. "Thank you, Peeta, that's very nice of you." She reached out to accept his offering. He could see her knuckles turning slightly white as her fingers tightened around the still warm loaf.
"You're welcome," he said. Before they could exchange any more pleasantries, —or she felt compelled to ask him in— Peeta cocked his head towards Haymitch's house, and added, "Gotta go. One more delivery to make!"
"See you later, then. Have a good day!" Mrs. Everdeen said affably before stepping back to close the door.
Peeta turned back on his steps.
In one cleansing exhale, he released all the air from his lungs. A sense of peaceful well-being enveloped him, and he walked the short distance to Haymitch's house on much lighter feet.
He had spent the last few weeks holed up in his house, licking his wounds and living like a hermit. But he'd had enough. He was a victor, a survivor, and he was done feeling sorry for himself.
His family didn't want to share in his good fortune? That was their loss.
Katniss wouldn't give him the time of day? That was her choice.
He wasn't going to force Katniss to acknowledge him, but he refused to spend any more time hiding in the shadows and acting like he had done something wrong.
District 12 was big enough for both of them. He could be neighborly and sociable without interacting with Katniss Everdeen. Wasn't that what he'd done for most of his life anyway?
XXXXX
The soft knock on the front door caught him by surprise. Intrigued, Peeta rushed to answer.
His eyes widened when he caught sight of Prim waiting on his front porch; her smile shy and hesitant as she stood, ramrod straight, clutching a wooden box in her small hands.
"Hey, Prim."
"Hi, Peeta," she answered politely. "I stopped by to bring you this." In one fluid motion, she pushed the box into his hands.
Dumbstruck, he took the box from her. It was heavier than he'd expected. His fingers caressed the smooth surface which had been varnished with a blue hue.
"Thanks," he said, lifting the box so he could inspect it more closely. "What's in it?"
"Some ointments and balms," Prim explained.
"Did your mother make them?"
She nodded. "I helped a little," she added with a small shrug.
Peeta smiled. He was about to thank her for the present and send her on her merry way when a thought popped into his head. Before he had time to second-guess himself, he asked, "Hey, I was just about to make a cup of tea. Would you like some?"
Prim's mouth dropped open and, for an instant, Peeta thought she was going to decline his offer but, instead, she said, "Sure. I'd love some."
Opening the door wider for her, he said, "Alright, come on right in."
XXXXX
Peeta walked into his kitchen with Prim trailing close behind.
"Grab a stool and sit down," he instructed, carefully leaving his wooden box on top of the kitchen island. "Which one do you prefer, mint or black?" he asked, placing two containers in front of her.
Prim cocked her head to the side. "Mint, please."
"Very well, mint it is." Grabbing the container with the mint leaves, Peeta turned to the stove and busied himself with the tea.
Sitting on her stool, Prim watched as her neighbor measured tea leaves and poured hot water into a large teapot.
She had never been to Peeta's house before, and she was surprised to discover that, although the structural layout was exactly the same as in Katniss's, the décor was entirely different.
Mrs. Everdeen had chosen traditional pieces that gave the place a formal look, but the furniture in Peeta's house was a lot more modest and inviting, homelier. Prim quickly decided she liked it.
Peeta was still busy arranging teacups and a small plate with cookies on a tray when Prim's eyes landed on a small watercolor which hung on the wall closest to the back door. It was a landscape of the meadow at springtime. It was so vivid she could almost smell the damp earth and feel the soft blades of grass brushing against her fingers.
"Did you paint that?" she asked, pointing at the picture.
Startled, Peeta turned around. Narrowing his eyes, he followed the direction of Prim's finger. "Oh! Yeah. I painted that a while back."
With a sigh, Peeta grabbed the tray laden with goodies and took it over to the island where Prim was sitting. With a steady hand, he poured a cup and handed it over to her. Then, he repeated the process, pouring some tea for himself before sitting down on his own stool.
"Cookie?" he offered, pushing the small plate towards his visitor.
Nodding, Prim reached for one of the cookies and held it in her hand. Her eyes lit up as she inspected the frosting. Peeta had decorated it with a lilac bloom. "You've always been very talented, you know?"
Peeta's cheeks turned pink at the girl's praise. "Thanks, Prim," he mumbled.
Prim bit into the cookie, chewing thoughtfully before speaking again. "I've always liked your cakes -especially the ones you made in spring with all the different flowers. I used to beg Katniss to take me to the bakery so that I could see them," she said, smiling brightly at the happy memory.
Peeta took a sip of his tea, grateful for Prim's warmth and innocence. If he closed his eyes, he could still recall Katniss's visits to the bakery and the awe in Prim's pretty face; her nose pressed against the window as she admired his creations.
"I also like your signature," Prim added, seemingly as lost in her memories as he was.
Peeta straightened up, leaving his cup back on the table. "My signature?"
Prim's head bobbed up and down. "The Katniss flower. Most of your cakes had one; small and white. It was usually tucked into a corner, hidden beneath other things, but I always spotted it. It was almost like a game."
Peeta swallowed thickly. Prim was right. For years he had played with the white petals, carefully coloring the center of the flowers with beetroot juice whenever he could find it. But he hadn't thought anyone had noticed.
His chest tightened to the point of nausea as he asked, "Does your sister know?"
Prim quickly shook her head. "I never told her. I honestly thought it was just a coincidence."
Peeta chuckled, there wasn't any joy in it, just relief. After everything he'd been through in the last couple of months, he didn't think he couldn't handle knowing that Katniss might have had an inkling into what his feelings were all along.
With a sigh, Peeta turned away from Prim.
His eyes landed on the present she had given him. Eager to find a distraction, he reached for it and placed it next to his teacup. "So, what have we got here?" he asked, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the sight of the six small glass jars packed inside the box.
"Just a few basics," Prim said. Pointing to each jar, she explained, "The first one is for burns, you'll probably use this one the most. The second one is to prevent infection in case of cuts. The third one will come in handy during the summer, it's for mosquito bites, reduces the swelling and prevents itching. The fourth is for winter; you have to rub it on your back and chest if you have a cold. The last two are oils. You have to put a few drops in a bowl with boiling water -or in a humidifier if you have one. They're soothing, and they'll help you relax. You can use them at night before you go to sleep."
Peeta nodded, quickly taking in all of Prim's instructions. "Thank you, Prim. This is a great present. Please tell your mom how much I appreciate it."
Prim blew into her teacup and took a small sip. "Sure. I'll let her know."
A comfortable silence settled over the pair as they both drank their teas and nibbled on a few more cookies.
Peeta had almost drained his cup when Prim cleared her throat. "Can I ask you something?"
Peeta looked up. For the first time since she'd stepped into his house, her voice sounded strained.
"Sure, Prim, anything."
Prim wrapped her arms around herself, her shoulders dropped. He could almost see the air leaving her lungs in one shaky exhale. "Do you have them?" she asked.
Peeta waited for a moment, mind racing as he tried to figure out what Prim was talking about. When she didn't offer any more information, he asked, "What are you talking about, Prim?"
Blue eyes, sad and worried, locked with his. "Nightmares," she clarified. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "Do you have nightmares, Peeta?"
His whole body went numb. Of course, he had nightmares. It was one of the darker realities of being a victor. He had a lot of money, a lot of free time, and plenty of ghosts to keep him company.
Looking past his anxiety, he saw Prim sitting across from him, hugging herself while she waited for his answer.
The young girl who had initially been chosen to be his companion in the arena looked a lot older than any 12-year-old ever should. Who could blame her after everything she'd been through lately?
What would have happened to her, he wondered, if Katniss hadn't volunteered to take her place. What would have happened to me?
His gut twisted uncomfortably at the question. He didn't have to dig too deep to know that neither one of them would be there, having tea in his kitchen, if Katniss hadn't stepped up.
Katniss.
Suddenly, Prim's question made a lot more sense.
Looking straight into the girl's eyes, he admitted, "I do. I have them almost every night."
Prim's whole posture relaxed as if a great weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Trying to keep his voice steady, Peeta asked, "How about Katniss, does she have bad dreams?"
Prim nodded. Her eyes turned glassy, but she kept her tears at bay. "She wakes up screaming in the middle of the night. Sometimes I understand what she says, but there are nights when I don't know what's going on." Dropping her hands on her lap, she laced them together. "I know she doesn't want to scare me, but she always looks terrified, like her mind is trapped in the arena or something."
Peeta's teacup rattled as he clumsily placed it on its saucer.
His hands trembled as he felt the effect of Prim's words, slicing through him like a warm knife cutting through butter, quickly melting the resentment and anger he'd been carrying around ever since he'd come back from the Capitol.
He had been so mad at Katniss, -blaming her for turning him into a lovesick idiot, a blundering fool who had opened his heart only to have it trampled on— that he'd never stopped to consider how she might be feeling or how she was handling her life as a victor.
"I'm sorry, Prim," he mumbled, his voice raw and broken.
Prim smiled kindly at him as she shook her head. Her cheeks turned pink when she added, "Sometimes she calls out your name."
"What?" Peeta croaked.
Slowly, Prim went on, "She calls out for you, asks you to run or wait. She asks you to stop, to stay. She gets mad and cries when you don't listen."
Peeta released the air burning his lungs in one long exhale. The room around him began to spin making him nauseous.
Wrapping his hands around the edge of the tabletop, he pressed down. Hard. Anchoring himself to the room.
Gradually, his breathing evened out, his heart stopped pounding.
Collecting his thoughts, he said, "I dream about her too."
Prim's head snapped up. "You do?"
Peeta opened his mouth to speak but stopped, unsure of how to explain what his dreams were about without scaring Prim too much.
How could he tell her that he saw her sister dying every night, bleeding in his arms as he stood by unable to do anything but watch? He didn't have the right words to explain how the weight of Katniss's lifeless body, pressing down on his lap while he yelled at her to stay alive, remained with him long after he woke up from his nightly terrors.
Swallowing thickly, he said, "I dream of her slipping between my fingers."
He didn't know if his words made a lot of sense. But Prim seemed to get the picture. Her slight nod made him believe she understood.
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AN. Reviews are as soothing as Prim's balms. You always make my day when you share them with me. Thanks!
You can also find me on Tumblr. I'm Javistg over there, come and say hi!
The Hunger Games Trilogy is property of Suzanne Collins. No money was made off of the creation of this fanwork.