Autumn
A single tear rolls slowly down my cheek. The pale flowers blur in my flooded eyes, and I glance over at Peeta. His face is a mask of pain and loss; the prominent grey circles hang ominously beneath his eyes, his cheeks emaciated and gaunt. I can tell he hasn't shaved recently, and my heart drops to my stomach when I picture him like Haymitch, lost and consumed by his own memories.
Then I lose it. My tears grow into sobs, my breathing turns to loud heaving. I feel him cup his hand around my head and tuck it beneath his chin, "I'm sorry Katniss." He whispers painfully.
"Shave, please." I breathe, taking a step back. This scares me. He wanted to kill me.
"Okay," he chuckles, "I'll shave." And for the first time I watch a smirk tug at his cheeks, pulling him into an honest smile. I haven't seen him smile like that since, well, the first morning of the quarter quell, when he found me a pearl.
He didn't want to kill me. I thought he did, but I was frightened, petrified. How could I think about Peeta's side of the story when he was attempting to strangle me?
So many times people have said he's weak, even I thought about it once or twice. But I was wrong. Peeta was abused. How he managed to stay sane and appear normal to me, the few times I noticed him at school, I don't know.
He was rejected by his family, he survived 2 games, he got hijacked by the capitol and fought in a war. I wish more people understood him, realised and admired the pain he's gone through; we've gone through. I admire him.
"I was afraid you were turning into Haymitch, it scares me." He wipes the tears from my eyes and begins to pick up his tools.
"I'm not surprised. Trust me, I swear to God I will never be an heir to Haymitch's throne." Quietly bending down, he picks me a flower, placing it in the palm of my hand and gently closing my fingers around its damp stem.
"Thank you."
Peeta smiles, I see him plotting a thought inside his creased forehead, "You know," He sniggers, but then his face switches into that of a serious, firm expression. "If you don't treat me like I'm Haymitch, we, we have a shot at, um, being-"
"Friends?"
"Yeah, that."
I sigh. Why after all we've been through we actually have to try to be friends? If he hadn't been hijacked then, well I don't know what it would be like now. Maybe we'd have been more than just friends. No. There's no use being optimistic when I struggle to get through one day at a time, let alone what would, or could happen in years to come.
"Sure, friends. You bake, I hunt. I hope they damaged your hearing in the Capitol you know, you won't sleep otherwise now that you're back."
He frowns, "I don't sleep anyway."
I smile, "Well we'll just stay awake then. We won't sleep, together."
He laughs, "I haven't heard that word in a good 3 years."
My mind flickers back to my first games. Me and Peeta standing face to face in the arena, berries in hand, death only a few seconds away. What if we had swallowed the nightlock?
On a lighter note, I joke, "Thanks to the generosity of the Capitol, we've never been closer."
"25 yards to be exact."