This is canon-divergent if Katniss reached out to Peeta before the Victory Tour shortly after the Capitol crew left.
"Peeta?"
"Hmpf?" He answered, shifting his head on his pillow to look over at me sitting on the edge of his bed. I tried not to let my eyes linger on his broad, muscular back.
"I know-" I started, cutting myself off and trying again. "I know you get nightmares like mine, and," His eyes flitted open to meet mine making me pause. "And I was wondering, are you sleeping okay now or-" I stopped talking before I started rambling.
"How did you get in here?" He asks, his voice deep and raspy with sleep. I shrugged.
"Your window was open." His eyebrows lift.
"You climbed in through my window?"
"Well you weren't answering the door and it was locked, how else do you expect me to get in?" I reason, my face flushing. "I-I just wanted to check on you, you haven't left your house in days and-"
"I didn't know you noticed. Or cared." He responds, letting his eyes close again. I frown. This is the Peeta that I hate, the one who is stand offish because he is hurt. I sigh. I guess I'm the same.
"I do care, Peeta. I can't tell you that I love you because I really don't know, but I do care about you." I explain slowly, thinking about each part before I said it. Peeta's shoulders lift as he huffs out a breath. He rolls over onto his back, his eyes watching me carefully.
"You haven't been sleeping well." I say, although it's more an observation than a question. He shrugs.
"Not used to having so much space to myself, I've been a little jumpy lately."
"Why didn't your family move in here with you?" I ask before I think.
"They don't want to live off the victor's winnings and they don't want to be so far from the bakery."
"Your mom isn't-" I pause, "she's not happy about me, is she." He shakes his head.
"No. Never expected her to be very pleased, though." His eyes closed again. I couldn't think of something to fill the uncomfortable silence, which dragged on for probably a few minutes. But I'm not one for words, so I reached over his bare chest to take his hand in mine, and his eyes popped open. I smiled as gently as I could, trying to apologize without actually saying the words. His eyebrows dipped as he averted his eyes from my face and I continued to hold his hand in both of mine, looking at the new burns he's gotten from baking again.
"You've been baking?" I ask suddenly. He nods. "And painting." I say, noticing the streaks of black, green and red on his forearms and in his hair. Lots of green but mostly red. "Painting the Games." I say so quietly, I don't know if he heard me, or if I want him to. His chest expands and falls again when I brush his curls back from his forehead, tracing my finger down the imprint from a crease in his pillowcase. I bring my hand back down to join the other holding his.
He suddenly sits up, withdrawing his hand from mine and tugging on his hair with a frustrated expression.
"What is it, Katniss? What are you waiting for? You're not talking, you're not doing anything but staring at me, what do you need?" He finally bursts out. I shrug.
"I wanted to make sure you're okay. I've miss you." I say quietly. His eyes squeeze shut for a second before they plead with me.
"Don't do this to me. Not again." He whispers. I shake my head.
"Don't do what?" He huffs, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
"You come in here, hold my hand, make me think you care about me, but then you'll leave." He reaches down near my feet to grab his prosthetic and swings both legs off the other side to attach it, not letting me see. I barely register the empty pant leg before he's done and sits with his feet on the floor, back facing me. He leans on his elbows, putting his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. I crawl across to him, and wrap my arms around his middle, resting my face in between his shoulder blades. He stiffens at my touch.
"I'm not leaving you. I didn't in the arena, why would I now?" I whisper. He must hear though, because his face turns a little towards me. I press my lips to the back of his neck. "I won't leave you, I promise." I tell him again. He shivers when the breeze from his still open window blows over his naked upper half.
"Katniss-" he begs, although I don't know what for. I scoot back, pulling him with me.
I tuck us both back under the blankets, shucking my boots and reaching for his left pant leg. He inches his foot away and I look at his face. His bottom lip is between his teeth and his eyes still red lined. I reach for his leg again, resting my hand at his knee, still warm flesh beneath the soft pants, and I ask, "Do you trust me?" He nods imperceptibly, and my hand lowers, pulling up the bottom of his pants to feel for the fastenings. Once I examine it, figuring out how to take it off, I gently remove it, leaning it against the nightstand. When I touch the stump that ends just below his knee, he winces and I draw my hand away.
"I was pacing a lot yesterday, it usually doesn't hurt that bad." He explains. I frown. His legs aren't hairless like they were in the Games, and I definitely prefer them like this. I run my hand down from his knee, gently massaging the muscles as I go. His breathing picks up and he draws his other leg into a bent position.
"Does that hurt?" I ask, quietly. He shakes his head, closing his eyes again. I continue, working silently, listening to his quiet, rapid breaths.
Eventually, I stop and crawl back up to lay next to him. His arm wraps around me as I hear him sigh, and I lay my head on his chest, tucking my feet under his calf to keep them warm. His breathing lulls me to sleep and for the first time since before my father died, I sleep long and sound.