Here's chapter 9. I apologize for the delay. I went out of town last weekend so I couldn't post it. And as a warning, I'm going camping this next weekend so I wont have internet access so expect chapter 10 to be posted sometime around the following Wednesday.
Thank you to those of you that reviewed! It means a lot to hear from you and I always appreciate it, even the fangirling ;).
Ch. 9- Distractions
Time passed by without Peeta's notice. Days blurred to weeks, and weeks became months. Somewhere along the way he turned seventeen, but he kept that to himself. It wasn't something he needed to broadcast, especially after what he came home to. It was far worse returning home from the Tour than it had been to come back from the 74th Annual Hunger Games Peeta discovered. Before he had the naïve hope that the Victory Tour would change things—that the Capitol would change its colors and show leniency. It was foolish, but that's the thing about hope. No matter how bad things got, there was still that spot in the back of his brain where rationality had no say and wild fantasies flourished. But now that Peeta returned for the second time and his relationship worse for the wear, he found there was no strength or patience left for that foolish hope that Cato and he could have their happily ever after. Letting go might have been the easy part if he only knew how to go on after.
The return to District Twelve was a shock to the system. Over the course of the two weeks, Peeta had found great distraction in Cato and their vain plan to fool the Capitol. And so his homecoming was a reality check more like a slap to the face than a relief. The District had changed. The people were scarred by the brief clash with the Capitol and its quick and merciless counter-strike. It was like using a sledgehammer to nail a pushpin into drywall. A new and severe head Peacekeeper, Romulus, was sent to replace Cray. Machine gun outposts were installed on the tops of buildings in the town square along with whipping posts and gallows, which were put to quick use. The entire Wilshurn family had been publicly executed after Riece's actions at the Victory Tour ceremony. Riece was killed that night, shot in the head by a Peacekeeper as the catalyst for the unrest. Now Peacekeepers patrolled the streets at night with automatic rifles and there was to be no gatherings in public of more than four people at a time, while homes were only allowed to hold the total number of occupants that lived with in it and no more.
Fear and despair were rampant among District Twelve citizens. They were so used to being ignored and starved by the Capitol that their newfound interest in enforcing the law on them was enough to drive the tiny spark of rebellion from their eyes and lower their heads in surrender. If they couldn't stand up for themselves, how was Peeta supposed to stand tall for them in the face of the Capitol's fury? How was he supposed to move on from the death of a young boy when the blood was on his hands? He had volunteered to spare Riece—to give him the chance at life he never would have had if he were to enter the Hunger Games—only to find his life cut short less than a year later.
It was late on a Sunday morning and already unbearably hot. The month of June was known for dictating the season's weather and it was already packing quite the punch, signaling a long and hot summer was ahead of them. Peeta wanted to hide under the covers of his bed a little while longer in hopes of out sleeping his hangover, but the sweltering heat kept his sleep restless. The sheets were wet with his sweat and his unruly hair matted to his forehead. He thought back on the night before, how Haymitch and he fed off each other's misery and overindulged in white liquor. Now his stomach churned mercilessly like a mixing bowl beating his insides into mushy batter, and his head felt twice as large and heavy.
Suddenly the blinds were wrenched open and a voice was yelling at him to get up. The sheets were tugged clean off the bed and Peeta along with them.
"Ouch! What the hell?" Peeta barked from the floor, cradling the back of his head in one hand and shielding his eyes from the imperious sun with the other.
"Your breath smells like shit." Gale's firm voice spoke from somewhere above Peeta. When Peeta's eyes finally adjusted to the glare of the morning sun through his windows, he frowned at his intruder. Gale stood tall above him and was unmoved by the slanted eyes shot his way.
"It's time for this to end. This isn't you. So come on, up 'n at 'em."
Gale held out a hand for Peeta to grab hold of then he hauled him up. Peeta wobbled momentarily, unsteady on his two feet. It took a moment for the blood in his body to catch up with the quick rise of his head. Everything spun sickeningly and Peeta worried he might embarrass himself further and throw up on Gale's boots. Luckily the boots moved, and Gale returned from the bathroom with a glass of water.
"Drink this."
Peeta did so gladly. The cool water did wonders for his parched throat and helped lower his body temperature, which was obscenely high from the hangover and summer heat. Gale watched him thoughtfully the whole time—his thick brows twisted in contemplation of the mess of a boy before him—his jaw quirked to the side.
"Okay, c'mon now." Gale threw a change of clothes at him and marched towards the stairwell.
"What are we doing?" Peeta asked while hurriedly changing.
"I know people like you," Gale stated. "You take everything to heart and carry everyone's load, even when you don't have to." He kept his back to Peeta to give him privacy, which Peeta much appreciated. He wasn't sure why, but the idea of stripping in front of Gale was oddly disconcerting. He stumbled to put on the shorts as fast as possible, but then found he was swept up in what Gale had to say. "You take the blame, even when things are out of your control, and you have the biggest fucking martyr complex I've ever seen. You can't save everyone and even if you could you need to take care of yourself first, otherwise, what good are you? You need to snap out of this and the best way is to provide distraction. So we hunt—Are you done yet?" Gale asked sounding a little exasperated and he swiveled around to face Peeta.
Frozen mid-change, Peeta stood shocked by the words Gale spoke. One arm and head were through the holes of the shirt while the other dangled lifeless beside him. Peeta mouth hung slack from his jaw as he stared back at Gale's dangerously blue eyes. Gale took in the form before him before a smile cracked across his face like cement buckling from heat. His serious attitude was lost as he doubled over with snorts of laughter through his nostrils. Coming back to himself Peeta felt his cheeks flush and he quickly put his other arm through his shirt hiding the smooth flesh of his stomach.
"Sorry—sorry," Gale panted through breathy laughs. "You just looked like the exact impersonation of a deer I startled hunting last week."
Peeta huffed, tugging on a pair of brown leather boots like Gale's.
"Shut up. You surprised me is all." Peeta replied. "I just never thought of it that way. You're actually pretty smart, Gale Hawthorne."
Peeta checked Gale's shoulder as he passed by to the hallway. Gale's head crooked to the side and honed in on Peeta. He could still feel the eyes on him as he moved down the stairs.
"You coming?" He hollered over his shoulder. Peeta already felt better. It was like the words Gale spoke were the key to the lock inside his chest where all his broken emotions and self-destructive thoughts were stored, festering away at his soul. Now they were freed and Peeta no longer felt chained to them, unable to move from his bed or face the day. Gale was right, this wasn't him and he couldn't hide from life just because it got too hard. When had it ever been easy?
Gale caught up to him by the bottom step and then they raced through the streets of District Twelve to the outer fence. They moved quick and quietly, not wanting to draw any attention as they moved through the streets. Gale tested the fence before they both slipped through the weakened portion of the barrier and then hustled it towards the tree line. Once under the cover of the trees and their cooling shade, Gale offered Peeta some more water and jerky he'd made from a hunt a few weeks back. It satisfied his grumbling stomach and gave him permission to be silent while he munched. The heat was still fierce and it worked the hangover out of his system quickly through his sweat. Gale led the way through the woods with the satisfied confidence of a man who knew his way around the forest so intimately he could probably navigate it blindfolded.
The tree where Gale stashed his bow and arrows was maybe a five-minute walk from the edge of the forest. During that time Peeta took stock of the man he was following. He had shoulders almost as broad as Cato's, but a slimmer torso and athletic legs, ones built from years of running and hiking the mountains surrounding the district. His brown hair was almost always brushed off his forehead. He would probably deny it until the end of his days, but Peeta could tell he took the time to care for his appearance. He chuckled at that.
"What's so funny?" Gale asked. The silence finally broke.
"Just thinkin' to my self."
"Hm," Gale hummed. Digging in the trunk of a tree he pulled from within two carved wooden bows and quivers. He hefted one in his hand and a dark look passed over his blue eyes for a moment before he looked up at Peeta.
"This was Katniss's…" Gale said gently. He fingered the polished wood of the bow before holding it out to Peeta. It was smoothed from years of use. "I think she would have wanted you to have it."
He'd never used a bow before, but Katniss had made it look so effortless. Peeta studied the bow and quiver given to him by Gale breathlessly. The wood was cool to the touch and heavier than Peeta expected. Knowing Katniss made them with Gale—that the last time she used this bow with Gale she had no idea it would truly be her very last—was a weight he wasn't sure he could carry. It had so much symbolism that Peeta didn't feel right co-opting it. And even more so now that Gale wanted to pass it on to him. Gale must have known because before Peeta could back out he spoke.
"You know Katniss was terrible the first time she used a bow. I found her in the woods trying desperately to catch a squirrel with her bare hands to feed her family." Gale smiled fondly at the memory, his eyes glossed over staring at the bow then to Peeta's face. "She was prepared to fight me. She was always quick to judge—and usually right—but I managed to convince her I wanted to help. Soon after that, we spent almost every afternoon out here. Making these bows," Gale held up his darker wooden bow, twirling it in his hand. "Learning to hunt. She was quick to learn. You'd never have known how bad she was at first seeing how she used it in the games."
Gale began to walk and so Peeta followed in step just beside him. He was fascinated by Gale's words. He had barely scratched the surface of her character before she was lost to him and now hearing Gale share such intimate stories about her with him—well it was like a second chance at getting to know her. And now that he had her bow, it was like she was still with him. He could—they could never forget her. Never would.
"She had a tough exterior," Gale continued as they hiked on, where to Peeta didn't know. "But beneath it all she was a big softie. We came across an injured fawn two summers ago and I wanted to end its misery and sell it at the Hob, but she wouldn't let me. Just like her sister, they both have a huge heart filled with compassion for the weak and defenseless. She patched its leg and we spent the next week or so nursing it back to health."
As he talked, Peeta studied the relaxed look that spread over his face. It was like watching the tide wash away all the detritus and pain that had built up in the lines of his face, leaving behind a man content with life. Gale happened a glance at Peeta. His look was indistinguishable and Peeta wondered, was I the injured fawn and Gale now felt it was his turn to nurse something back to health?
"She took it upon herself to protect me." Peeta blurted out. He wanted to offer something to the conversation. Give Gale what he got in return. "She took on the brute from 4, Stasson, when he was picking on me. She wanted to divert as much attention away from me before we got to the arena. To help alleviate the large bulls-eye that targeted my back. I just wish I could have done the same for her."
They halted their journey now at the edge of the forest and stood on an outcropping of stone over a vast valley. It stretched out in an endless expanse of dark evergreens and jagged rocks. A river slashed through the scenery, flowing endlessly south and Peeta wondered where it all ended. Was safety to be found there, or did the Capitol's reach stretch to the ends of the rivers and lakes, oceans and mountains? Was anything truly safe?
Gale set down his bow and pulled out more jerky, offering some to Peeta as he sat back against the rocks and studied the landscape before him.
"You two are more alike than you realize." Gale spoke softly now, like he were sharing secrets not his to tell. "Every day I see so many of the qualities I loved about her in you, Peeta. At first glance, it might be easy to overlook you both, but beneath the surface there's so much more. You're both unflinching in the face of adversity. Neither of you are willing to give up on those you care for. It's the reason people are so drawn to you." Gale paused, chewing on a piece of jerky before swallowing and turning to look at Peeta. He seemed humbled by the words he spoke. "It's what I admire about you so much."
If someone had told Peeta he'd find himself here, in this situation, back before the Victory Tour, back before Darius, Peeta would have called them mad. But now he couldn't imagine not having Gale as a friend. They leaned on each other in ways they couldn't with anyone else. They were equals in their grief over Katniss and neither of them had to put up a front or hide it. Peeta held the bow close to his lap, imagining he could almost feel Katniss holding him back through it.
"Thank you. That means a—a lot coming from you."
"S'the truth." Gale shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. He stood on jittery legs. "Now lets teach you how to use that bow."
Peeta gulped. He wasn't sure he was ready for that. Could he ever do justice to Katniss's bow? It was a high standard to live up to, but Gale wouldn't have any of his hesitancy. They spent the rest of the afternoon in the woods practicing. Peeta was terrible at first, but Gale refused to give up. Everything took time and he knew Peeta had it in him, based off his ability with the spear during the games. Gale set up targets for Peeta, and then helped guide him through how to use the bow. Gale even managed to catch a few squirrels to bring home to his family that evening. It was one of the most pleasant days Peeta had in months, but the standard was pretty low. For the slightest moment, he was even able to forget where he was, who he was. There was no Capitol, no boy on fire or impending uprising. He was just a guy passing the time with a good friend.
The next few weeks whittled away in the same fashion. Whenever Gale had a free moment, it was spent with Peeta helping keep him focused on the positive. Every Sunday was spent out in the forest learning to use the bow and hunting. Peeta grew in proficiency with Katniss's bow, and he found time actually moved by faster than he wanted it to on those hot afternoons in the forest. He was always sad when their Sundays in the woods had to end, because it meant the fantasy was over and Peeta had to go back to his lonesome home while Gale worked a grueling week at the mines. He tried to stay busy, visiting with Primrose or Haymitch and ,on occasion, the bakery. But only when he knew it was likely to be staffed by only his father.
Alas, things were not getting any better with Cato. The frequency of their phone conversations continued to decline from every night to about three times a week now. Peeta wasn't even sure when to expect a call from Cato anymore, and it only made it that much harder to sit around waiting for a call that might never come. So when they did, Peeta found he had little patience left for Cato. Everything was different now with no Victory Tour to look forward to.
The phone rang at 7:24 on a Thursday evening. It had been three days since their last conversation. Peeta was sketching in a notepad a picture of the valley Gale and he often trekked too for lunch on their Sundays when the phone rang, shattering the peaceful quiet. Peeta waited to pick the phone up until the last ring.
"Yes?" He answered curtly.
There was a sudden intake of breath on the other end of the crackling line then a moment's pause.
"Peeta?" Cato's voice asked.
"Who else?"
"Sorry, you just sounded different."
Peeta could just imagine him on the other end of the line with the confused pout on his face. Peeta twisted the cord of the phone in his hand, his eyes ill at ease and roaming the walls of the kitchen.
"Well I'm just a little busy right now."
"Oh, I can call back later then…"
"No, don't bother. We can talk now. It's not like I can trust you to call back anytime soon."
Peeta couldn't understand why he was being so combative. He should be thrilled at the chance to even talk with Cato. The fact that they could even call each other was more than most could ask for in their situation, which wasn't many. Everything was strained between them anymore. Even the simplest of conversations carried an undercurrent of resentment.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Cato bristled, quickly joining Peeta's emotionally volatile state.
"What do you think, Cato?" Peeta released a pent up sigh. He crushed his eyes closed and tried to imagine that he was really with Cato, that they were together and having this conversation in person. But then every time Cato spoke he was reminded how far apart they were by the static crackle of the phone line.
"I just don't know what to do anymore. You haven't called me in three days and I've lost all consistency with you. I don't know when to expect your call anymore, and I can't just sit and wait by the phone every day, anxious for a call that may not even come. Do you know how much that hurts? How exhausting it is?"
Peeta felt on the verge of tears. The phone cord was now wrapped in knots around his hand and he could feel the bark of his ring cutting into his finger. He hadn't meant at all for the conversation to take this turn, but he couldn't stop himself. It needed to be said, because it really was unfair. Cato blamed him for how it all ended on the Victory Tour, he knew it, and Peeta couldn't stand it any longer.
"DO YOU—" Cato cut off and Peeta heard the loud crack of something breaking. Peeta was ready for more shouting and he could feel the blood pumping fast through his veins, readying for a fight. Cato breathed furiously on the other end before suddenly reigning it all back under control. "I don't know how to fix this, Peeta. I—I'm sorry."
All the fight left Peeta's body at those strangled words. The heat dissipated from his blood and his heart rate fell back to a normal pace.
"I don't either. I think—I think we should just try again tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay, tomorrow…" Cato responded flat on the other end. "Bye, Peeta."
He hung up and the line clicked dead as Peeta said, "Bye Cato potato."
Sitting at the kitchen table, Peeta furiously pulled the tangled cord from his hand. It was in a knotted mess that Peeta just couldn't seem to unravel. The loops of the cord were too complicated to disentangle and Peeta just slammed the phone back into its base, giving up. What more could he do? He tried to go back to his art, but found he had lost his appetite for drawing. Instead he packed it in early that night and went to bed. The handcrafted ring heavy on his finger like a rock, a constant reminder of what he didn't have. At least if he was asleep he wouldn't have to listen to that voice in his head that told him he was fucking everything up.
The following Monday, Peeta was awakened by the monotonous ring of his doorbell. Pulling on a pair of shorts and a fresh t-shirt, Peeta made his way downstairs. He wasn't expecting anyone so he ran though the people in his head that might be paying him a visit. Gale was at work, Prim at school. It was way to early for Haymitch to be up and his father should be at the bakery.
It turned out to be someone he hadn't been expecting to see again until the Capitol.
"Portia! What are you doing here?" Peeta exclaimed. He pulled her quickly through the door for a hug. She laughed and as he pulled back he saw the men carrying two large trunks behind her. He looked at her questioningly for a response.
"It's good to see you, Peeta." She smiled down on him. Her heels made her slightly taller than Peeta, but he didn't mind the difference. "I managed to wrangle the honor of being your wedding designer. They gave me permission to come see you for some fittings, we have plenty of outfits to choose from, but only the perfect one will do for your perfect day!"
Peeta couldn't help but feel a swelling of excitement along with Portia. Even if things were rocky between him and Cato at the moment, he knew their day would be something special now that Portia had a hand in it. Nothing could go wrong with it now, and the Capitol even seemed to be supporting her efforts. It was now to be a televised event at the Capitol before the Quarter Quell began and Peeta hoped this meant they would at least let the newlyweds spend the rest of their time together in the Capitol until the games were over.
"Come now, lets get you showered and while you do that I'll set up in your bedroom."
Peeta spent the rest of the afternoon trying on different variations of tuxedos. Some were simple and elegant while others veered drastically into the outlandish. But nothing seemed to be moving Portia. Each time he tried on a new outfit, she would analyze it with a critically narrowed eye and then huff, telling him to take it off.
He was now wearing a flame red cape with an iridescent orange suit and knee high black boots with red stitching. It was by far the worst thing he had ever laid eyes on. Portia agreed.
"What are you looking for exactly?" Peeta asked, wanting to get an idea for what she was feeling for him. She paused from plucking out garments from the clothes racks she had set up and turned back to face him.
"I'm trying to put something together in my head. I needed to see you because it just wasn't coming to me on paper," She explained. She moved forward and stalked around him. "I want it to be epic. I want it to be something we haven't seen before. It needs to inspire."
Peeta cocked his head at that. She spoke the word inspire in a peculiar way. He took a closer look at her and wondered what he was missing. This wasn't just an ordinary wedding tuxedo she was putting together. It seemed to stand for something more, but he couldn't figure out what the end goal was that Portia was working towards. In the end she packed everything back up without a decision having been made on what he would wear, but Peeta saw the inspiration twinkling behind her caramel eyes. She had a plan now.
"Will you stay for dinner?"
"I'm sorry, Peeta, but they only allowed me to be here for the day. The train leaves in fifteen, if I don't go now I'll be late."
Peeta nodded. He understood. There was nothing she could do, not when it came to the Capitol's demands. She brought a golden-polished nail to his chin and aligned his eyes with her.
"Don't be so down, Peeta." She smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You're the light in a ruthless dark, people are drawn to it, even if to catch but a momentary flicker of your warmth. You're never as alone as you think."
The beginnings of a true smile wormed its way onto Peeta's face. Portia always had a way of making Peeta feel comforted. Soon after Portia left, Peeta heard his television turn on in the other room. He knew that meant a mandatory announcement was about to be made. He moved his way in there to see Caesar Flickerman sitting at his desk with his trademark million dollar smile.
"This is a customary announcement that tomorrow night at 7pm is mandatory TV viewing. Thank you and I shall see you all then!"
The television went black and Peeta was left with a nagging sensation in the back of his mind. Something about that didn't sit well with him. Caesar was never the one to make those sorts of announcements. Not unless it was something especially big.
And so for the whole next day, worry ate away at him like a slow acting acid, gradually wearing down his defenses until he was a jittering mess. A little before seven, Primrose and her mom, Haymitch, Gale and—thoughtfully—his father showed up.
"You didn't have to come, I know mom probably didn't approve."
His father's portly frame jostled with a small laugh in the pit of his chest. He put a hand on Peeta's shoulder then paused, the air growing awkward before he peeled it back to his side.
"She can't keep me from seeing my son."
Peeta felt a smidge better after that and reached back out to pat his father's arm. It was just as awkward when he did it. They didn't know how to be family, but it was baby steps.
Prim's expectant olive eyes popped up by Peeta's shoulder and he was then forcibly drawn to the couch. He made an effort to greet Mrs. Everdeen and Haymitch as Prim guided him on by them.
"I think it's going to be about your wedding. Haymitch told me Portia came by yesterday to do your fitting. You have to tell me what you'll be wearing! Portia does the best fashion."
Prim exclaimed this in a bubbly fashion and for a moment Peeta really did believe that was what it would be about. But then the television flickered to life of its own accord and Peeta fell against the cushions between Prim and Gale, suddenly fearful.
Caesar was behind his desk where he usually reported the tributes' rankings. He wore a powdered beige wig with matching shirt and tie. The sleeves were puffed and the collar frilled. It was very unflattering.
"Good evening to the citizens of Panem. I have some very exciting business for you all," Caesar looked the image of a cracked out squirrel he was so excited. He handled a large cream envelope in his hands delicately. "In my hand here I hold the official rules for this years 75th Annual Hunger Games and 3rd Quarter Quell." He paused for effect. "As most of you know, the Quarter Quell is a very special version of the Hunger Games that is to take place every 25 years. These are to be special pageants meant to be larger and grander than the others in memory to the dark days that preceded them. The Rules have all been created back at the inception of the Games and locked away for safe keeping, only to be read at such time as when it is to occur."
Peeta thought that had to be a lie. But he didn't dwell on it because suddenly Caesar was tearing into the envelope and reading it with greedy eyes, just as desperate no doubt as the rest of the Capitol was to know what sick devices the Gamemakers would inflict on the District's children this year.
"Oh my. Well isn't this a twist."
Peeta really wished he would just read it. Gale's leg jostled up and down next to him and it shook the couch. Peeta placed a hand on his thigh to still it, the movements only working to build his anxiety further. Gale tensed and threw a look at Peeta before mouthing 'sorry'.
"For this years 3rd Quarter Quell the rules state: all tributes shall be chosen from the existing pool of Victors…" He gave a pause to let that sink in. "Isn't that—well, isn't that something?"
Even Caesar seemed at a loss for words. But he could have started speaking in gibberish and had a seizure before the camera and Peeta wouldn't have notice because he was already sprinting from the room. People may have shouted his name, but all he could hear was the tidal wave of blood crashing through his ears and his thunderous heartbeat. It felt like it was beating in his throat and each pump of the heart was a punch to his gag reflex.
He didn't stop running until he was at the far uninhabited end of Victor Row where he fell into the manicured lawn and vomited.
This can't be happening. Not again. They want to send me back. I can't, I can't go back.
Peeta knew this was punishment for his actions. There was no way this was pre-written. There were only two Victors from District 12 and chances where fifty-fifty that he would be going back in. There was no way he could win it a second time. Oh god, Cato! It hit Peeta that he wouldn't even know if Cato was chosen until it was too late to do anything. Peeta rolled onto his back and the vomit. Then he unleashed a scream so powerful and so deep from his chest that it felt like it tore his insides out with it.
When he opened his eyes he saw Gale crouched over him with a serious look on his face.
"Promise me you won't go back." He demanded. His voice was as strained as if he had unleashed the scream and as hard as the rock unpleasantly wedged between Peeta's shoulder blades.
"W-what?"
"Promise me that if Haymitch is chosen you won't volunteer and that you won't stop him from taking your place if you're chosen. Promise me, Peeta!" He shouted the last part and it startled Peeta back into the present. He felt like shit for having run out on them. He wasn't the only one going through this, they all had to suffer through it too if he went back in and Haymitch was just as much a victim as he was, if not more since this would be his second Quarter Quell.
"I—I don't understand why you're asking this," Peeta spoke. He still looked up at Gale perched over him like a worried mother bird standing guard over its hatchling.
"Because Peeta!" Gale stood up suddenly and the difference in height between them with Peeta on the ground was staggering so he sat up, disgusted by the vomit stuck in his hair. "Because I care what happens to you and I can't lose you, not you too! Not you too…"
It was then that Peeta realized how deeply Gale cared for him. Things had changed drastically between them since he first returned from the Games and Peeta now felt like he finally had a view inside the hard surfaced Gale. It was all laid bare before him, and the loss of Katniss still ached fiercely like a fresh wound. Peeta pushed himself up and looked into Gale's frenetic blue eyes. He could see all the fear and hurt and confusion that stormed inside them like they were his too. Because they were his.
"I p-promise I won't volunteer if Haymitch is chosen." The thought then crossed Peeta's mind of who would take the girl's slot, but it was brushed from his mind as Gale pulled him in to a bruising hug.
"Thank you," He breathed a sigh of relief over Peeta's shoulder and hugged just a little tighter. An odd electric current suddenly coursed through Peeta's body. It felt strongest at his heart and then shot out through the rest of his body like static electricity before dissipating through his fingers and toes. It was there and gone in a second and Peeta was left to question whether he really felt it or it was just his mind playing tricks.
Then they headed back to Peeta's house. It was going to be a long and sleepless night, but he knew he had family and friends to get him through it now. He was no longer the lonely boy he used to be—he finally had something worth living for, he wasn't about to lose it all now.
