Today has dragged on, slow and thick, like molasses in winter. Flora wasn't wrong when she said the only excitement was Katniss being brought in. Her labs told the story that I expected—everything upside down. The numbers that should be up are down, and the ones that should be low are through the roof. We've started her on tube feeding, and all I can think about is getting her strong enough so I can bake her something special. I catch myself wondering if she likes chocolate or lemon. Knowing her, she'd go for lemon—sour and biting, just like the sour- pout she used to be.

As I stared at the screens, one showing her lab results and the other her vitals, Delly came up behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders. I felt the warmth of her presence as she peered over my shoulder at the screens. I let my head fall back against her stomach, looking up at her with a weary smile.

Delly and I never had anything romantic between us, though anyone looking might think otherwise. We grew up together, her the tomboy, and me, I was always a bit softer. While she was out catching bugs and climbing trees, I stayed inside with my dad, decorating cakes. I used to sit at the kitchen counter, carefully piping tiny white three-petal flowers onto parchment paper. My father would chuckle and pat my shoulder, amused by my focus. But these weren't just any flowers—they were katniss flowers. I'd make sure each one was perfect, and if it wasn't, I'd scoop up the icing with my finger and try again. Sometimes, I'd deliberately mess them up just for the excuse to eat the icing. No wonder I was so pudgy back then.

When Delly would come over and catch me working on the flowers or sketching a braid at the back of a head, which over the years went from two braids to just one, she'd tease me with some silly song her grandma taught her. Something about kissing in a tree. I'd blush so hard even my ears would burn. I'd stammer that I'd never do something like that—I'd buy her flowers first, and besides, I was a terrible tree climber. My mother would laugh at that, always reminding me that even though she'd hoped for a girl and got me, she couldn't complain too much, given what a wuss I was.

Funny, I still miss her.

I kept my eyes on Delly as she studied the monitor, worry creasing her face. She truly was beautiful, with her blue eyes that sometimes hinted at green, her long lashes darkened with a touch of makeup, and her blonde hair always up in a bun, with loose strands framing her face. Her lips, though thin, always had a natural pink tint. I can't deny we've kissed before. It was years ago, back when I first got this job. Delly was the one who encouraged me to join her at the hospital so we could make a one person job a two person job, just like we always had.

I remember walking out of the nurse manager's office, freshly hired, and she was beaming with excitement. She ran up to me, and before either of us knew what was happening, her lips were on mine. It was more of a surprised collision than a kiss, and I instinctively placed my hands on her shoulders, gently pushing her back. The kiss ended with a solid, awkward sound, and we both turned bright red. We quickly agreed it would never happen again, and I don't think we even spoke until I started working here. Oddly enough, that moment made our friendship stronger—we knew we'd never have to worry about one of us falling for the other.

Delly finally looked down at me and playfully smacked my forehead with a packaged syringe. "I'm surprised you managed to do 'all' of that," she teased, emphasizing the parts of the assessment that required more intimate contact. "Was she awake?"

I nodded, leaning forward and rubbing my hands over my face before glancing up at the clock. It was nearing 5 p.m., meaning I had just two hours left on this shift. For the first time in a long while, the thought of going home to an empty apartment filled me with relief. I craved the silence and, more than anything, I wanted to break down and cry. The weight of the day was pressing down on me like a boulder.

I stood up from my chair and headed into Darius's room to check how much of his medication was left in the pump and to change out one of his fluid bags. His family had visited earlier, insisting on continuing aggressive care, despite the toll it was taking on him. I looked at Darius, hearing the steady beeping of his ventilator. As I suctioned his throat, I muttered an apology and shook my head in dismay when he didn't even gag. He always reacted before, but now… nothing. That's never a good sign.

Walking out, I made my way to the charge nurse, Ryn, and leaned my chest against the counter, gripping its edge. Ryn knew I only did this when I had something bad to report or when I was about to ask for an extension on my shift. She looked up at me, her black bangs partially covering her eyes, giving me that stern look that could make anyone want to disappear if she had the power. If I was going to ask her to stay later this week, I'd need to start planning my approach now—kissing up to Ryn was never easy.

"Peeta, I swear to god, if you ask me to stay late, I'm taking your other overtime days."

Damn. I was already pushing it this week by volunteering—no, begging—for an extra shift. Most nurses worked three 12-hour shifts a week, but I'd asked for four. The truth was, I hated being home alone, and staying busy at the hospital was the best way to avoid the quiet.

I stuck my tongue out at Ryn, pulling a face. "Rude, but that's not why I'm here. Just wanted to let you know that Darius's gag reflex is gone."

She stared at me blankly before picking up her phone to call Dr. Thorn. Ryn had his personal number, a privilege the rest of us didn't share. It was protocol for her to notify him if there were any significant updates.

As she dialed, I walked away from her desk and stood in front of Katniss's room, arms crossed over my chest, debating whether or not I should go in. I should've, but the shrill giggling from down the hall made me wince instead.

Chasity, a night shift nurse, came strutting down the corridor. Her scrub pants were too tight, and her work-approved T-shirt barely met the waistband—definitely not work-approved. Her long brown hair was half up, half down, and she walked with an exaggerated sway to her hips. Behind me, Delly muttered under her breath, "Look out, everyone, Chas-shitty has entered the building."

I snorted, glancing at the IV kit on my desk, remembering Dr. Thorn's orders. This was my perfect excuse to escape the chaos. I snatched the equipment and spun into Katniss's room, hoping to find some peace—or at least some quiet. But of course, Chasity wasn't going to let me off that easy. I barely made it down the hall when she squealed after me.

"Peeta! Can you show me how to start an IV properly? I'm so tired of asking Brent to do them for me," she called, batting her eyelashes and practically purring as Brent strolled by.

I forced a smirk, trying to hide my discomfort as I looked down at the kit in my hands. "Uh, actually I was just going to—"

Before I could finish, she snatched the kit out of my hands. "Perfect! Let's get started then!"

Behind her back, I rolled my eyes so hard I could almost see my brain. It took everything in me not to make a face, in case she turned around and caught me.

"I must say, Peeta, your muscles are just looking… delicious," she purred, completely ignoring the IV kit she'd just stolen.

I swallowed the irritation creeping up my throat and forced a flat, straight-across smile. "Thanks." I pulled on some gloves and handed her a pair, praying she'd actually focus on the task at hand.

Katniss was asleep, so I leaned over slightly, trying to wake her gently. "Hey, Katni—"

Of course, Chasity cut me off again. "Oh my God! You have Katniss Everdeen?! The Mockingjay?" she practically screamed.

Katniss's eyes shot open, her head whipping toward the noise. The fire in her gaze could have scorched the walls. I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in my lips. Oh, she was pissed.

In that moment, I wished for anything—an emergency, a blackout, a hole in the ground to swallow me whole—just to escape the wrath I knew was coming.

"Chasity, could you possibly keep your voice down?" I pleaded, doing my best to mask the growing frustration in my tone. "She just got here around 8 a.m., and I'm almost positive she just fell asleep a little bit ago. Maybe this isn't the best time to show you how to start an IV."

I wasn't just asking—I was practically begging her with my eyes to leave the room. I needed to do this quickly and quietly, let Katniss rest. But I noticed Katniss's eyes flicker toward me, catching onto what I said. Her expression was laced with confusion and a bit of wariness. She had every right to be suspicious.

I crouched down beside her, trying to steady myself as I met her gaze. This time, there was no haze in her eyes—just sharp, clear focus. "Sorry, Katniss. Dr. Thorn wants another IV in you, and Chasity was asking if I could show her how to do it..." My words trailed off as I realized how ridiculous I sounded. My pulse quickened, and I had to remind myself to breathe. How was I supposed to take care of her for the next three days when I couldn't even string a sentence together without feeling like my knees were about to give out?

Maybe I could ask Ryn to switch me to the other side of the unit. But who was I kidding? I'd still find excuses to check on her. And I wouldn't trust anyone but Delly or Layla to care for her properly. Reluctantly, I turned back to Chasity. "How about I do this one, and you just watch? I'll let you practice on me later, and Delly can help you out."

Chasity's forehead crinkled into a pout. I couldn't care less. Let her pout all she wants. But then her expression shifted, and a sly smile crept across her face as she tossed her hair back. "Absolutely, Peeta. I would just love to hold one of your yummy arms," she purred, her voice dripping with innuendo.

I felt a shiver of disgust crawl up my spine, but before I could respond, she turned her attention to Katniss, her tone shifting into something colder, more calculated. "Katniss, how is that friend of yours, Gale? Or did you two finally seal the deal back in 13? I just remember how much he adored you. And who could forget that time Haymitch found you two in the closet together? He was such a hunk!"

Chasity threw her head back and laughed, a shrill, grating sound that made my skin crawl. Katniss grimaced, as if she had a bad taste in her mouth. With one last sway of her hips, she strutted out of the room, shutting the door behind her and plunging us into darkness. Guess I wont be showing her after all.

I sighed, leaning to the side to smack the wall and turn the light back on. I pulled up a chair next to Katniss's bed, opening the IV kit and laying everything out. Holding out my hand, I waited for her to give me her arm. She stared at me for a moment, then lazily slapped my hand with hers in what I later realized was an attempt at humor—a high five. It didn't hit me until much later that night, as I sat alone in my empty apartment, just how much that small gesture meant.

But in that moment, I couldn't even muster a smile. All I could think about was how to get through this shift without losing it completely.

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, wondering if she was feeling a bit out of it. Still, I took her arm gently, securing the tourniquet around her upper arm. "Just a little tightness, okay?" I murmured. She nodded, her eyes betraying nothing.

As I scanned her arm for a viable vein, I began to rub her skin a bit roughly, trying to coax one into view. My fingers traced along the inside of her elbow, searching, and I found myself venturing lower, toward the scars that marred her arm. Scars that told stories I could only guess at. When my gaze lifted back to hers, her eyes were pleading, silently begging me not to ask. But she turned her head away, defiant.

I knew I should have just focused on the task at hand, but something inside me hesitated. Before I realized what I was doing, my fingers traced over the raised, pink scars, the ones that suggested she'd gone too deep, too many times. Her head snapped toward me, and I felt her arm twitch, trying to pull away.

I froze, my heart sinking as I realized how intrusive I'd been. "Sorry," I stammered, fumbling for words that didn't sound as pathetic as I felt. "I just... I hate seeing this. I hate knowing that someone's been in that much pain. I want to fix people, to make them feel better. But I know this—" I gestured vaguely at her scars, "—this runs deeper than anything physical. It's emotional. Mental. I'm sorry you felt the need to do this."

I couldn't even look at her. My own words felt clumsy, inadequate. Was I lying? No. But I wasn't sure if my honesty was doing her any good either. I forced myself to focus on her arm again, finally finding a vein in the crook of her elbow. It wasn't ideal—it was one of those tricky spots that always kinked when the patient bent their arm, setting off the annoying alarms on the pump. But she was so dehydrated that it was the best option I had.

I traced the vein again, trying to concentrate, and released the tourniquet. Wiping the area with an alcohol pad, I waited for it to dry, my eyes fixed on her arm, avoiding her gaze. I didn't want to see the disappointment, the frustration, or the hurt that might be lurking there. I unwrapped the needle, holding her arm taut, and pressed down firmly on her skin.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her eyebrows furrow, a small sign that the pain was getting to her. The last thing I wanted was to add to her suffering, but I couldn't help but feel that in my clumsy attempt to help, I might have done just that.

"Sorry," I muttered, almost to myself. Jesus Christ, when did I start apologizing this much? I shook off the thought and focused on the task at hand. "Alright, little poke... there we go. A good ole one and done," I added with a smirk, feeling a rare surge of satisfaction that I'd nailed the IV on the first try.

I pursed my lips as I flushed the tubing, double-checking that everything was working perfectly. It was. I taped down the IV with a clear bandage and finally looked up at her, expecting—hoping—for some kind of acknowledgment. But she was asleep, her breathing steady, eyes closed. Damn. I don't think she would've cared, but a part of me wished she'd been awake, if only to see her impressed by something as trivial as my IV skills. Guess that wasn't going to happen.

Carefully, I placed her arm across her stomach and glanced once more at the scars marring her skin. I sighed, turning off the light as I left her room. I didn't go back in for the rest of my shift.

When my relief came, I ran through the usual routine, recounting the events of the day before heading to the break room to grab my bag. Layla was there, sipping coffee and flipping through an old magazine. I gave her a tired smirk and started for the door.

"Surprised you're not staying late," she commented, not looking up from her cup.

I shrugged, not in the mood to explain the heaviness that had settled in my chest. I left without another word, starting the walk home, the weight of the day pressing down on me. I couldn't help but hope that the nurse taking over would treat Katniss with the same respect I had tried to show her.

But as I replayed the shift in my mind, I found myself rolling my eyes at how rude Chasity had been. It was the same old song and dance. Then, out of nowhere, a different thought hit me—one I hadn't had in years.

Gale.

I wonder where he went, and why Katniss looks like she could break at the mere mention of his name. Gale. They were best friends, like Delly and me. But now that I think about it, Gale hasn't been around District 12 at all. He just disappeared, and no one talks about it.

I remember when they found the two of them in that closet, hidden away like they were trying to escape the world. I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a stab of jealousy seeing them together, even if it was just a brief moment in the hallway after. They didn't even say goodbye to each other, just went their separate ways like nothing had happened. But the way Katniss's eyes were red-rimmed, like she'd been crying, and how pale Gale looked—that stuck with me. What happened in there? Was it just another weight on her already burdened shoulders, or was it something more?

Being the Mockingjay tore her apart, bit by bit, until there was almost nothing left. It took everything from her, including her sister. Prim. Sweet, innocent Prim. I still remember how she helped me when I first joined the Medic team. She was the one who taught me how to get IVs right on the first try. A small, steady hand guiding me through the chaos. The Capitol didn't just take her life; it shattered everything she touched.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, stripping off my clothes as soon as I walked in, leaving them in a trail from the door to the bed. I collapsed onto the mattress, finally getting the silence I'd been craving all day. But the tears I thought would come didn't. Not for my dad, not for Darius's slow decline, and not even for Katniss.

Instead, something else crept up on me. A different kind of feeling when I thought about her. My heart started racing, pounding against my chest like it was trying to escape. And then there was this... stirring in my stomach, a warmth spreading lower that I couldn't ignore. My eyes snapped open as the realization hit me—I was hard.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force the feeling away, but it only made it worse. The thought of her, lying in that hospital bed, vulnerable, needing someone—needing me. It twisted something deep inside me, a longing I didn't want to admit. I shouldn't feel this way. Not about her. Not now.

But the more I tried to push it down, the stronger it got. I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow, hoping sleep would come and drown out these thoughts. But all I could think about was how much I wanted to be near her, to protect her, to be the one she could turn to when everyone else had turned their backs.

Gale might've been her best friend, but he wasn't here. And for better or worse, I was.

"Christ, Peeta, shes in pain and sick and THIS is what you wanna do knowing that?" I scolded myself. I got up and splashed my face with water, getting into bed and pulling the blanket up to my chin. I laid there, quietly fidgeting with the ties on my boxers and I had just slightly grazed the bulge in my boxers. There was no way I was going to sleep with this.

I pushed all thoughts of sick Katniss out of my head and slowly reached my hand into my boxers, gripping myself and groaning. I thought about how she looked in her Mockingjay outfit: the tightness of the suit against her body. She looked lethal. She looked terrifying. She looked beautiful. I gripped myself harder and moved my hand up and down slowly, thoughts of Katniss making their way into my brain. I thought about what she looked like in the District 13 jumpsuit, how they hugged her curves but still left things to the imagination. I kept pumping away and I could feel my toes curling, rubbing a certain spot with my fingers when I made it to the tip and going back down. I started to squeeze myself a little tighter, the thought of Katniss stripping down for me, showing me her perky breasts and gripping her own breast while another hand slid down her stomach to the curls down below. I started panting heavily, moaning her name repeatedly, imagining that instead of my hand it was hers. A thought popped into my head of how nice her thighs felt when I nudged them open today…

My back arched off my bed a little as I continued to pump as I started to cum. "Oh, shit! Oh God, Katniss!" I half moaned, half cried out into the silence of my room as I reached the peak of my release. My breaths came ragged, and as the euphoria faded, a deep sense of shame took its place. How could I let my thoughts spiral into such indulgence while she lay there sick and vulnerable? She had trusted me with her care, and I'd let it become a twisted reflection of my own desires.

With a shuddering breath, I pulled off my boxers and wiped my hand clean, my movements mechanical and disgusted. I tossed the soiled fabric aside, the weight of my actions pressing heavily on my chest. I collapsed onto the bed, eyes squeezed shut, dreading the upcoming shifts and the confrontation with my own moral failing.